Page 18 of A Lady Most Wayward
There was only one bed.
6
‘Well, at least it’s large.’ Olivia stared at the bed instead of turning to look at Philippa. ‘Unless you’d rather sleep on the floor.’ Because she certainly wasn’t giving up her side of the mattress.
Philippa’s exhalation of air was more expressive than any man’s string of curses. ‘This is unacceptable.’
Olivia moved around the bed and examined the rest of the room. It was large enough to allow for a dressing table with a bowl and pitcher of water on the western wall. Soap sat on a dish next to a cracked mirror. In the corner between the dressing table and bed was a folding screen decorated with painted flowers, allowing some privacy when they changed into their nightclothes. There were two small windows on either side of the table with a candle on each sill. A small fireplace crackled cheerfully on the wall opposite the bed. Next to the door was a desk complete with a padded stool. Compared to the tiny cell Olivia lived in for ten years at the asylum, this was palatial.
‘This is quite charming.’ She turned to face the duchess, daring the bold woman to contradict her. ‘Not all of us need a suite of rooms replete with servants, silk sheets, and plush furnishings.’
Philippa’s laugh was sharp. ‘Please. You are just as accustomed to the finer things in life as I am. Don’t pretend to be thrilled with our accommodation.’
Pampered princess.
‘You have no idea what I am accustomed to, Duchess.’
‘I know you were born the daughter of a viscount and spent your childhood in a smartly appointed townhouse in Mayfair. I know that you came into society with much fanfare, a diamond of the first water, top of every wealthy lord’s marriage list. But Percival Smithwick, though not as highly titled as some of your suitors, was wealthy enough to offer your father a staggering dowry. And I know that five years after your daughter’s birth, rumours began to circulate of your unfaithfulness. Rumours that only increased ball after ball. Season after season. Rumours you claim your husband intentionally circulated.’
Olivia’s back stiffened. ‘I claim? You don’t believe me?’
Philippa shrugged, her lavender frock wrinkling with the motion.
It gave Olivia a perverse thrill of satisfaction to see the glamorous duchess swathed in plain clothes. A petty thing to take pleasure from, but Olivia never claimed to be a saint.
‘What reason have you given me to trust your words?’ Philippa asked.
‘What reason has Percival given you to trust his?’
The duchess sniffed.
One point to me.
‘I told you. Percival found me with Daisy and became incensed. His rumours were just one more punishment. Not only did it ensure my humiliation amongst the beau monde, it made his decision to banish me so much easier for society to accept.’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Or rather, enthusiastically support. He was the victim. A loyal husband cuckolded by his beautiful wife. I can’t say how many bored widows and unsatisfied wives offered comfort to Percival. That is the ultimate irony. While Daisy was my only affair, Percival fucked his way through most of the wives in the beau monde. Though that didn’t stop his jealousy. His infidelity only increased his suspicions about my unfaithfulness. So, when I returned from exile, I egged him on with my behaviour. It was petty and cruel, but it was the only weapon I had to wield against him.’
Philippa raised an eyebrow. Her index finger rubbed in an endless circle against her thumb. It was a tell Olivia noticed after their second meeting. The duchess was irritated. ‘And what of your time across the Channel? The stories of Marchioness Smithwick charming her way into some of the most scandalous bedrooms in Europe were featured in every gossip magazine in London.The Star of Venusretained a monthly column devoted to your exploits.’
Olivia nearly choked on her bitter laugh. ‘You claim to be a woman of high intelligence, Your Grace. Yet you glean your coveted, secret, quality information fromThe Star of Venus? What would the Queen say if she knew your sources were so suspect?’
A knock sounded, preventing Philippa from responding. She scowled and strode to the door. Her hand slipped into her pocket as she cracked it open. ‘Oh. Thank you.’ Pulling her hand free of the pocket, she opened the door wider, stepping back so a young lad could haul in their two carpet bags. His eyes went wide as dinner plates when Philippa pressed a shilling into his hand.
‘Thank ye kindly, ma’am.’
With a nod of her head, the boy turned swiftly and exited.
‘What exactly do you have in those pockets? Besides all that blunt? If you keep flashing gold and silver, no one will ever believe we are spinsters on holiday. For a woman who claims to be so smart, you’re really quite stupid.’
Philippa’s sharp glare could have cut through steel. Perhaps Olivia pushed too far. But something about the woman provoked her.
The duchess slipped her hand back into the pocket. ‘I might be playing an inconsequential woman of no means, but never forget I am the Queen’s Deadliest Damsel. To answer your question, I have weapons in my pocket. Because, unlike silly marchionesses who put themselves in dangerous situations and depend on those around them for rescue, I need no one but myself. One day, there won’t be someone willing to save you, Lady Smithwick. And then what will you do?’
Howdareshe accuse me of being helpless? Iamrather defenceless, and shedidcome to my rescue, but that is hardly the point.
In fact, acknowledging her own vulnerability only further incensed Olivia. ‘You think your rage is more powerful than mine? That you can dismiss me as easily as one might step over a dead rat on the street? Just because you’ve heard stories of the wanton Marchioness of Smithwick and been thick enough to believe them doesn’t mean anything you assume about me is true. You don’t think I can defend myself? Come at me, all-powerful Duchess of Dorsett. Give me your worst and see how helpless I am. Because you’ll find yourself flat on your back with a blade to your neck, I promise.’
She might not have the fighting skills of her opponent, but she had years of brewing rage and the desperation of a woman constantly underestimated. Philippa was no different from any other stuffed prig from the beau monde. Happy to be fed a six-course meal of lies depicting Olivia as nothing more than a brazen Jezebel. It was disgusting. And Olivia was sick of pretending it didn’t matter. Thatshedidn’t matter just because her face was appealing and men – and some women – found her sexually desirable. She would no longer accept that her worth was only defined by how many people lusted after her.
Faster than Olivia could track, Philippa moved across the floor like wind through trees. Stumbling backwards, Olivia slammed into the wall by the small window. Philippa grabbed Olivia’s shoulder, pinning her to the wall and wrapped her other hand around Olivia’s throat. She didn’t squeeze, but her fingers flexed over the delicate skin, lingering where Olivia’s pulse thundered madly just below her jaw. It was an echo of the way Olivia had overcome Philippa in her ballroom, and there was no doubt the duchess did it intentionally.
