The Wedding Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

Olivia said. Her voice didn’t sound quite as shaky as she felt. She gathered Charlotte into her arms and stood up. “I most humbly beg your pardon.” She attempted a curtsey, but with Charlotte snuggled against her shoulder, it was a sadly ungraceful obeisance.
    The duke’s gaze was as chilly as the village water trough had been all the past winter. “You will understand, I am certain, that the timing of your apology makes me find your change of heart less than convincing.”
    “Truly, sir, I…” Olivia bit back the rest. What was the point of abasing herself, after all? He would never understand the panic a parent felt and how the sight of a child in danger could sweep away good judgment. What had Kate said about him? He fell in love lightly, fell out just as quickly, and was incapable of faithfulness. What would such a man know about the deep love one person could feel for another, much less a mother for a beloved child?
    Kate also had said he was delightful and funny and charming and handsome , Olivia reminded herself. Well, she would have to agree with handsome. His hair was so dark it looked almost blue where the sunlight kissed it; his form was tall and lean and muscular; and his features were regular and classical, apart from a tiny scar next to his left eye. His face might even be pleasing, she thought, if he didn’t appear to have been hewed out of a chunk of granite.
    “Your Grace,” Kate said again. She sounded breathless.
    Olivia was still keeping a wary eye on the duke. “Oh, don’t for heaven’s sake beg , Kate. I’m the one he’s annoyed at. I’m quite certain he won’t rescind your invitation to his sister’s—”
    “Olivia, don’t ,” Kate whispered. “That’s not…”
    A woman’s voice interrupted. “Miss Blakely, Mrs. Meecham at the vicarage told me I would find you here. I wished to call on you and extend my condolences in person for the loss of your father.”
    Olivia turned slowly. She knew what she would see, even though she had been so absorbed in staring at the duke that she hadn’t heard the creak of wheels or the jingle of harness as the duchess’s barouche had returned and pulled up in the road.
    The two ladies inside leaned forward in their seats as if intrigued by the standoff. The one who had spoken was middle-aged and wearing a dashingly stylish hat. Her hair, once just as dark as the duke’s, was now threaded liberally with silver. Her companion was older, with a mass of multicolored feathers on her head, a nose that would have done a hawk proud, and sharp, beady black eyes.
    “Your Grace,” Olivia said feebly, trying to curtsey to the duchess. Charlotte shifted restlessly in her arms, throwing her off balance.
    The duke swore and cupped his hand under Olivia’s elbow as if he thought she was about to fall down. His grip was not gentle, and his voice was grim. “No doubt this time you’d manage to drop her on her head.”
    Kate moved toward the barouche, curtseying so elegantly that Olivia felt like a clumsy ox.
    Charlotte reached out to pat the pristine white folds of the duke’s neckcloth, and Olivia watched in horror as a tiny purple handprint took perfect shape on the linen, right under his chin.
    The duchess was talking animatedly to Kate, but her companion sat up even straighter, peering at the duke through a quizzing glass. “Oh, Somervale,” she chirped. “You’re always so original. Tell me, are you planning to make purple-spotted clothes the new fashion now?”
    ***
    Penelope hovered anxiously as her maid packed for the trip to Halstead, watching every fold of tissue paper as Etta briskly laid gowns and shoes and shawls and wraps and headdresses into the series of trunks and hatboxes that had been brought down from the attics and lined up across the bedroom.
    “Must I really take my entire wardrobe?” Penelope ventured finally. “We’re to be there for less than a week.”
    Etta didn’t pause. “You’ll need to change clothes at least