CHAPTER THIRTEEN
livia paced the drawing room nearest the front door, hands clenched tight behind her back. The house was unbearably quiet without Adam, Daphne, or Niall filling it, with night fallen heavy outside and the unbearable wait making each minute creep by with maddening slowness. Daphne and Niall had managed to slip from the house before Adam had, off to meet Bertram’s victims at the home of the Bellinghams. Adam, who had been too distracted to think of anything other than this night’s meeting, had not noticed. He seemed intent only on murdering Bertram in cold blood, shunning food or drink or conversation as he sat about brooding, his eyes distant and dark.
He intended to meet Bertram in The Mint, a slum as far from the West End of London as could be, where they might go undetected. Lord Fairchild would arrive expecting to be paid his asking price, but Adam would give him a bullet through the heart instead. Little did he know that Daphne would be there, lying in wait for them both along with the magistrate and a handful of Bow Street Runners. Bertram would be informed of the charges being leveled against him and taken to the gaol. From there, they would await a trial.
The plan seemed foolproof. Daphne had thought of everything. Niall and the escorts of the other women would go along for protection. There was nothing she could do but wait for them to return—Daphne and Niall happy because they’d succeeded, Adam stone-faced and furious that they’d gone behind his back. However, her brother would calm once he was made to see reason. He would understand that it was better this way, for Bertram to be publicly tried and executed for his crimes. This was the best way to protect everyone involved while ensuring the guilty party got what he was due.
Despite knowing that from this night forward, Bertram could never harm her or anyone she loved ever again, Olivia could not squelch this feeling deep in her gut … a feeling that something was not quite right.
She could not describe it, but as she glanced at the ormolu clock ticking away on the mantle, she realized that they ought to have returned by now. It could not possibly take this long to confront and take a man into custody … could it?
The clatter of wheels outside nearly made her jump out of her skin, its closeness and speed both relieving and alarming at once. She dashed to the nearest window and peered out into the night, eyes wide at the sight of the hackney coach rolling to a halt before the front steps. The door flew open, and Niall jumped down first, the gas lamp directly overhead illuminating his drawn face and bloodstained hands.
“Oh, God!” she cried, a hand flying up to her pounding heart.
She calmed only a bit when she realized the blood was not his. She pressed a hand to the windowpane, wanting to call out to him. Her heart leapt into her throat as he turned to dash down the lane, leaving the hackney door open for the other occupants.
Adam came next, a bundle wrapped in a dark cloak held tight against his chest. His face was wild with panic, his long legs propelling him swiftly to the front steps. The head in the crook of his arm lolled, falling free of its hood to reveal a mass of auburn hair and a face that had gone far too pale.
“Daphne!” she wailed, running out into the vestibule to meet Adam as he barreled through the front door held open by a footman.
Even in the dim lighting, Olivia could make out the overabundance of blood staining Daphne’s gown and cloak, all of it originating from her shoulder. She’d gone unconscious and lay limp in Adam’s arms, though Olivia could hear her harsh, labored breathing. The woman just barely clung to life.
“What happened?” she demanded, accepting a lamp from a footman and falling into step beside him to light the way.
“She was shot,” he said, hurrying to the stairs.
Clutching at her dressing gown and nightgown to keep from tripping over the hems, she followed as fast as she could, her shorter legs making it a struggle. “Shot? By whom? Where is Niall?”
“Gone to fetch a surgeon,” he said before his voice lifted to echo through the entire house. “Maeve! Maeve, come quickly!”
They reached the landing and flew down the corridor, only to find Maeve coming from the opposite direction with an armful of linens. She cried out at the sight of them, losing hold of her laundry. The white cloths fluttered to the floor as she stumbled to a stop.
“Good Lord, what has happened?” she cried, wringing her hands and approaching with tears in her eyes.
“She’s been shot,” Olivia told her as Adam stormed into the room, intent upon Daphne alone. “Niall’s sending for a surgeon. We will need those linens, hot water, more light, and … and … perhaps some spirits. Something for the pain.”
She did not know what else could be done. As far she knew, all laudanum had been banned from the house, and a bit of whisky or brandy might be all they had on hand. Daphne would need it. When she awoke—if she survived—she was going to be in a tremendous amount of pain.
“Right away,” Maeve replied, before turning to dash back down the corridor.
In her haste, she forgot the linens, so Olivia set her lamp on the nearest table and went to retrieve the cloths, certain they would need every single one. When she entered the room, she found Adam seated on the bed beside Daphne’s prone form, one of his hands wrapped tightly around hers.
“Goddamn you, you stubborn thing,” he growled. “Don’t you dare die. Do you hear me? If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”
Olivia’s chest ached at the sight he made, his distress clear despite his stillness and stoic face. No one knew him better than she did … no one knew how deeply he must care for this woman if he would allow himself to give a damn whether she lived or died.
She hurried to light a fire, not bothering to wait for a servant. They needed to illuminate this room so the surgeon could see what he was about when he arrived. In the meantime, they would do what they could for Daphne. They owed her as much for all she’d done for their family, almost losing her life in the process.
Once the fire roared to life, Olivia came to the other side of the bed and began freeing Daphne of her cloak. Adam seemed incapable of anything other than holding her hand and threatening her life should she decide to die on him. The irony of such a threat was not lost on her, but she supposed it was his way of letting Daphne know he cared.
“How did this happen?” she asked, gingerly working the cloak from under Daphne.
The coppery tang of blood flooded her senses, niggling at her grisly memories and threatening to bring them back to life. But she swallowed past the lump of fear in her throat and choked her own reactions down, forcing them deep into her belly. This was no time for her to go falling apart. Her hands remained surprisingly deft as she freed the other woman of her cloak.
“Bertram,” he ground out from between clenched teeth. “The bastard pulled a gun … refused to allow himself to be arrested. When confronted with his crimes, he turned into the sniveling little shite I’ve always known him to be. The gun … he pointed at me before I could draw my own pistol. It was aimed right at my chest … he would have shot me.”
Olivia paused in the midst of brushing Daphne’s hair back from her face and neck, glancing up at her brother. Her throat constricted at the thought of him being carried into this house with blood pouring from his chest—perhaps lifeless and without breath. Just imagining it made her want to weep.
“Daphne saved you,” she whispered.
Adam shook his head in disbelief. “The idiot. She threw herself in front of that gun … she saved my life, but she might have doomed herself.”
Maeve arrived then, with two other maids on her tail. They came bearing bowls and buckets of hot water, more linen, candles, scissors, and two bottles of spirits. Olivia accepted the scissors from one maid while the other began lighting tapers and settling them around the room to offer more light.
“She can survive this, Adam,” she assured him while cutting Daphne’s garments away from her body. “She is a strong woman. I think she has proven that by how steadfast she has been in tolerating you.”
He gave a dry chuckle at that, but did not bother to deny how obstinate he was.
Olivia made quick work of the gown, cutting right through the string of Daphne’s stays before splitting her chemise and petticoats right down the middle. Adam was forced to release her hand as Maeve approached to help pull the shredded garments from under Daphne’s body. Then, together, they began bathing away the blood. There was far too much of it—more than a body ought to contain. But, it came slowly from the wound, oozing as if it had been stifled by pressure. If he and Niall had managed to slow it, she stood a chance. The injury was ugly, the bullet having lodged deep in her shoulder. Angry red lines grew away from the entry point, the flesh around it swollen and jagged. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, her breath noisy as it sawed in and out through her mouth.
“What became of Bertram?” she asked while gently bathing the flesh around the wound. She needed to know that he’d pay for this as well, that his little stunt had not helped him to escape justice.
“He was taken down screaming and spitting like a madman,” Adam grumbled, unstopping one of the bottles of spirits and taking a gulp. “If Daphne had not needed me, I would have put him down myself. But he’ll face a trial for what he did to you and the other women, and probably the attempt on Daphne’s life, as well. This was what you all wanted, was it not … when you went behind my back to arrange this little coup?”
Olivia paused in her ministrations, gazing up at him with eyes she felt certain betrayed everything.
“I did not realize it beforehand,” he said. “But all the way home in the hack, I was able to think over how Daphne and Niall pulled it off. Did you think I would not realize you helped them?”
With a sigh, she went back to her work, switching her bloodied linen for a clean one to bathe the splattered droplets from Daphne’s neck and face. “Of course I helped them, Hart. Did you think I’d let you go down with him?”
“You should have!” he snapped. “If it meant you and Serena would be safe … if it meant Daphne could be free of him, too. Now look at her. She could die, and all because you and Niall could not leave well enough alone!”
Her mouth fell open, her annoyance with him warring with her pity on his behalf. He worried for Daphne, but she certainly did not appreciate being blamed for their present situation.
“Perhaps if you had not been so hell-bent on your revenge, we might have all been spared the need for secrecy and lies,” she spat, glaring at him over Daphne’s prone body. “If you had not been so bullheaded, perhaps she wouldn’t have had to go behind your back, and I wouldn’t have had to help her! Maybe if you’d listened to her, she wouldn’t have had to take a bullet to save your miserable life. Perhaps you ought to think of all she’s given up to save you, even though you do not deserve it. Furthermore, you might remember that justice for Bertram’s crimes was never yours to pursue. Justice belonged to me. It belonged to Lady Cassandra and Lady Parham and all those other women who stood up to him tonight—who will tell the world what he did to them so the other young ladies of the ton need not suffer as we have suffered. Then, you might thank us for taking him down and helping you keep your idiotic head on your shoulders where it belongs!”
Niall and the surgeon arrived just as she fell silent, the weight of Adam’s stare resting upon her, his eyes alight with shock. She did not think she’d ever spoken so forcefully to him. As she arranged a bed sheet over Daphne for modesty and stepped back to let the surgeon through, she could only hope he’d take her words to heart. If Daphne survived this, it might not be too late for Adam to make up for the hell he’d put her through.
She went to Niall as the surgeon leaned over the bed on one side, Adam hovering close by on the other. He took her into his arms, clinging tight to her. His gaze was haunted as he looked down at her, his face tight and drawn. He had to have seen Daphne get shot, and she could only imagine how distressing that must have been. She held him as tight as he held her, offering him what comfort she could.
After poking and prodding for a moment, the surgeon straightened, opening the black bag he’d laid on the bed beside Daphne. “There are far too many people in the room. I’ll need it clear to perform the extraction.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Adam snapped almost before the man had finished speaking. “The rest of you can go.”
Maeve moved by rote to obey the master’s orders, shooing the other maids from the room. Olivia hesitated a moment, even as Niall took her hand and began tugging her after them. She met Adam’s gaze and found him staring back at her, anger and grief warring in his eyes. She did not like abandoning him alone when he was in such a state.
“Go,” he urged again. “I’m not leaving her, but you should not be here for this.”
She nodded, allowing Niall to pull her into the corridor and close the door behind them. As the panel swung closed, the surgeon’s voice floated out to them.
“You’ll want to be prepared with those spirits, my lord. When I go in for the bullet, the pain will awaken her, and she’ll be grateful for a little something, I’m sure.”
Adam’s deep voice rumbled through the closed door, and a moment later, Daphne’s sharp scream rang out through the house loud enough to wake the dead. Olivia flinched, her legs going weak as she wailed like someone being stabbed in the heart. While she was glad Daphne had lived, she did not know which was worse—her silent unconsciousness, or her present state.
“Come, Livvie,” Niall urged, trying to pull her away from the door. “There’s nothin’ we can do but wait and pray.”
And wait they did, after looking in on Serena to ensure the commotion hadn’t awakened her. Seeing she still slept soundly, they retreated to the drawing room where Niall paced and swigged brandy from a tumbler while Olivia sat before the harp. Desperate for a diversion, something to keep her mind off the screams of the woman being tortured upstairs and the stains of her blood upon Niall’s clothes, she played. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the music, finding succor in it and hoping it gave Niall something to focus on, as well.
She strummed the harp for what felt like hours, playing every composition that came to mind, then pulling her own music out of thin air, stringing together notes and chords until she nearly collapsed from exhaustion. By the time she came to, the sun had just begun to rise over the windowsill, setting the room aglow with orange and pink light. Niall had laid upon a settee and fallen asleep, his empty tumbler resting on a side table. The surgeon appeared in the doorway just as she stood from her stool, back aching, legs screaming in protest, fingers cramped.
She came forward to meet the man, her palms breaking out in a sweat as she awaited the news. “Well?”
“I was able to successfully remove the bullet and staunch the flow of blood before sewing the wound. Because the shot was not through and through, she was able to sustain in time for me to get to her. From here, you can only wait … keep the wound clean, change the bandages frequently, give laudanum or spirits for the pain. We will not know until she awakens, but there could have been damage done to her nerves. It could mean she’ll lose use of the entire arm, or limited dexterity. It is better than death, I daresay. The earl is with her now … I will return in a few days to look in on her. If she remains abed to allow the injury to heal, I predict she will regain her strength in time.”
Olivia breathed a heavy sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging and her head growing light. Fatigue slammed into her in an instant, having been held at bay until she knew what would become of Daphne.
“We are grateful for your help.”
“Tell His Lordship to send for me if he has a need. Perhaps you ought to rest now.”
She nodded, watching numbly as he turned to leave, accepting his coat and hat from a waiting footman before stepping out into the dawn. The closing door snapped her out of the daze, and she set off toward the stairs. Niall should be allowed to sleep as long as he needed. She would not wake him, not even to give the good news. It could wait until he’d had some rest. For now, she needed to see for herself that Daphne was all right.
She passed Maeve along the way, the maid sporting dark circles beneath her eyes as she carried an armful of pink-tinged linens to be disposed of. The poor girl likely hadn’t slept a wink, either, too worried over their mutual friend.
Finding the door to the bedchamber open, Olivia peered inside, her heart wrenching at the sight she found. Daphne lay abed, freshly washed from head to toe, a sleeveless nightgown covering her. Clean white bandages wrapped around her injured shoulder, and her braided hair rested upon the pillow. She was still paler than Olivia would have liked, but her breathing had quieted. She found Adam wrapped around her, taking up the other half of the bed. He lay with his face buried against the curve of her neck, chin rested on her good shoulder, one arm draped carefully across her body.
It seemed Daphne was in good hands at the moment, and would continue to be until she woke up. As there was nothing else for her to do here, she stepped back out into the corridor and closed the door, going off to seek her own bed.
Three days passed during which the entire household seemed to hold its breath waiting for Daphne to awaken. Niall accompanied Olivia to the sickroom often to find Adam either seated in a chair at the bedside or laying with her, fast asleep. He barely ate, slept for only a few hours at a time, and guzzled brandy from the decanter Niall ensured never went empty—as much for Daphne’s sake as for his. It shocked him to realize how much Hart cared about the chit, considering how much he’d hated her in the beginning. But, she’d proved herself to not only Adam, but to him and Olivia time and time again, showing them that she was not like the family she’d been born into. No, she was a warrior who had fought to get justice for his Livvie and nearly died in the process. For that, she’d always have his unwavering esteem.
It was also clear that Adam cared for her more than he’d wish to admit. Because the man had lost nearly every person he’d ever loved, Niall prayed Daphne wouldn’t be next. Hart was resilient, but this loss, he might not survive.
Fortunately, their worry did not last long. On the third day, Niall walked past the open door of the study to find Adam seated at the desk. He faltered in the doorway, shocked to find him here instead of tethered to Daphne’s side as he had been for the past three days. He had bathed and changed clothes, his hair brushed back from his face, his jaw sporting a fresh shave. The quill in his hand moved rapidly over a sheet of paper.
Niall leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat, waiting for him to notice he was no longer alone. Adam straightened and met his gaze, leaning back in his chair and setting his pen aside.
“You may as well come in,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion as well as resignation. “I’ve just sent for Livvie, and this concerns you as much as it does her.”
He frowned. “All right. What of Daphne?”
“She awakened this morning,” he replied, folding his hands over his abdomen and leaning back in his chair. “From the look of things, she’ll be just fine. We, however, are vacating this house first thing tomorrow.”
Niall’s scowl deepened, but before he could ask why, Olivia entered the room.
“What’s going on?” she asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “Why would we go back to Dunnottar now, with Daphne still recovering? She won’t be fit to travel for weeks.”
Sighing, Adam ran a hand over his weary face. “Come in and sit, both of you … and close the door. There are things we must discuss.”
Niall and Olivia traded questioning glances. She seemed to know as little about what was happening as he did, so he simply urged her into the room with a hand at her back, then pushed the door closed before following her inside. They took the pair of armchairs facing Adam’s desk, waiting silently to hear what he would say.
“Firstly,” he began. “Daphne will not accompany us to Dunnottar. We will vacate the house and leave her here, living out the duration of our London stay in a hotel. I’ve already acquired accommodations that will see us catered to in the usual fashion. Bertram’s trial could take weeks, after which we are free to leave.”
Olivia shook her head, eyes darting as she tried to make sense of this. “Why would you leave Daphne in a townhome you purchased? Why wouldn’t we all go home together?”
“Because this is not my house … not any longer. It now belongs to Daphne.”
He produced a document and held it up for their inspection. It turned out to be the deed to the townhouse, the words written upon the parchment declaring her the owner outright.
“I don’t understand,” Olivia murmured. “Why, Hart?”
“Because this is her family home,” he said, reminding Niall that Olivia had always been ignorant of this fact. “I purchased it when her family was forced to sell it after I’d bankrupted them. Yet another way for me to publicly shame them.”
Olivia gasped, the sound heavy with dismay. “And you brought her here to live … you brought us all here as if to torment her with it? Did you know about this, Niall?”
The back of his neck flushed hot, shame hanging over his head now that all had been said and done. Safe to assume he and Adam would both struggle with their regrets when it came to their handling of Lady Daphne Fairchild—for Niall had had his friend’s back for every bit of it.
“Aye,” he said. “But that was before I knew her … before you knew her.”
“It no longer matters,” Adam declared. “I am releasing Daphne from my life … from our lives. Her place here was not willing. Not in the beginning, anyway. Letting her go and giving her back a bit of what I took from her seems as good a price to pay for her saving my life as any.”
Olivia came to her feet, hands clutched tight in her skirts. “But you cannot! Adam, she needs us … she needs you! We can’t just leave her behind, not now!”
“I can, and I will. She’s already been informed of my decision.”
“But you love her. Don’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at her, the way you hovered at her side when you thought she might die. How can you simply walk away from her now that the worst of it has passed?”
Adam slammed a fist down upon the desk, narrowing his eyes at his sister. “It is because I love her that I’m walking away! If it weren’t for me, she’d have never been shot. I’ll suffer enough guilt over that without you browbeating me, thank you very much. Now … it is done, and we are finished discussing it. Neither of you are to go into that sickroom. After this morning, I doubt she’d want to see any of us, anyway. My decision is made and is final. What I really want to discuss is you, Livvie … the two of you, in fact.”
Niall perked up at that. He did not like this business concerning Daphne any more than Olivia did, but there’d be no talking Adam out of his decision.
“What is it, Hart?” Olivia asked, her tone softening as she sank back into her chair.
“It is funny,” he began, leaning forward and bracing his elbows upon his desk top. “I’ve been so absorbed with pursuing Bertram’s downfall to the end that I missed what was happening before my eyes. You’ve blossomed, butterfly. You’ve been growing stronger each day, and I … I feel like such an ass for not seeing it until now. It means more to me that you are finding your way back to being happy than for Bertram to die. That was always the most important thing to me, and I hope you know that.”
Olivia’s anger with him vanished in an instant, and she reached over to place one hand on top of his. “Of course I know that, Hart. Even if I haven’t always approved of your methods, I always knew you were fighting for me. You and Niall did battle for me when I could not do it for myself. You cared for Serena when I was not able, and I could never tell you how grateful I am for you.”
“And, Niall,” Adam said, turning to glance at him. “You’ve been my brother in so many ways, loving my sister without fail and having my back at all times. I used to question what the two of you had. I was against the idea of you being together at all, thinking that for Olivia it was only a phase, that she’d grow out of you and find a husband here in London. But, five years of watching you two together and hating that you could not be what you once were … it made me wonder if I hadn’t been wrong all these years. It made me see just how strong your bond was … is.”
Olivia was reaching out with her other hand, taking one of Niall’s while still clinging to Adam’s. “You were. I’ve always loved him, Adam. We just … we thought we’d never be together the way we wanted.”
Niall had never told him of their planned elopement, or the earl’s interference. He felt certain that even after all that had happened, Hart would kill him for having hurt Olivia all those years ago.
Adam nodded slowly, glancing back and forth between them as if searching for something. “Is that what you want now—to be together, permanently?”
Olivia turned her questioning gaze to him, the doubt in her eyes breaking his heart. Of course she looked to him for an answer to the question. She had proved to him time and again that she wanted him forever. As a young girl of eight and ten, she’d been willing to defy society and her stepfather to marry him. He had been the one to cry off. It did not anger him to see that she still had her doubts and fears. If anything, he was only furious with himself.
“Aye,” he replied without taking his gaze away from hers. “It’s what we want. Isn’t it, mo gradh?”
She smiled at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. A little laugh escaped her when she nodded, her fingers tightening around his. “Yes.”
Adam cleared his throat, pulling his hand away from Olivia to rise. He took up an envelope, as well as a small wooden box—an ancient-looking thing carved with vines and scrolls along its edges.
“Then, I believe you’ll be needing these,” he declared, handing both items to Niall.
His heart stuttered to a stop as he set the box upon his knee, opting to open the envelope first. When he found what was inside, he glanced up at Adam in shock, then turned to Olivia, who sat looking at him with curiosity furrowing her brow.
“It’s a special license.”
Her eyebrows shot up as she snatched the paper from Niall’s grasp. “Hart …”
“There’s a vicar prepared to perform the ceremony on any day at any time,” Hart declared. “He will come at my behest to marry you discretely. The way I see it, no one has seen you in town or in Edinburgh in over five years. Who’s to say you did not run off to marry the Stablemaster and bear his child five years ago? Who’s to say you haven’t been wed all this time, and perhaps stayed away in order to hide a scandalous union? The only ones who need know you were only recently wed are myself and Maeve—who will sign the register as your witnesses—and the vicar, who will be paid well to keep his silence on the matter. In the unlikely event that he is ever asked about your marriage, he will swear he married you months before Serena’s birth.”
Niall’s head spun as he glanced down at the object resting upon his knee. While Olivia studied the license, he lifted the little box and opened it, finding a ring inside that must surely be worth more than any amount of money he’d ever be able to earn. It looked to be several decades old, the gold setting flaunting pure cream-colored pearls interspersed with tiny diamonds glittering in the light.
Olivia glanced into the box and gasped, one hand coming up over her mouth. “Mama’s ring.”
Adam nodded. “It was always meant to be yours … along with many of her other personal effects. I’ve kept all her things stored at Dunnottar for you. I sent for the ring once I realized you’d begun to recover. I supposed that if you were feeling your way back to us, there’d be no better time than now for the two of you to finally get what you deserve.”
Niall looked to Olivia, who had begun shedding tears now, her mouth still open in disbelief. She returned his gaze, looking as dumbfounded as he felt. He could hardly think or speak, his mind and heart torn in so many directions at once. At last, Olivia could truly be his in all the ways that counted, in all the ways he’d ever wanted. There was nothing to stand in their way this time—except perhaps the strictures of a society that had never included him. It was the one thing holding him back from claiming her, the one thing that had always niggled the back of his mind.
“Hart, will ye give us a moment alone?”
Adam scowled. “Are you ejecting me from my own study?”
“It isnae yours anymore, is it? It’s Daphne’s. Now sod off, ye bastard.”
With a chuckle, he stood from behind the desk and tugged at the hem of his coat to straighten it. “I’ll wait for you in the drawing room. Take all the time you need.”
He crossed the room in a few long strides and disappeared with a quiet click of the door.
Niall studied the ring for a moment. Olivia waited in silence, her gaze still a bit unfocused. This was a dream come true for them both. Nevertheless, he could not forget his father’s words, even all these years later.
Fine things aren’t to be touched by the likes o’ me.
See that ye never forget it!
Try as he might, he hadn’t forgotten that Olivia was never supposed to be his. Loving her as he did, he realized that marrying him would bring its share of trials for her. After all she’d been through, he did not like the idea of being an added burden upon her. Neither did he like the notion of letting her go.
Plucking the ring from the box, he turned it this way and that, studying the facets of the diamonds, the gleam of the pearls. The perfect ring for his perfect woman, and he was not fit to touch it.
He glanced up to find her watching him, her gaze turned questioning.
“Niall?”
“I love ye, Livvie. Ye know that, don’t ye?”
Turning a bit in her chair, she smiled. “Of course I do … and I love you.”
“Aye. I also know ye’ve come such a long way. I’m proud of ye, mo gradh. Now that ye’ve gotten better, I cannae help but wonder if ye might not want more out of yer life.”
She frowned. “What could be more important for me than you and Serena?”
“Goin’ back to the society ye were born to. Perhaps findin’ a titled man who willnae care about Serena’s origins or any of it … someone who can give ye the fine life ye deserve.”
She stiffened, her jaw going tight. “Niall, don’t you dare … don’t you turn craven on me again.”
Raising a hand to halt her, he shook his head. “I’m not. I want ye for the rest of my life, Livvie. But I want ye to know ye have a choice … ye always had a choice. Ye’re the sister of one o’ the most powerful men in England and Scotland both. With his clout, no one’ll care where ye’ve been. The lords’ll still pursue ye, and without Bertram about, ye’d be free to enjoy it again. I just want ye to know ye dinnae have to choose me just because … well, just because of all that’s happened. Ye have a right to want the things ye were born for.”
Olivia reached across the space between their chairs to touch his hand, her palm warm and sure against his. “I was born to be with you. And nothing—not Bertram’s death, not my recovery, not a bloody thing—is going to change that. I know what I want … I think I’ve known since I was a little girl pretending to a princess up on your shoulders. I want my knight. Now get down on your knees and ask me to marry you before I wring your neck.”
He couldn’t help a laugh, a wide grin splitting his face as he found himself jumping to do her bidding. Anything to please his princess.
“Aye, m’lady,” he said, dropping out of his chair and onto one knee, holding the ring up between them.
“I dinnae have much to give ye other than myself, my name, and the wages of a butler. But if ye’ll have them, they’re yers. Everything I have … all that I am … it’s always been yers. Will ye marry me, Livvie?”
She threw herself at him, slamming into his chest and almost causing him to lose his balance.
“Yes,” she whispered before she kissed him—first his brow, then his nose, then his cheek, his jaw, and finally, his mouth.
He clung to the ring with one hand and her with the other, burying his face in her hair. Had someone asked him to describe the joy welling up in him as he returned her kiss, he would have failed. It proved simply indescribable.
“This is it,” he told her while sliding the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. “Nothing’ll ever come between us again, mo gradh, I swear it.”
She smiled and cupped his face, her eyes as bright, clear, and filled with happiness as he’d ever seen them.
“I swear it, too. I’ve always belonged to you, Niall … my one regret was that the world could never know it. Now, I want nothing more than for them all to know that I am yours and you are mine.”
He breathed a bit easier knowing she was still willing to endure the scrutiny of her peers for his sake. He’d make sure she never regretted her choice a day of their lives.
Taking his hand, she stood and urged him to his feet. “Perhaps the minister can come today!”
He clutched her hand as she all but dragged him from the room, her excitement a tangible thing filling the air with such warmth. The lilting melody of the pianoforte drew them to the drawing room, where Adam had passed the time at his favorite instrument. Spying them from the corner of his eye, he ceased playing and stood, gazing at them expectantly.
Raising their joined hands to show him she was wearing the ring, Olivia grinned. “We are getting married. As soon as you can arrange it, if you please.”
Adam graced them with a rare smile. “Congratulations. I wish the world for both of you.”
Olivia released Niall and went to him, coming up on tiptoe to embrace her brother. Hart leaned down from his substantial height to meet her, wrapping both arms around her slender waist.
“Thank you,” she whispered, becoming choked up again. “This means the world to me.”
“You mean the world to me. I’ve done all I can to care for you, but now, it is Niall’s turn. If I’m forced to let you go, I would not want it to be to anyone but him. Be free, butterfly. Be happy.”
“I will be.”
After kissing her forehead, he pulled away from her as if to leave the room, but Olivia’s hand upon his arm halted him.
“Hart, I know you said you did not want to discuss Daphne anymore, but are you certain you’re doing the right thing? Are you sure you will be all right?”
“I am, and I will be,” Adam replied. “Stop worrying about me, and enjoy this moment. I must go make the arrangements.”
Olivia released him, and he crossed the room to leave. Pausing at the door, he turned back as if he’d forgotten something.
“Two more things,” he said. “Firstly, Niall, you are released from my service, effective immediately. You are no longer my butler, Stablemaster, or anything else. From now on, you are simply my brother.”
Niall opened his mouth to protest, to insist that he must be able to provide for Olivia in whatever way he could, even if that meant continuing his duties. He’d never been a man to shun work, having been born for it.
But Adam held up a hand as if to silence him and then went on.
“Secondly, you ought to know that upon your marriage, the two of you will become the owners of Dunvar House. As well, Olivia’s dowry will be released to you to live off of. If you manage it well, it should last you a lifetime with enough to settle on Serena and any future children.”
“M-my dowry?” Olivia blurted, at the same time Niall practically bellowed, “Dunvar House?”
Adam smirked, raising an eyebrow at them. “Aye. Olivia’s always had a dowry. When Father lived, it stood at twenty-five thousand pounds. I doubled it when I sent for the ring. The deed to the house will be signed over to Niall, as it is mine to do with as I please. It pleases me to give it to you. Call it a wedding gift.”
Niall’s hands shook, his gut twisting and churning as he tried to digest all of this. He was not taking it as well as he should, feeling as if he might faint dead on the spot. Not only was he getting Livvie to have and love for the rest of his life … he was also the owner of the finest home in Edinburgh, and would become a wealthy man, to boot. A world of endless possibilities stretched out before him, in which there could be more for him than grooming horses or keeping a wine cellar. One in which he was now the master and others would serve him, work for him, cater to him, Livvie, and his little Serena. He fought the urge to pinch himself, Olivia’s solid presence beside him proving a good enough reminder that this was not a dream.
Adam slipped from the room without another word, leaving them to look at one another with varying degrees of shock and excitement in their eyes. Niall felt certain he must look quite the bumbling fool, his mouth still hanging open, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
Olivia broke the spell, jumping into his arms with an excited laugh, her arms and legs wrapping around him in a way that made him forget everything else. She was his, and that was all he needed. The rest of it was simply the cream on top of an already delicious and wonderful dessert.
“Oh, Niall, I am so happy,” she said, laying her forehead into his and holding his gaze. “We can do anything we want, have anything we want. We’ll get to live in the home we grew up in, the place where we fell in love.”
He clung to her, one hand stroking up and down her back in a soothing caress. “Ye aren’t angry at Hart for putting the deed in my name instead of yours? It should be yours, Livvie, as should the money.”
She shook her head. “It will be ours, because anything that is yours, I will live in and share with. And it is the sort of thing I’ve always hoped for you … the sort of thing I’ve known you were born for. You weren’t meant to be a Stablemaster or a butler. Now, we can discover what you can be, free from all the things that held you back. The world is ours, Niall.”
“All I ever wanted was you, mo gradh.”
Tightening her hold on him, she smiled. “You have me, Mr. Gibbs … forever and always.”