Racing through the rambling manor to the modest room she’d claimed as hers, with the intent to put her hair and person to rights after that unexpectedly glorious (and guilt-inducing) “walk” in the rain, Olivia couldn’t resist detouring past Juliet’s sitting room.
Now she couldn’t seem to leave. Not that she was eavesdropping, the muted rumbles of Mr. Tanner indistinguishable, for the most part. But when Juliet laughed? Now that had come through the thick door clear enough. How wonderful to hear and know that sweet, sweet Juliet had finally found someone she could be herself with. Someone who she wanted to be with.
Instead of feeling jealous as one might expect of an older, poorer, definitely less creative companion to be, Olivia was in alt on her friend’s behalf.
And in awe of herself—and her recent actions.
In awe? Certainly not! She meant dismayed, disappointed even, at what she’d been doing. The subterfuge. The secrets! So completely unlike her.
But oh how it’d been worth it, a tiny part of her acknowledged. So very worth it.
Heavy, rapid thumps coming from the direction of the stairway heralded a new arrival seconds before she heard the corridor-muted shout. “Lady Juliet!”
Giving Henry’s paw one last pat, she rose and hastened toward the landing to intercept Jacks. “Shhhh.” Olivia motioned toward the sitting room behind her. “We ought not interrupt them, I’m thinking.”
“We ’ave visitors,” he began, only to break off and exclaim, “By the devil! Miz Hales! Ye… Ye look…”
Self-consciously, Olivia raised both hands to the hank of hair residing over one breast like a waterlogged washcloth. She started to wring out the mass, then stopped when several drops plopped to the floor. “I’m a mess. I know.”
“A mess?” Jacks reared back, appraising her from soaked skull to soggy slippers. After noting the muddy streaks trimming the bottom of her once pristine dress, his thoughtful gaze returned to hers. “I’m seein’ more than a mess, I could be fergiven fer thinkin’.”
Double drat! It was apparent, then? What she’d just done with applicant twenty-five? Mortification poured through her veins like syrup. It was one thing to indulge herself as she had. Another to have someone else discern it!
Thank God the only man witness to her crime was gone. Gone for good.
That last thought should have brought a semblance of comfort. It didn’t.
Down the hallway, Henry swiped his paw like mad from the other side of the door, a stick of orange fur waving furiously at her to come back and play.
“Wot’s up with ’im?”
Relieved Jacks’ attention was no longer on her bedraggled person, Olivia promptly answered, “I think he wants out.”
“That’s seen to easy enough.”
When the manservant started to move past her, Olivia halted him with a negative shake of her head. “Nay. The door’s locked. I tried a moment ago.”
“Locked, ye say?” His surprise, and more importantly obvious satisfaction at what that implied, mirrored her own. “Well, ’Enry can’t be wantin’ out too bad or ’e’d be yowlin’. ’E’s just having a spot o’ fun wi’ ye.”
“Aye.” Blowing a mental kiss Henry’s direction, Olivia started down the hallway, away from the door. She indicated Jacks should follow. “And locked is how it’ll stay until they decide to open it.”
“’E’s the one, ye think? That big Tanner feller?” Hearing Jacks describe anyone as big was almost comical. “The one that’ll save Lady Juliet from the lonesomes?”
“I do.”
Jacks snapped his fingers as if just remembering something. “I do. An’ that’s why I ran up ’ere to fetch ’er. The vicar’s ’ere.”
“The vicar? Here?”
“Aye. From Duffield. Claims Mr. ’Astings sent ’im over to do a wedding.”
“A wedding? So soon?” Goodness, the solicitor had certainly been confident; her mind whirled at how much. “But the banns—”
“That’s fer you and ’im to discuss. Me? I’m jus’ bringin’ the word.”
Mr. Hastings was all that was thorough. Olivia had observed that when she accompanied Juliet on her initial excursions to his office at the onset of this marriage scheme. Mr. Hastings had been the one to suggest obtaining references and medical and financial histories from each applicant. It was also his idea to have each man sign a confidentiality waiver-clause so Juliet’s identity wasn’t compromised. But in the spirit of being compromised, it was Juliet who insisted on requiring a letter from each man’s mistress.
At the time, Olivia had silently balked at such a brazen request. Well, perhaps not so silently, offering up several stringent protests on the way home. Now, with a bit of hindsight, she completely concurred on the benefits to be gained by securing such a reference.
If Mr. Hastings had arranged for the vicar to come here to conduct a wedding, then a wedding they’d likely have. Only, given how she suspected things were progressing back in the sitting room… “We need to stall him. Downstairs.”
“Eh? Fer ’ow long?”
As long as they take.
“Until Mr. Tanner and Juliet emerge—whenever they choose to,” she told Jacks decisively, her own body still feeling the achy effects of aborted lovemaking. The warm rush of any lovemaking. “No one is to interrupt their, ah…the interview.”
“Right-o.” She swore Jacks winked at her. “An’ ’ow do ye want I should stall the man?”
“I’m not certain.” She cast about her spinning mind for ideas. “Invite him to dinner. Serve him a scone.”
Reaching the top of the stairs, Olivia halted, recalling her state of dress and the need to exchange her drippy garments for dry ones.
In the several weeks they’d resided here, not once had anyone uninvited called upon them. The vicar? Now of all times? How she was supposed to compose and conduct herself in front of a holy man of God after the amorous adventures of the afternoon? It didn’t bear thinking upon!
Oh but certainly the afternoon did…strong arms, warm lips, the taste of first sunshine and then a male chest…
“…an’ the semen…yer dress…”
Her wayward thoughts cartwheeled back to those few stolen moments and distracted her from the current one. Surely she could be forgiven then for not instantly grasping the sentence
