The Davenports(60)

Ruby accepted the glass. She was right—Olivia had known what to do. But the pained look on Mr. Barton’s face still made it hard to breathe. For now, she wanted to forget. “What did you mean—that you’d heard Mr. DeWight’s outlook. Have you heard him speak?”

Her friend gave her a sheepish look. “I stumbled across a meeting,” Olivia said. “He was reporting what he witnessed in his travels and garnering support for some demonstrations he’s organizing.” Ruby listened without interrupting as Olivia spoke. It wasn’t anything Ruby had not heard during the countless dinners her father hosted with various political leaders or business associates. She was, however, surprised at the depth of Olivia’s involvement and desire to do more. Her friend spoke of women’s right to vote. She repeated the things Ruby had heard the outspoken lawyer say, and talked of how he inspired others to act. Olivia may not have wanted to admit it, but she sounded dangerously close to finding herself in the same dilemma as Ruby.

“Be careful. I’ve heard he never stays in one city long,” she said, watching Olivia closely. Her friend wrung the stem of the flute between her hands.

“I know,” Olivia said, and sighed. She placed her head on Ruby’s shoulder.

“What a pair we make.” Ruby held her glass up. “Cheers?” Their glasses clinked together and they settled against the plush back of the couch, listening to the party below.





CHAPTER 27


    Olivia



The party was a success. Freeport Manor was alive with music, dancing, and champagne until the small hours of the morning. Olivia crawled into her bed close to dawn with aching feet and burning legs. She was too tired to think about where Mr. Lawrence had disappeared to halfway through the night and why his mood had changed when he’d returned. She fell into a deep sleep only to be awakened too soon.

“Time to rise and shine.” Amy-Rose walked into the room. Her footsteps were heavy and magnified the pounding in Olivia’s head. The curtains rustled and a bright beam of light cut through the darkness and Olivia’s thoughts. She threw an arm over her eyes and groaned.

Amy-Rose tugged at her hand. “It is well after noon and your parents are expecting you for lunch. Mr. Lawrence and your father will be returning from the factory any time now.”

“What?” Olivia sat upright. Too quickly, the room began to spin. Too late she remembered sneaking off to the sitting room with Ruby late in the evening—or was it early morning?—where they shared cake and a bottle of champagne, curled up on the couch, only the moon there to overhear their words. Her friend didn’t reveal everything that was on her mind. And perhaps Olivia had said too much of what was on hers.

She had found herself in the arms of Mr. DeWight for a second time before the night was through. Ruby’s warning, though gentle, rang in her head as loudly as Amy-Rose’s entrance. She wondered what Ruby thought of the amount of time she was spending with Mr. DeWight. Am I in over my head? Now she reprimanded herself for being so caught up in her own worries that she didn’t at least try to find out what ruined her friend’s night. And if Mr. Barton had anything to do with it. He came and went too quickly for things to be good between them.

A glance at Amy-Rose revealed her night had likely been no better. Her eyes were puffy and she moved about the room with a brisk gruffness that welcomed no questions.

“Your bath is drawn and your dress is hanging. I can wait or you can ring me when you’re ready to be laced up.” Amy-Rose kept her eyes averted. There was a time when she and Olivia had shared so many secrets and dreams. They had been close friends who would not have hesitated to comfort each other. Olivia knew she had created this rift between them. She wasn’t sure she could mend it.

“Amy-Rose,” she said, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. “Are you all right?” She studied her old friend’s profile, her straight back, curls tied away in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Olivia felt strange, almost as if she no longer recognized her.

Amy-Rose smoothed down the front of her apron. Her smile was brittle and lacked all of her usual cheer. “I’m fine, Miss Olivia. Would you like me to wait for you?”

Olivia stilled. Amy-Rose only addressed her so formally when people outside the household were present. Her mother prided herself on propriety, but otherwise did not hold Amy-Rose to the same standards as the rest of the staff. Their easy friendship felt so far away now that Olivia didn’t know if she should pry, if only to determine if there was anything she could do to help. Amy-Rose pulled on her fingers in a way that looked painful. Olivia decided the best thing to do was to let her go. “I can manage,” she said, standing and walking to the vanity.

Amy-Rose spread the dress over Olivia’s bed. She appeared to be going through the motions. Olivia remembered how they would sit cross-legged at the foot of that same bed and play games, tangling their fingers in a single thread of twine, and making up stories about their futures.

“Do you remember when we spent the night outside, looking for a shooting star,” Olivia said. Amy-Rose paused and turned toward the French doors leading onto the small balcony. They had shared a blanket for warmth and fallen asleep propped against each other. “Your mother said if we saw one,” Olivia continued, “we could make a wish.”

Amy-Rose turned partway, a small smile on her face. “It was so cold. I remember how our teeth chattered.” She laughed and tucked her hands into her apron. “John and Helen were jealous they missed it.”