Chapter Fifteen
January 20
“Price told me I’d find you here, Miss Willow.”
Startled, Olivia turned on her chair. Tiern-Cope stood just inside the parlor, tapping one hand against the side of his leg. His eyes were two shades lighter than his blue coat. Surely, it was unnatural for anyone to have eyes so piercing. From the mud on his boots and his mussed hair, she supposed he was just done walking as opposed to on his way to it. She closed her journal. “My head aches, and I wanted a moment’s quiet, that’s all.”
His eyes swept the room, pausing behind her where there wasn’t anything but shadows. Then, his attention fixed on her journal. She slid the book into a drawer. “I should like a word with you.”
“Certainly.” She indicated a chair.
He glanced at his boots and shook his head. “Might we walk in the garden? I won’t detain you long. You’ll have plenty of time to change for tea.”
“Yes, of course.” She scanned his face for some clue to his mood but, as ever, saw nothing but cold reflection. He helped her arrange her shawl around her shoulders and then held the door for her, waiting for her to precede him.
“This way.” He gestured when they reached an outside door. She went through, and he followed. Late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the terraced garden. Despite the snow, it wasn’t cold, and the sky was clear. Olivia walked beside him. He kept his hands behind his back. They passed under an arch covered by a leafless climbing rose.
“A pretty garden,” she said to break the silence.
He shrugged. “I expect you have more reason than I to know the truth of that.” He lifted a hand, palm out. “Only because you have surely been here in the spring.”
“It is lovely, then.”
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“My good friend Dr. Fansher is here at last. I’ve taken a liberty, Miss Willow, and told him of your headaches. He’s most anxious to examine you.”
She thought of her dwindling supply of coins, and her present lack of employment. “I’ve been to the apothecary in Far Caister.”
“Never mind the cost, Olivia. I insist, and so does he.”
“That is kind of you both.”
“My first Luff writes me there are three ships due at Falmouth, and he expects I shall have my pick of the command of them.”
“What, all three?”
“Those three plus another score.”
“A fleet.” Her heart sank even as she felt a surge of pride on his behalf. “That’s splendid news indeed, sir.”
“I have only to be married and quickly.”
“I’ve no doubt you’re up to the task, my lord.”
“Forgive me, I did not ask you to walk with me in order to tell you of my wedding plans.”
“No.”
“I’ve asked to speak with you at the request of your cousin. He is of the opinion, and I concur, that some advice is best heard from a disinterested party.”
“What sort of advice, my lord?”
“Allow me, for the moment, to act in the place of a guardian, an office more necessary than otherwise because your mother’s condition means you have not, I believe, the benefit of a parent’s wise advice.” They left the garden for the lawn, the way marked by lumps of snow-covered stones. Wide enough for them to walk side by side. Snow crunched under their feet.
“Go on.”
“It is a common trick among rogues to promise an innocent woman a future marriage in return for a present liberty. And she, flattered by the notice of a handsome and well-formed man of some fortune and consequence, grants that liberty. Once the liberty is gained, the impetus for a permanent union vanishes. The price is inevitably greater for the woman than for the man. She pays with her honor and reputation, and once those are spent, she cannot regain them, however naive or sincere her belief in the promise made to her.”
She took a deep breath. “You believe my conduct leaves me open to such a charge?”
“Your behavior, so far, has been irreproachable.”
“Then what prompts you to be so free with your advice?”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
She glanced down, saw the battered tips of her boots hitting the hem of her gown. “My apologies.”
“I believe, and your cousin concurs, that you are in danger from a rogue just such as I have described.”
“May I know of whom you speak?”
“Who else but James—Lord Fitzalan?”
“He’s done nothing dishonorable. I assure you.”
Tiern-Cope matched her stride on the path. “May I ask if he has engaged your affections?”
“I find him amiable in the extreme. I cannot complain of his character, my lord.”
“And if I told you he plans to let you believe he’ll marry you, if that false impression will gain him his designs upon your person?”
“I would not believe it.”
“Your faith in him is admirable.”
She tipped her head toward him and found him watching her. “And that faith will not falter until I have evidence to make me believe I should have so poor an opinion of him.”
“If it is then too late?”
“He flirts with all the young ladies, my lord. That doesn’t mean he proposes to them all or means to seduce them all. I appreciate your warning, but Lord Fitzalan has done nothing to make me think he has inappropriate intentions.” She laughed. “Why would he? I have red hair.”
“So you do, Miss Willow.”
“There you have it.”
“I confess myself mystified by your conviction that your hair renders you unattractive.”
“You don’t like my hair.”
“I cannot imagine how you got that impression. That, however, is not the issue at hand. James has admitted to me he means your reputation no good.”
She slowed, hearing the ring of conviction in his voice. “Is that true?”
“You are a very pretty woman, Miss Willow, and men will notice you. James admires you. He admires your person, red hair and all. Rest assured, if I may be bolder than I ought, he desires more than is proper. I have warned him from this path, but I cannot guarantee he will take another. I regret my friend would deal with you so coarsely. He is charming, Miss Willow. And he intends to convince you of a very great untruth which means he is more charming than usual.”
They came to a fork in the path. Left to the lake and the boathouse, straight on to the oak. She liked James. He amused her. The truth was she was flattered by his attentions, and she took some pride in thinking she’d earned the respect and admiration of a man like Lord Fitzalan. And Tiern-Cope was right. She had begun to think Fitzalan meant more than friendship. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch downward.
Tiern-Cope nodded at the oak at the end of the path. “Let us walk just there and back.” When they reached the tree, he grabbed a branch and dislodged a waterfall of snow from the leaves. “Better, now?”
She pointed to Pennhyll. “There’s my window.” They faced the north tower, the oldest wing. “Three floors up. Do you suppose if we wait long enough we’ll see the Black Earl pacing the ramparts?”
“No, I do not.”
“Of course not.” She gave him a look. “It’s just that sometimes—”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She turned. Staring into the oak leaves over her head, she wished her head did not pound. “Look. Mistletoe.”
“So there is.” He shifted. “I am not going to kiss you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” She winced because her skull felt like someone was pounding a nail into it.
“Does your headache bother you?” He touched her temple, and she nodded. The inside of her head felt stuffed full. “Still having bad dreams?”
“Nightmares.” She put her palms flat to his chest and spoke to the buttons on his coat. “Always the same. A face looming over me. I can’t breathe. I feel helpless. And frightened.”
“Hush, my heart.” His fingertips nudged her chin up so that she looked into his face. “Hush.”
She leaned against him. “Why can’t I remember?”
“It isn’t time, yet.” His hands landed on her shoulders.
“When, then? When will it be time?” She pushed away, leaving his embrace. “I’m cold.”
Tiern-Cope faced her. “I am at your command, Olivia.” He slipped a hand under her elbow. They walked toward the castle in comfortable silence until he released her. Then, she found herself taking two steps for every one of his. Perhaps ten yards from the house, he whirled, and she collided with him. He steadied her, and they backed apart. “There is one other matter I wish to discuss.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve spoken at length with your cousin. He, too, is concerned by the way in which James singles you out, and upon less knowledge of the circumstances than I. In the main, I should say, he has convinced me he has your interests at heart.” He plucked the edge of her shawl, twitching it over her shoulders. “Given the circumstances, your cousin is prepared to make amends in the only way left him. With all that my family has done, I cannot help but feel responsible for you.”
“I told you before, I don’t want your pity.”
“You do not have it.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Let there be no mistake. Marriage, Miss Willow, is what your cousin intends and what James does not. Your cousin’s offer you will have in earnest.”
A sick feeling uncurled in the pit of her stomach. Her head throbbed. “He doesn’t love me. Nor do I love him.”
“What does that signify?” His eyes snapped with frost. “You do not know him well, for all that you are such near relations. But he has much to recommend him. He’s possessed of a substantial estate, as well you know, and can certainly support a wife in comfort. Your antecedents are impeccable. Though by marrying you he would raise your from your present difficulties, he, on the other hand, cannot be said to be marrying down. It is a remedy he ought to have seen sooner than this.”
“Was it your idea?”
“Not entirely. Come along.”
When they reached the door from which they’d exited, Tiern-Cope held it open. “Come now, Miss Willow, you must admit your future is not a bright one. Marriage to your cousin is an excellent solution. Nothing could be more logical.”
“I am sure that’s so.”
He followed her through to the salon. At the doorway to the interior hall, he stopped her with a hand to her elbow. “He will be here for the ball and that bloody ridiculous seance of Diana’s. When he proposes, Miss Willow, you will accept him.”
“I don’t want to marry him. He makes me—Oh, I can’t describe it.” His eyebrows lifted in amusement, and she knew what he was thinking. “You are a wicked man. Not that.”
“Not what?”
“Uneasy. He makes me uneasy.” Lord, his eyes were blue.
“You’re not used to being courted.”
“It’s not as if I’ve never had a beau.”
“Very well, then courted by someone you do not know well. Doubtless you would be—uneasy—if I were courting you.”
“That’s unkind, my lord.”
“How so?” He waved a hand, towering over her. “Marriage is the only solution to your predicament.” She couldn’t back up because he continued to hold her elbow. He put his back to the door. His eyes moved around the room, paused on something and then focused on her. “Have you another candidate in mind? You have only to tell me his name, and I will do what I can for you.”
“Women like me don’t have their pick of suitors.”
“What do you mean, women like you?” He leaned against the wall by the door, arms over his chest.
“Like me. Like this.”
“Like what?” He captured her wrist. “Women like what, Miss Willow?”
“My lord.” Did he not understand the problem? “I have red hair.”
“By God, you do.” And then he kissed her.