“Olivia!”

Olivia dislodged Snapper from her lap when she heard her mother’s voice.

It had been a week since Edward had left London, and although Olivia continued to be as busy as ever—overseeing all the tasks her mother did not wish to (which were most of them), visiting her various charities to make sure that things were going as she thought they should be, and spending time out of doors with Pearl—she felt as though she had lost a fragment of her interest in, well, everything.

The only thing that was a joyful discovery was focusing on Pearl. That night together they’d spent sipping chocolate and playing with the kittens as Pearl shyly, and then more enthusiastically, shared what it was she loved most. Her sister was more than just her sister. She was a person with her own wants, desires, and interests.

It had been a revelation, although it had also been a revelation about how horrible Olivia felt when she realized it’d taken her more than twenty years to discover the revelation in the first place.

“Coming, Mother.”

She went downstairs, wondering what task her mother was going to set for her now—yesterday it had been to do a complete inventory of the linens, even though their housekeeper was more than capable, and the day before she had had to discuss the intricacies of what type of response to send to a lady who shouldn’t be encouraged in being friends with the duchess, but wasn’t to be discouraged either.

It was all so mundane and trivial, and Olivia wished she could be as rude as Ida and just raise an eyebrow and then do whatever it was she wanted. Or be as quiet and unassuming as Pearl so that their mother would overlook her.

But neither was the case.

She walked slowly into her mother’s particular room where the duchess was ensconced on her favorite chair, her lady’s maid darning something behind her.

“Olivia, come here.” The duchess held her hand outstretched, and Olivia faltered; her mother seldom actually wanted her daughter, she just wanted her daughter to do things.

It was with a wary feeling, therefore, that she took her mother’s hand and allowed her to guide her to the seat beside the duchess’s chair.

“Do look. I’ve had a lovely invitation.” The duchess picked up a letter on the table beside her and waved it in front of Olivia’s face, too fast for Olivia to look, as her mother wanted her to.

“I would love to look, Mother, but I cannot see it.” She might as well try to imitate Ida in the viewing of letters, at least. And besides, her mother never noticed blunt speaking, what with usually not noticing anyone but herself speaking anyway.

“Here,” the duchess said, dropping the letter on Olivia’s lap. “It is from Lord Carson—it is an invite to the country for hunting and shooting and lovely walks.”

Obviating the need for Olivia to actually look at the letter since it seemed her mother had summarized it. Still, Olivia opened it, glancing at Lord Carson’s distinctive bold slashes that passed for handwriting.

It was as her mother said—an invitation to the country for a visit, nothing beyond that.

It was what she would have shrieked in joy about only a few weeks ago, back when she thought she loved Lord Carson.

But she didn’t think she did now. Did she?

“Lord Carson included directions to the house, so thoughtful of him. Of course I’ve accepted. Your father and I wish you to marry Lord Carson since Eleanor was so ungracious as to fall in love with his brother,” she said with a sniff, as though Eleanor had deliberately chosen to thwart their parents.

Which she might have; Olivia didn’t know, not having asked her. Not having asked any of her sisters much about anything.

Was it normal to feel this sense of shame for not asking questions? For assuming things? For thinking she knew everything already?

But that wasn’t important now. What was important was that they were going to the country, all of them, and Lord Carson would be there, and what if he had decided he was in love with her?

“It is up to you to marry respectably now. I thought Lord Carson would have proposed by now, so it is a relief to receive this invitation. He must want to take care of it in the country. So much fresh air and such,” her mother added, as though the level of oxygen mattered when it came to proposals.

Olivia felt her chest tighten, as though she couldn’t breathe. Perhaps her mother was on to something.

Although that would mean her mother was correct in something, and that had yet to happen, although the duchess’s determination never wavered.