Olivia Twist(31)

Olivia sat on one of the rounded benches and grabbed Max’s gloved hand as he settled beside her. She let the words spill from her unchecked. “Max, I was wrong to run away from you the night of your proposal. I was confused, but I’m not any longer. Pray, please forgive me?”

“Of course, I forgive you.” His eyes softened, and the unguarded expression gave Olivia the courage to charge ahead.

“I accept. I would be proud to be your wife.” She gave his hand a squeeze and watched his eyes light up like fireworks.

“Oh, Olivia!” Max wrapped her in a tight hug, and then pulled back and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “I hadn’t dared hope. I imagined you wanted to speak to me in private to tell me you’d accepted someone else’s proposal.”

Olivia shook her head, keeping the smile on her face as a breathtaking image of raven hair falling over ice-blue eyes filled her mind. With determination, she pushed Jack out of her thoughts and focused on the man in front of her. Jack had no place here.

“We’ll make the formal announcement at the ball next week. Of course, we’ll need to let Mother and Father know immediately. They will be so pleased!” Max hugged her again. “How does a Christmas wedding sound?”

Olivia grew still, her airway constricting as if a noose were tightening around her neck. “So soon?” She’d hoped to have at least six months to become accustomed to the idea—six more months of freedom.

Max’s mouth pulled down in a deep frown, and Olivia scrambled to reassure him. “’Tis only that it’s less than eight weeks away. Eight weeks to organize a ceremony and find a gown . . . It’s not enough time to prepare.”

Max’s brows shot up and he shook his head “Oh, no need to worry on that account. Mother could pull it together in two weeks if need be.”

“Yes, I’m sure she could.” The mental image of the formidable Mrs. Grimwig, costumed in a general’s uniform, directing a battalion of caterers and livered servants made Olivia grimace. She rose from the bench, walked to the other side of the gazebo, and stopped at the lattice railing. The late-morning sun danced on the surface of a nearby pond, and beside it willow reeds swayed in the breeze. As she watched, a gardener emerged from the trees with a net on a long pole and proceeded to scoop fallen leaves out of the water. What kind of life had she committed to, that there were servants to perform such a task?

She felt Max stop behind her. “Remember that day when you reached into the pond to pick up a turtle and Violet pushed you in from behind?”

Olivia laughed. That’s why they were still friends. Violet had not taken the toad incident lying down. But she’d had no idea that Olivia never learned to swim. There had not been much opportunity for aquatic recreation living on the streets, and even less in the workhouse.

“Yes, and you had to jump in and save me because I thought I was drowning.” They both laughed at the memory of Olivia floundering and screaming, her dress and petticoats floating around her arms. In actuality, the water had only been up to her chest; she’d needed only to put her feet down to save herself.

She turned and looked up into Max’s familiar face, his brown eyes shining with mirth. Perhaps being married to this man wouldn’t be so disagreeable. He lowered his head, and his mouth brushed hers in a lingering kiss. Olivia closed her eyes and leaned in, letting him take the lead, longing to be swept away. But his lips on hers were tentative, wet. When he lifted his head, she found herself relieved and wishing to wipe her mouth with her sleeve. No heat rushed through her veins, no desire to pull him back for more.

Olivia blinked up at Max and wished she didn’t have another’s kiss to compare his to.

“Let us go share the good news with my parents,” Max whispered into her hair. He took her gloved hand in his and tugged her toward the arched opening.

“There’s something I wish to discuss with you first.” She batted her lashes up at him, only feeling a small twinge of guilt at his dopey smile and dazed eyes. The orphans were worth any amount of manipulation.

“Of course, darling.”

The endearment felt strange, and she longed to pull her hand from his. But instead, she followed him back to the bench seat and arranged her skirts around her as she gathered her thoughts. She’d rehearsed this speech all night.

“Max, I need your help. There are a group of young boys, orphans, whom I’ve gotten to know through my . . . volunteer work at St. Bart’s.” It was a small lie, but better to lie than risk his derision, or, worse, his refusal to help.

“St. Bart’s is in Cheapside, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Olivia, that part of the city is much too dangerous! I must protest—”

“Please allow me to finish.” Olivia placed her hand on his knee, effectively silencing him.

“These boys were all abandoned at a young age and make what living they can on the streets. But with winter coming, they are in danger of starvation . . . or . . .” Olivia swallowed, genuine tears gathering in her eyes. “Or freezing to death in the streets.”

Max’s brows drew together over his nose. “Surely, there is some organization for these children, such as the local parish?”

Olivia shook her head. “No. There are just too many street children. The churches can barely make ends meet. They can’t afford to offer charity to them all, so they offer it to none.”