Page 43 of A Lady Most Wayward
I’m still intimidated.
But that wasn’t quite true. Impressed? Certainly. Intrigued? Most definitely. In love?
Not possible. But infatuation sometimes feels like love.
Philippa’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Oh, darling. We are going to return to London with the speed and style a duchess demands. There’s nothing wealth and power can’t influence. Including travel arrangements.’
Philippa was as good as her word. Within the space of three hours, she organised a hired carriage and driver to arrive at the seaside cottage, had their few belongings packed and ready, and wrote messages to the Deadly Damsels. The carriage would take them to the Great Western Railway station in Exeter and from there to Paddington Station.
‘Callum, can you take these notes to a messenger and see he gets them into the hands of these ladies as quickly as possible?’
Callum shook his head. ‘There’s no one in town who can get to London faster than me. I’ll ride ahead, get your notes where they need to be, then be ready to help you when you arrive.’
Mrs Hughes stepped forward. ‘Callum.’ Her voice held fear and pride in equal measure.
Callum turned and faced his mother. ‘I’ll be all right, Mam. I’ve got to do this. I can’t stay here knowing someone has Miss Hyacinth. That she might be hurt. Not if there’s something I can do to help.’
Putting her callused palm on Callum’s cheek, she patted him. ‘Just make sure you keep yourself in one piece and come back to me, hale and hearty. You hear me, my boy?’
Ducking his head, Olivia could imagine what he must have looked like as a young lad. ‘Yes, Mam. Course I will.’
But there were no guarantees when entering a battle. And that is what they were doing. Still, Olivia found comfort in knowing Callum would be with them to help. She only hoped he didn’t hold a flame for her daughter. As soon as they found Hyacinth and freed her from the Crow, she and her daughter would be getting on a ship and leaving England forever. If the Queen was involved in this madness, escape might be the only option for all of the Damsels. Trying to imagine Philippa carving out a new life for herself far from Belgrave Square seemed nearly impossible.
God. If the Queen is involved, how can we possibly win?
Olivia shook her head and refocused on climbing into the carriage. One step at a time. Even if every step led them closer to a cliff from which they must jump.
12
The driver was possibly a demon in disguise. He blazed a trail from Cornwall to Exeter in record time, stopping only to change horses and allow the women scant minutes to manage their private needs. His focus and determination were nearly a match for her own. Philippa considered offering the man a position on her staff, but after depositing them at the railway station, he took his payment and disappeared into the busy street traffic with nary a backward glance.
The train ride to London was immensely faster and more comfortable than their journey to Cornwall, and Philippa’s carriage was waiting outside Paddington Station to take them home.
Philippa led Olivia up the impressive stone staircase, between the marble columns, and to the ornately carved door large enough to accommodate three men standing astride. Taking stock of her dreadfully wrinkled gown, she stiffened her spine in preparation for whatever caustic remarks Stokes might make. Without a hint of hesitation, she pushed open the door and strode into her entrance.
‘Stokes. Where are you? Napping, no doubt,’ she called out into the marble foyer and waited, tapping her toe.
Olivia’s eyes widened as the butler emerged from a hidden panel in the hallway.
Philippa had directed Callum to return to her house once his messages had been delivered. No doubt Stokes had loved hosting an uninvited guest. Her lips twitched just imagining the butler answering the door only to be given a note from Callum in her hand instructing Stokes to make up a bed in one of the guest chambers for the dirty, bedraggled, uncombed lad. She imagined the butler had been waiting for her arrival from that moment forward. Plotting his petty revenge. Ghastly man.
‘Ah. You’ve returned. I very nearly called the guard, thinking the house was beset upon by street toughs. How marvellous to find that it is merely the lady of the house. What an interesting choice of clothing you selected for your travels.’ The portly man had a spine so straight Philippa often wondered if he strapped a plank to it beneath his perfectly pressed coat.
‘We were attacked by highwaymen early into our journey. Certain standards had to slip while endeavouring to maintain our lives. Don’t work yourself into a lather; I can see how upsetting it is for you to imagine such peril besetting us.’
‘Indeed.’ He wrinkled his prodigious nose as though he smelled something foul. ‘As instructed, a room has been made ready for the…’ His brow rose ominously. ‘Messenger boy.’ The title might have been a euphemism for pile of rotting shit. ‘Are we starting a new custom? Housing servants in the guest wing? I must say, the maids will be thrilled.’ He flicked his gaze to Olivia before looking back at Philippa.
‘Callum is a friend who was kind enough to help me deliver some very important notes. But don’t fret. I’ll never confuse the role of friend and servant with you, Stokes. A man with such deep respect for the class system need never worry that I might breach your stalwart boundaries.’
Stokes lifted a heavy brow. ‘What a relief, Your Grace.’
‘Make up the room next to mine for Olivia.’ Philippa had taken over the duke’s rooms a year after his death. The lady’s chambers were connected to her suite of rooms and had remained empty ever since she moved out. Even when Hannah Simmons had moved into the house, Philippa didn’t feel right about giving Hannah her old rooms. It had less to do with propriety and more a desire to keep some space between herself and anyone else living in her house. Even someone she came to think of as a daughter. But for reasons she suspected were far more complex than she wished to admit, she wanted Olivia close.
‘Certainly you can’t mean?—’
‘I meant exactly what I said.’ Philippa enjoyed sparring with her butler, but she would be damned if he would censure her behaviour in her own house. He could disapprove of her all he wished, but no one was going to tell her how to live her life in the privacy of her own home.
‘Perhaps I should just…’ Olivia’s voice trailed off as her gaze bounced between Philippa and the butler.
