Olivia Twist(27)

“Is it Maxwell’s proposal that has you flummoxed? I’m aware you have yet to give him an answer.”

Olivia pushed away her soup, pulled her fingers from her uncle’s grasp, and folded her hands in her lap. Max. She’d all but forgotten he awaited a response. Another situation she’d thoroughly mucked up. A tremor shuddered over her shoulders and down her spine at the memory of that night. Being in Jack’s strong arms, the solid heat of his body, his mouth. Olivia cut the thought short and reached for her water goblet, taking several long swallows.

“Do you have feelings for him, dear?”

Olivia almost jumped out of her chair, water sloshing over her fingers as her gaze swung to her uncle’s wizened face. “Why would you say that?”

“You and Maxwell are friends, are you not?”

Olivia nodded and then turned to stare at the flicker of the candles in the center of the table. Of course her uncle wasn’t referring to Jack. They had never met. Well, except for that long-ago day when he’d accused Dodger of robbing him on the street. The irony tightened Olivia’s throat.

“I see no other reason why you should delay. Maxwell Grimwig is a well-respected gentleman, his family is above reproach, he is kind and . . . will support you in a manner—” A sharp cough cut him off. He took a gulp of brandy before continuing in a rough tone, “A manner in which I am no longer able.”

Her uncle’s words confirmed every logical reason why she should accept Maxwell’s offer with haste before he changed his mind. But a pair of lethal blue eyes haunted her until she could see no other. Her traitorous heart didn’t care a whit about propriety or material possessions; it longed for passion and adventure.

Flames still dancing in her vision, she turned back to her uncle. His shoulders slumped inside his bottle-green coat, his neck so thin, he looked like an ancient turtle. Her heart ached to see him so diminished, the robust uncle of her youth just a memory. She rose and enfolded him in a quick hug. “Uncle, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a selfish cad.”

Olivia returned to her seat, and dug into the roasted squab and buttered turnips on her plate. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Maxwell could be the answer to all of her worries. She would accept his proposal and explain about the Hill Orphans. He would have to help them. Wouldn’t he?

“Does this mean you’ll be accepting Grimwig’s offer, dear?”

“Yes,” she answered, her mind consumed with how best to arrange a meeting with Max. She simply couldn’t wait until the Carters’ dinner party, two days hence. Waiting would be torturous. And besides, the boys needed their help now.

“Olivia?”

She had not seen or heard from Max since the night of his proposal. What if he didn’t show to the Carters’ either? The next event was the following week . . . the Grimwigs’ ball. They would need to make the engagement announcement that evening.

“Olivia Elizabeth Brownlow!”

Olivia jerked, dropping her fork with a clatter. She turned to her uncle, whose white brows were connected over his sharp nose, his mouth a stern slash. She hadn’t seen that particular expression on him since he’d caught her smoking his pipe.

“Sir?”

“Is it too much to ask that you attend the conversation?” His face softened, his mouth turning up in bemusement. “You’ve always been a little dreamer, my girl. But this is important.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why have you hesitated to accept Maxwell’s proposal? Do you have feelings for another?”

“Feelings for another?” she repeated, buying time. She had many feelings for Jack—anger, fascination, resentment, desire—none of which signified a future.

“No, Uncle, my hesitation was not due to anything but my girlish fantasies of romance. I was momentarily . . . distracted by the attentions of another. But I’ve come to see the futility of that . . . er . . . relationship.” She clenched her teeth, clarifying pain radiating through her skull. Wanting and needing were two exceedingly different things. What she wanted was of no consequence. Everyone she loved would benefit from her match with Max. Jack MacCarron was nothing but a liar and a thief.

“Do you not love him?”

“Love?” Olivia blinked at her uncle for several moments before she realized that for the second time that evening she’d been thinking of Jack when he spoke of Max. She cleared her throat and arranged the napkin on her lap. “Max is an honorable man, who I’m sure I can come to love over time. Please do not worry yourself, Uncle.”

“I see.” His narrow shoulders slumped impossibly lower, his chin dipping into his starched cravat. “I find I’m too fatigued to eat.” He rang a tiny bell by his plate, summoning the butler.

Thompson arrived and helped Uncle Brownlow to his feet.

“Please finish your meal, my dear. We can talk more of this on the morrow.”

“Of course.” Olivia nodded. Her uncle seemed to be weaker than usual as he leaned on the butler’s arm and they left the room.

She would not give him any more cause for concern. She would arrange a meeting with Max, and by tomorrow, she would be a happily engaged woman.



“Whiskey, govnah?” A serving girl leaned into Jack’s face, her ample bosom blurring as it threatened to spill out of its laces. His gaze flicked from her chest to her face, and he reared back in his seat. The woman’s pockmarked skin and crusted, empty eye socket sobered him in an instant.