The Davenports(32)

Olivia dropped the book to the table with a thud, startling the terrier in her lap. “Sorry, Sophie,” she said to the disgruntled pup. She pressed her fingers to her temples, kneading the frustration she felt.

Sleep was beginning to take her when a commotion outside her bedroom caught her attention. The door opened a slit. Helen slipped through and closed it tightly shut. Olivia watched her sister lean against it like she was the last soldier alive protecting a keep.

“What’s got into you?” she asked.

“Shh!” Helen hissed. “I’m trying to hide from Mrs. Milford. Do you think I still fit in the wardrobe?”

“Absolutely not!” Olivia replied. “The woman can’t be that bad.” She examined the way her sister breathed quickly.

“Don’t be fooled. She has all those etiquette books memorized down to the page numbers. And she sees everything. Between her and Malcolm, the snitch, I haven’t been able to work at all on the automobile John brought home. It’s last year’s Model T and in great condition, when you look past some of the damage . . . and the mystery defect. And instead of getting underneath the cylinder head, I’m dodging a governess.”

“She’s not a governess. Helen, you’re being dramatic,” Olivia said. Then she sat up. “Are you wearing a corset?”

Helen cut her a pained look and Olivia tried her best not to laugh.

“Livy, please let me hide here. Just for a little while?”

Olivia softened at the sound of her nickname. “Fine,” she said. Helen’s face brightened. Olivia saw so much of their father there—a similar determination infused every angle. “I’m sorry about what happened with Malcolm. John told me,” Olivia said, by way of explanation. Her heart ached when Helen only shrugged. “He also said that you are key to the repairs they’re doing, and that he knows you have managed to get out to the garage to look at that vehicle.”

Helen smiled at that, like Olivia knew she would.

“Come,” Olivia said.

Helen joined her on the chaise and immediately pulled a book from her skirts. Her head rested against Olivia’s shoulder. Her voluminous coils were pulled into a fragrant, still-damp puff at the nape of her neck. “It’s not fair,” she said.

Olivia sighed and brushed her sister’s hair back. “I know.”

“Malcolm thinks women belong in the home.” Helen scoffed. Then in a smaller voice, with restrained hope, she said, “Daddy would never allow it.”

Olivia peeked at what Helen was reading and instantly regretted it. The diagrams gave her a headache. How could the family business come so easily to her brother and sister? Sure, she wasn’t expected to know much about carriages or how the company was run, but she saw how it brought the two of them together. And with Ruby spending all her time with Mr. Barton lately . . . She couldn’t imagine what Ruby and Harrison Barton had in common beyond a few acquaintances. Surely she’d grow bored of him any day now. Olivia didn’t like shopping, but she missed the hours she and Ruby usually spent together. With the exception of a few Tremaine family trips, they hadn’t gone more than two days without seeing each other in years.

She longed to have someone to share the little things, someone to laugh and grow with. Jacob Lawrence and his slow smile popped into her head.

“Why does your face look like that?” Helen had closed her book and was staring at her.

Olivia pressed her hand to her face. “Like what?”

Helen sighed and stared over Olivia’s shoulder, her eyes unfocused and a grin spreading across her face. “That. You get a lost-in-a-daydream look on your face. It’s Mr. Lawrence, isn’t it?” She pulled at her clothing, a stubborn set to her chin. “I don’t understand the point of tea and social calls. Don’t you ever get tired of walking around and talking? What do you do with your hands? And are these,” Helen said, prying at the edge of her corset, “necessary?”

Olivia considered her words carefully, her smile widening. Helen had never asked questions about courting. She sat up straighter and pitched her voice low. “I keep my hands to myself, naturally,” she said. “There will come a time when you meet someone who makes even the mundane things seem magical.”

“And is that what it feels like? Magical?”

Olivia pressed a hand to her stomach and thought about the fluttery feeling she had around Jacob Lawrence. She thought about their conversations and how they moved from lighthearted teasing to more serious observations. “Sometimes it can be.”

Helen rolled her eyes and opened her book. “If you say so,” she grumbled.

Olivia laughed then and stood. “Aren’t you coming?”

Helen gave her a horrified glare. “And forfeit the perfect hiding spot? Absolutely not.”

Olivia’s stomach tightened when she remembered she had hidden a copy of the Jim Crow laws in her bookcase. But Helen wouldn’t go through her things. She’s already buried in her book. Olivia adjusted the skirts of her simple day dress. Her mother had fussed at breakfast, but she didn’t see the point in dressing to recline in a drawing room all day when the process would have to be repeated for Mr. Lawrence’s attendance at dinner that evening. She took the stairs quickly in bare feet, having left her soft slippers under the couch upstairs. The polished wood floors were cool under her soles. The closed door to her father’s study swung open. Olivia stumbled to a stop. In the doorway, an unexpected visitor stood, smile hiding a fleeting, guilty look.