Page 12 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘I promise to protect your daughter from any danger, and once her safety is assured, you will reveal the identity of the Crow and accept whatever punishment the Queen deems appropriate. Do we have an accord?’ Philippa held out her hand and her breath, hoping Olivia didn’t see the glaring hole in Philippa’s proposal.
Olivia’s gaze flitted from Philippa’s hand to her eyes. Pressing her lips together, she exhaled through her nose and shook her head. ‘You swear to me you will do everything in your power to ensure no harm befalls Hyacinth?’
At least that was something Philippa could answer with complete honesty. ‘I do.’ Only safety for Olivia’s daughter would come in being reunited with her uncle, not sailing off across a treacherous ocean to live in a country of outlaws and wild creatures. Not that Olivia need be privy to that particular detail.
Reaching out her delicate hand, Olivia took Philippa’s, surprising the duchess with her firm grip. An electric punch of current burst from Philippa’s palm, zinging up her arm. Olivia gasped, and they both pulled free of the handshake.
‘What the Devil?’ Olivia hissed.
Philippa shook out her hand, clenching her fingers into a fist to dispel the jitter of energy. ‘We must have built up static electricity. Damn carpet.’ She looked at her feet and ignored that the floorboards were bare, making her explanation patently ridiculous.
‘Lovely. Well, you need to change, Philippa. You have a lot of ground to cover if you’re going to make the Cornish Coast in time.’ Ivy clapped her hands together.
‘Cornish Coast? What the bloody hell is in Cornwall?’
‘Charlestown Port, actually. Hyacinth is there, and so is a ship bound for the Americas.’
‘But you certainly can’t embark on your journey as the Duchess of Dorsett. You’ll draw far too much attention,’ Ivy explained as though she were talking to one of her orphans.
Olivia’s face bloomed into a smile that should have worried Philippa if she wasn’t too busy trying to clear the buzzing from her head. The woman really was far too attractive.
‘I don’t understand.’
Ivy bent to retrieve a carpet bag. ‘You shall be taking a leisurely trip to the coast for a holiday with your closest friend and companion.’
Alarm bells clanged somewhere amidst the haze Olivia’s smile created in Philippa’s thoughts. ‘Pardon?’ She tried to keep her voice calm. When one was the Duchess of Dorsett, one did not succumb to something as common as nerves.
‘In this bag are the travelling clothes for one Miss Honoria Smith. A bluestocking spinster who spent most of her life as a governess and is splashing out for a much-deserved trip to the sea with her chuckaboo.’ Ivy shook the bag.
Olivia lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. ‘That’s me. Mrs Lavinia Brown. A widower whose pension allows me the freedom of travel with my dearest friend.’
Philippa blinked three times, slowly, waiting for the scene in front of her to disappear. She must be experiencing a waking nightmare. It was the only reasonable answer.
‘I am to be a spinster. On a trip. With my… friend?’ She nearly choked on the word, for Olivia was the last person she would consider as a friend. ‘To Cornwall of all places? That’s at least a fortnight by coach. Why don’t we take the rails?’
Ivy waved away Philippa’s question. ‘Honoria and Lavinia couldn’t possibly afford tickets on the train, and they enjoy more rustic modes of travel. Just think of the time you’ll have to become better acquainted. When you finally reach the coast, you’ll have no doubt of Olivia’s guilt or innocence. I’m certain.’
Ivy’s statement did nothing to reassure Philippa. It did raise her suspicions that there was more at play here than a simple decision about trains versus carriages. Was it possible the Damsels were working against Philippa and trying to force her to get to know Olivia? Surely, they wouldn’t be so devious.
I did train each of them to be exactly that. Blast and damn.
‘I shall check on the coach and leave you to change, Honoria.’ Olivia had the audacity to wink at Philippa, her cheeks rounding as she smiled once more. Before leaving, she pulled Ivy into a tight embrace that did not cause a flare of something hot and uncomfortable in Philippa’s chest. ‘Thank you for your faith, Ivy. Whatever occurs, I will always treasure our friendship.’ Olivia pressed a kiss to each of Ivy’s cheeks in a display of affection Philippa could never allow for herself. Such open acknowledgement of intimacy only made one vulnerable to hurt and disappointment. She had been hurt before. Most grievously. She wouldn’t allow fate another chance to wound her.
Olivia swept from the room in her dismal grey gown, somehow taking some of the light with her. Which was nonsensical.
‘Let me help you change, Philippa.’ Ivy came forward, turning Philippa to begin unbuttoning the row of tiny pearls holding her dress together. She resisted pulling free of Ivy’s grasp. It would be impossible for her to change alone, but Philippa wasn’t used to anyone but Delacroix helping her with her toilet.
A new thought emerged.
‘Dear God. How are we to get along without a lady’s maid between us?’ The very idea of helping Olivia remove her dress to don a nightgown, or tangling her fingers in the woman’s wild curls to create a reasonably neat coiffure, created a fluttering in her belly akin to a charm of hummingbirds beating their wings in a frenzy. And the buzzing was back in her head.
‘You’ll be fine. The travelling clothes I packed for you are all far simpler than your gowns, and your hair will look just as well in a chignon as it does with all these braids and curls.’
‘What about Stokes? The other ladies? What excuse will you give everyone for my absence?’ Philippa realised she was speaking too quickly, but her words raced as swiftly as her thoughts.
‘I shall tell them the truth. You are following a lead on Olivia. Stokes will be pleased as punch to rule the roost for a few weeks, and the rest of us will keep searching for evidence against the Devil’s Sons.’
‘Do you think she’ll stay true to her bargain?’ Philippa let her jewelled gown fall from her shoulders, revelling in the moment of weightlessness before taking the much simpler and dowdy day dress of printed cotton. The travelling costume was a lavender hue far lighter than anything Philippa would choose. A wave of nausea rolled through her as she stepped into the narrow skirt and shoved her arms through the sleeves. It felt like a betrayal of Liza to don such light colours. She was meant to be in perpetual mourning. Yet here she was, about to embark on a journey with another woman, wearing the clothes of a merry spinster. It felt terribly wrong. And terribly exhilarating.
