Responsibility and guilt? That was what marriage meant to the man? Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she took in Alastair and his friends. Fools, all. She was no one’s responsibility, particularly not Alastair Finchley’s.

She yearned to provide these men with her opinion, but knew there was too much at risk to speak, which would draw attention to herself and possibly give away her true identity. Instead, she sat there and fumed in silence, narrowing her gaze at Alastair, who clearly felt the ire of her glare as he fidgeted in his seat.

Besides the ridiculous conversation, she did all she could to take the opportunity to enjoy her foray into White’s. She wondered how many women had done this before, snuck into the club that was completely off limits to them. Perhaps a woman’s-only club was in order, what would men say to that?

Olivia did have to admit that she enjoyed the comfortable masculinity of the decor. The chairs were rich chestnut leather, the walls lined in shelves of books and rich wallpaper.

“How fares your sister, Breckenridge?” asked Merryweather, and Olivia’s head swiveled to take a closer look at him. He was a handsome gentleman, dark haired with warm brown eyes and a pleasant enough countenance.

“Anne is fine, thank you for asking, Merryweather,” Alastair responded with some heat in his tone.

“I am sorry to see she has not yet resumed her season following your father’s death, though of course the circumstances are understandable,” said Merryweather. “You must ensure I am invited to her first engagements.”

“Oh yes,” countered Alastair, “I will take a close look at the guest list, I assure you.”

Interesting, thought Olivia. Lord Merryweather was interested in Anne. She wondered if Anne felt anything towards him, or even knew much at all of him. She had certainly never mentioned him to Olivia. She would have to ask Alastair more about his friend. He did not look to be a bad sort at all.

“And have you seen the lovely Baroness of Hastings since the joyous occasion of your marriage?” asked Penn. The conversation had returned to Alastair’s married life.

She could feel heat rising in her own cheeks as her sharp gaze flew to Alastair’s face.

It would not have been physically possible for him to look more uncomfortable. Were she not so disturbed by the question, she would have found it rather amusing.

“I have not,” he said, lifting his drink to his lips, apparently resolved to say no more on the subject.

“Ah, the poor woman will be lonely, will she not?” asked Penn. “Are you sure you would like to give up the boundless energy of the woman from your bed?”

“Of course, Penn,” he replied. “I am married now.”

“Ha!” Penn barked in laughter. “When has that kept a man from bedding his beautiful mistress? I say, Breckenridge, I am not sure what ails you this evening, but you are certainly not your usual self. We must have another round of drinks, perhaps that will better your countenance.”

Penn ordered another round of brandies for the four of them. Olivia tossed hers back nearly as fast as Alastair, who then rose to his feet. “I am afraid we must be off. We have another engagement and simply stopped in for a drink. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Not yet ready to leave, but not seeing any way to protest in front of Alastair’s friends, Olivia nodded at them, then scurried behind him lest he lose her on his rushed exit out the door.

Olivia said nothing until the carriage came round, and once again had to keep Alastair from naturally helping her inside. They sat inside, across from one another. She crossed her legs, enjoying the freedom of the breeches, and removed her hat, shaking her hair out so that it spilled around her shoulders.

He cleared his throat. “Olivia…”

“Responsibility and guilt?” she asked, her eyebrows raised high.

“Well, you see, that was before —”

“The Baroness of Hastings?”

“Once again, that was before —”

“Boundless energy in your bed?”

Her initial teasing tone had somewhat darkened now as she threw the words back at him.

“Olivia,” he leaned forward. “This was your idea, to come here tonight.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

“Do not young women speak to one another of the men in their lives?”

“What young women speak of is nothing at all like the conversation I heard in there!” she responded, throwing her arms wide. “Although … it would be rather nice to speak so openly without fear of scandal or retribution. I do realize it is my own fault to have heard such things, Alastair, although I must admit that it still somewhat pains me to realize how our marriage has so adversely affected you, and that you might prefer other … things.”

“Other women you mean?”

Her cheeks flamed. “Yes.”

“Olivia,” he said, moving with the rocking of the carriage over the cobblestone streets to sit beside her and take her hand in his, which she some reluctantly allowed. “Those men spoke of my past. My thoughts on marriage were different then. I did not expect to marry such an … interesting ... woman. I cannot lie that I do feel responsibility to your wellbeing, and I do feel guilt when I am out and have left you at home, however it cannot be helped. There are certainly more positives aspects to our marriage than I would have thought possible. As for women in my bed, it matters not who came before you, for now you are my wife, and the only woman I want beside me. And, if you would like to know, I have known no enthusiasm like yours ever before.”

Somewhat mollified, she squeezed his fingers. She could not deny that she was still upset, that a part of her did not want to forgive him and would rather harden her heart against his words. But the rational part of her mind could not deny what he said held truth. He could not change the past. She knew it when she married him, and he could not control the words of his friends.

She finally forced a smile and said, “I understand, Alastair. Perhaps my foray into White’s Gentlemen’s Club has satisfied my curiosity for now.”

He sighed in relief as he fell back against the squabs. “Thank God,” he said, “for I do not think I could do that once more.”

She laughed, and all seemed forgiven.

* * *

Alastair’s days continued to be spent primarily tending to his estate and his finances, trying to determine the best way forward to begin to make a profit once more. He was in his study pouring over the ledgers when the butler came to the door with his correspondence.

“For you, Your Grace,” he said before exiting once more.

Alastair shifted through the notes, finding two of interest. He picked up his letter opener to tear them each open and quickly read through, a mix of emotions coursing through him. One letter seemed to hold his demise, the other the key to his recovery.  He was contemplating his next course of action when he sensed a presence in the room and looked up to see his wife enter.

“Is all well?” she asked. “You seem quite astonished.”

“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “Would you like to sit down?”

She sat cautiously, looking concerned.

“The first letter has noted that many of my father’s debts have come due,” he explained. “I have but a month to pay them back.”

She held out a hand for the letter, which he reluctantly passed over to her.

“Do you suppose you could arrange with them to pay the debt back in installments?”

“Perhaps,” he said, inclining his head to her. “Fortunately, it is not all dire news. You recall the financial columnist I spoke to you about?”

“I do.”

“It seems instead of addressing my concerns in the journal, he instead wrote me back with his suggestions. That is quite odd, is it not?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps he felt he could not provide the same advice to all readers or there would become difficulty with investments. What did he say?”

He cleared his throat and read.

“‘Your Grace, the Duke of Breckenridge. I am humbled that you would write to ask for my advice on your investment matters. I cannot provide you with certainty that my recommendations shall prove profitable; however, upon further study I believe the following to most likely benefit you financially.’ Then he lists various investments he has deemed both secure and potentially rewarding, suggesting I invest funds in some of various nature.”

He continued to look at the letter, looking contemplative.

“It seems understandable that he would write you back directly. For it would not do to provide all investors with the same advice. It sounds very promising!” Olivia said with a cheery grin. “In what do you suppose you shall invest?”

“Pardon me?”

“Which investments shall you choose?”

“Ah, Olivia,” Alastair said, folding the paper in front of him. “My apologies, love, for droning on so. I imagine you cannot possibly be interested in all this talk of finance and investment.”

“Why ever not?” she asked, a furrow coming to her brow.

“As I can hardly stand to think of such things, I cannot see how you would be interested,” he said with a wave of his hand. He was shocked when she reached out and also took this paper from the desk in front of him.

“Hmmm….,” she murmured, her eyes skimming the words on the page. “It seems the shipping company could perhaps be worth pursuing, does it not? And the fund is interesting, but perhaps does not offer a great return quickly enough, does it? Invest in a bit of both perhaps?”

Heaven help him. He knew she was trying to be helpful, but to pick names off of a list because she liked the sound of one over the other certainly was not going to be of any aid.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, sending what he hoped was a benevolent smile her way. “However, please do not concern yourself with such affairs. I should not even have mentioned such things to you. You must know, your settlement will more than cover any needs that will arise for you should anything happen to me. Now, darling, what do you say we attend the theatre this evening? We have been invited by Lord and Lady Greville. I believe you will enjoy their company.”

Olivia stood with a polite smile on her lips and gave him a frosty, “Whatever you would like, Your Grace,” before departing with a swirl of her skirts. “I am sorry you regret sharing your concerns with me.” He cursed under his breath. He did not know what he had done to invoke her ire, but he certainly had, in spades.

* * *

Olivia fumed as she dressed for the evening to attend the bloody concert. Not concern herself in such affairs. Did he really believe her to be so simple minded that she would not have a valid opinion on his investments? What he chose would have great effects on the two of them and their future. Though she supposed, if she stopped to think on the subject, he was right in that most women simply would not care at all.

She resolved that this would not be the case with their marriage. It would be a partnership regarding such matters as business. She simply had to find a way to encourage him to listen to her and entertain her thoughts.

In the meantime, she would prepare for the theatre. She was unsure what they were to take in this evening, but she hoped it was something ripe with both comedy and drama, that would capture and keep her attention. She called for Molly and set out to provide the housekeeper with information regarding the evening’s plans for supper. She did not know Lord and Lady Greville well, but Olivia resolved to do her best to enjoy the evening, despite her frustration with Alastair and his simple-minded views on what she would consider important.

Her maid chose a deep purple silk for her to wear that evening, which Olivia approved of with a nod. It was beautiful, more vibrant than was the current style, but she had always enjoyed it, as it was the perfect complement to the rich blonde tones of her hair. Her maid lifted a delicate gold chain and showed it to Olivia with a question in her eyes. Olivia nodded, and turned to allow her to close the clasp of the necklace, as the small charm came to rest on her chest between her collarbones.

Meanwhile, she could not stop her thoughts from racing. She hoped Alastair would write back P.J. Scott. It was the only way she could make him listen.