Page 30 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘I don’t doubt that you would have torn the sky apart to save your love.’ Olivia’s words soothed something bleeding in Philippa’s soul just as they caused a thrill of panic to run through her. Why did this woman see her so clearly? The woman she was. The woman she hoped to become. The woman she hated within herself. Olivia seemed to see them all. ‘But you can’t know how terrible it must have been for Liza. Sometimes, death seems far gentler than life.’
Philippa shook her head. ‘No. Where there is life, there is always hope. She took that hope with her when she died. I hate her for that.’
‘Your anger is understandable. But is it standing in front of your pain? Protecting you? Is hating Liza easier than grieving for her?’
An unbearable ache stretched inside Philippa’s chest, threatening to shatter her ribs. But Olivia kept talking.
‘I think, until you feel that anguish, the anger will never leave.’ She ran her delicate hand up and down Philippa’s arm as tears trailed down Philippa’s face unchecked, plopping onto her coat. She probably looked a complete fright. The duchess. Totally undone. It was horrifying to think about. But easier than accepting Olivia’s words. Yet even as she tried to pull away, the pain seeped from the darkest corner of her heart, desperate to flow as free as her tears.
‘Let it run through you, Philippa. Don’t be afraid.’
Ridiculous. I’m never afraid. Except any time I think of Liza. And every time I look at Olivia. And now. Right now, I’m bloody terrified.
Because the grief was too large. Too heavy. Too sharp. Like the waves crashing far beneath them and the jagged rocks upon which they crashed. Grief was both of those things. And she wasn’t strong enough to feel all of that without exploding into a million tiny pieces. So, she called forth her rage to push back the sorrow.
‘What could you possibly know of my pain?’ Lashing out seemed far wiser than letting Olivia see her with no shields. ‘You don’t know me, Marchioness. And you never will.’
Olivia pulled her hand back. Her green eyes flashed with hurt before they hardened like emeralds. She nodded her head in agreement, but it didn’t feel like a triumph. ‘No. You are going to make sure of that, aren’t you? Because you don’t want anyone to see behind your carefully curated image of the powerful, fearless Duchess of Dorsett. Always right. Always in control. You wouldn’t want people to discover the broken, terrified, lost woman you really are, Philippa Winterbourne.’ She flipped over, punched her coat and flomped back down, giving Philippa her back. ‘But I see you. And you can’t frighten me away by shaking your stupid sword and telling me I don’t know you or your pain. I know you better than you think.’ Flipping back, she pointed a finger at Philippa’s face. ‘And you can’t force me to fight you because that’s the only thing you know how to do when your feelings get too scary. Perhaps we’re both cowards, but at least I’m trying to change.’ Olivia turned away again, her hair slapping Philippa’s cheek. ‘Goodnight, Duchess.’
Philippa wanted to reach out, pull Olivia’s shoulder down so she could see her face, and apologise for being a total arse. But the duchess did not apologise because she was never wrong. It was a thought that usually brought her great comfort. But she didn’t want to be right. Not about this.
‘Goodnight, Marchioness.’
Nothing about this night was good. Olivia was right. Philippa was a coward. She didn’t have the strength to stay true to her oath to Liza and walk away from Olivia, but neither did she have the courage to reach out and pull Olivia into the cradle of her arms. She could feel the heat of Olivia’s body, but couldn’t let the warmth sink past her own skin and melt the ice freezing her soul. Olivia offered comfort and understanding, but Philippa couldn’t accept it without betraying a woman she loved and hated in equal measure. There was always a choice. Hers was just an impossible one.
9
Three days of riding from sunrise to sunset answered three questions Olivia never thought to ask. Was sleeping outside charming? Decidedly not. Would she ever be comfortable on horseback? Surprisingly so. Did the Duchess of Dorsett have any human emotions at all outside of anger? A resounding yes, but they were a tangled mess. And with good reason. The woman had gone through hell, and she was still reeling from Liza’s death. It was a fearsome blow.
After their night in the cliffside cottage, Olivia expected the duchess to resume her snarky attitude. Philippa certainly made it clear the last thing she wanted was Olivia’s comfort or concern. But the following morning, she had gone out of her way to make tea for Olivia. Her hand had lingered on Olivia’s waist when she helped her mount. Throughout their three-day journey, she had taken care to stop more often and travel at an easier pace. But the true shock came on their last night. Most of their food was gone, but they had been hoarding a shortbread cookie. When Philippa had handed the prized treat to Olivia with a ridiculous excuse about not liking shortbread, Olivia knew the woman was trying to apologise.
I won’t let you off so easy, Duchess. If you want my forgiveness, you’ll need to ask for it outright. After you help me get Hyacinth to safety, and before you lock me in Newgate.
Olivia shook her head at her own stupidity. She knew Philippa had more feelings than she wanted to admit, but she wasn’t sure if any of them included friendliness toward Olivia. Even if they did, it wouldn’t stop the duchess from accomplishing her goal of ensuring Olivia faced judgement for her crimes. And how could Olivia argue with her? She was guilty of being willing to sacrifice children she didn’t know for the child she did. A child she was going to see in mere moments. Hope and fear battled within her. Hope that Hyacinth might be grateful for her return. Fear that she wouldn’t.
They plodded along the gravel lane leading to the small farmer’s cottage made entirely of stone. It perched next to a green field ending in a rocky cliff. A path of steps cut from the stones led down to a cove where sand sparkled in the autumn sunlight.
A young man emerged from the door and squinted against the sun as he watched them approach. Well-worn breeches, a homespun shirt, and a battered waistcoat declared his station in life.
‘Callum! It’s good to see you,’ Olivia called from the horse’s back, not wanting to alarm the young man.
His stern face softened in recognition, though he did not smile. Light-brown hair curled into his grey eyes. He crossed thick arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. ‘Lady Smithwick. I’m hoping you’ve come to collect your daughter and get her far away from here. She’s a terror right and true, she is.’
Philippa shifted behind her, and the horse slowed to a stop in front of Callum.
‘And who is your travelling companion?’ Callum stepped forward to assist Olivia in dismounting.
‘Just a friend.’ Philippa spoke before Olivia could. Looking at Callum’s outstretched hand as though it were a rotten limb infested with the plague, she easily swung her leg over the horse and slid nimbly to her feet. Callum took a step back, his eyes assessing the duchess.
‘And do you have a name, or shall I call you “friend”, though I must admit you don’t seem very friendly.’
‘I’m not.’
The hostility sparking between them was neither necessary nor helpful.
Olivia stepped between Philippa and Callum. ‘This is, er…’ She’d forgotten the blasted name they’d given Philippa. Gertrude? Edna? No, it was something with an ‘H’.
Philippa’s derisive snort created a hot blush to creep up Olivia’s neck. ‘You can call me Winters.’ Not a bad pseudonym, as she was currently projecting about as much heat as that frigid season. And since it was so close to Philippa’s actual name of Winterbourne, Olivia was sure to remember it.
