Page 45 of A Lady Most Wayward
The perfect description for Philippa.
Choosing the deep-purple settee, Olivia sank onto the velvet cushion and sighed. If only she could loosen her corset, slip into her favourite and most worn nightgown, and fall into a dreamless sleep. Forget everything for a few blessed hours. She leaned her head against the back of the couch, but just as her eyes were falling closed, a maid pushed open the door. She carried a large tray covered in all manner of delightful treats. Cucumber sandwiches with soft cheese and dill, savoury tartlets stuffed with chicken and caramelised onions, tea cakes with lacy pink icing, cleverly shaped marzipan sweets, and Olivia couldn’t manage to feign interest in any of it.
How can I possibly eat when I’ve no idea if Hyacinth is hungry or cold? Scared and alone?
Though it was far more likely her daughter was happily ensconced in her uncle’s home, oblivious to the horror Cedric could unleash at any moment. It was the one comfort Olivia could take. He would want her to feel safe and pampered to ensure her loyalty remained with him until Olivia either followed his orders or defied him. Only if she didn’t bend to her brother’s will would he exert his punishment on Hyacinth. She knew him well. Waiting to exact his cruelty while he lavished his niece with attention, presents, and treats only increased her brother’s pleasure when he would finally be able to put his plan into action. Hyacinth’s feeling of betrayal would enhance her pain and suffering, which in turn would deepen his enjoyment.
‘Thank you.’ Olivia tried to smile at the maid who placed the tray on a low table in front of the settee, curtseyed, and quickly exited. A cheerful fire crackled in the large hearth that took up most of the wall Olivia faced. She might not be hungry, but tea was always welcome. Nothing bolstered the spirits quite like a strong cup of tea.
Olivia poured a dish for herself, adding a dollop of cream and a spoonful of sugar. Stirring, she absently wondered how long Philippa might take. After so many days of constant movement and companionship, it seemed strange to sit silently, alone, in a clean room.
She’s hardly been gone a few moments, and I’m already missing her.
She shook her head.
‘Don’t get used to her company, Olivia.’ Speaking out loud in the quiet room only highlighted her solitude.
She should have learned her lesson with Daisy. Opening her heart to someone like Philippa would end in shattered hopes. And besides, she had more important things to focus on than whatever stupid parts of her heart ached for Philippa.
‘Useless organ that it is.’ She sipped her tea and almost spat the mouthful onto the lush Aubusson rug. Gasping at the whiskey masking itself as tea, Olivia didn’t notice the woman who entered from a door behind her until a firm hand was patting her back. She stood abruptly, shrieking and nearly spilling the cup. ‘Who in the blazes are you?’
A woman with a prominent nose and a quizzical brow, hair slicked into a perfect chignon, wearing an expertly tailored black uniform with a crisp white apron, took Olivia’s measure. She might be dressed as a servant, but she carried herself like a queen. ‘I am Miss Delacroix. Lady’s maid to the duchess. ’oo are you?’ She wielded her French accent like a weapon, establishing her superiority.
‘I am Lady Olivia Smithwick. The duchess’ guest.’ Olivia pulled her shoulder blades together, widening her narrow frame like a peacock preparing to battle.
‘What are you doing in ’er personal chambers?’ Delacroix pursed her full lips in a perfect pout. Ever so French.
‘I was invited here. What areyoudoing in her personal chambers?’
‘My lady will be wanting me to ’elp ’er prepare for dinner.’
Something hot, ugly, and tight gripped Olivia’s chest.
Exactly how does this French maid prepare Philippa for dinner?
‘Well, she doesn’t need your help tonight.’ Olivia put her hands on her hips and remembered that she was not some wilting wallflower. She was a marchioness. She had survived ten years of bedlam only to return to the beau monde and inspire jealousy in every lusty widow, instigate fear in every innocent debutante, and command the attention of every man under the age of eighty. She intimidated others. She was not intimidated by them. Including French maids who seemed to have a rather intimate relationship with their mistress.
Not that it matters to me with whom Philippa chooses to be intimate.
Except it did matter. Quite a lot. And realising that made things even more complicated. Still, her confusion was no reason to allow some curvy woman with a sultry accent to help Philippa undress.
Exactly.
Delacroix crossed her arms over her chest, tapping long fingernails against her black sleeve. ‘I see.’ She raised her eyebrows knowingly, a smile curling at the corner of her stupidly perfect mouth. A mouth Olivia was certain had pressed against Philippa’s. The image flashing through her mind transformed jealousy into rage.
The nerve of her!
Although Olivia wasn’t sure if she was angry at Philippa for dallying with her maid, or Delacroix for seducing her mistress. A small part of her mind suggested she had no place being mad at either of them. There was no understanding between her and Philippa. Nor would there ever be, as Philippa was in love with a ghost. A woman impossible to be with in the present. A marvellous way to keep her heart insulated from life’s greatest hurts.
And its greatest joys.
It was all madness, probably brought on by Olivia’s fear, fatigue, and severe lack of food.
None of this matters. I’m leaving. Whatever I might want from Philippa could never last longer than a few moments. I have no right to place any expectations on her.
A fact which struck her like a well-placed blow.
‘Never mind. You know your mistress far better than I do. Stay if you like. It matters not to me.’ Olivia walked to the fire to warm her hands. She felt suddenly rather cold.
