Page 33 of A Lady Most Wayward
Olivia never spoke of the reason she was imprisoned in the asylum, but if Mrs Hughes had been able to extract her location from the wagging tongues of her family’s servants, then it wasn’t a stretch to imagine she’d also discovered the cause of Olivia’s punishment.
And now she’s putting me in the same room as Philippa.
Mrs Hughes had always been progressive in her views on women, but this beat them all.
Olivia turned to Philippa. ‘Well. I suppose we should go and freshen up before afternoon tea.’
* * *
Philippa couldn’t decide what infuriated her more. Seeing the disdain with which Hyacinth held her mother after everything Olivia had been through to get to the cottage, or knowing at the end of this nightmare, she would once more be holding Olivia at gunpoint – only then it would be with the intent of pulling the trigger or securing her in a cell to await her fate with the House of Lords. Because while Philippa had no faith in the justice system to hold their brethren accountable, she was quite sure they wouldn’t hesitate to castigate a woman for her crimes.
But the idea of punishing the marchioness was becoming less and less appealing. When Olivia had stepped in front of her gun, Philippa’s whole body recoiled. Not since her first assignment had she felt nauseous at pointing her pistol at an assailant. But she did today.
I must simply remember the reasons Olivia is guilty. She joined with her husband to help kidnap young orphans. Orphans who would have been sold into the flesh market. Then she refused to protect Ivy when her life was being threatened. She is an evil, horrifying, malicious woman.
Except she wasn’t. During their time together, it had become clear Olivia was a desperate woman with few choices. She was also courageous in times of peril. She was kind in times of cruelty. She was thoughtful, and funny, and wonderfully sarcastic. She would damn her own soul to protect a daughter who showed her no love and little dignity. Hardly the work of a vile fiend.
‘Please excuse Hyacinth’s behaviour today. She has been through many difficulties. I’m sure she was acting out of shock.’ Olivia’s usual bravado was deflated, and her words sounded hollow as she shut the door of their shared room. Philippa eyed another single bed, though this one was a vast improvement over their last. The linens were crisp, the pillows fluffed, and she doubted the mattress had any creatures living within it. It was also much larger than their last bed, which gave Philippa a twinge of regret.
‘We’ve all experienced difficulties. It’s no excuse for her to treat you with such disdain. I’m not sure why you tolerate it.’
Philippa took in the rest of the room. There was a dressing table with a porcelain bowl, a jug of water, and a cake of soap at the ready. An armoire – scarred, but well-polished – stood in the far corner of the room with a vase of flowers sitting atop. Pictures of ocean scenes and sunsets decorated the walls. While the signature gracing the artwork was not a recognisable name, the skill of the painter was evident. Walking closer, Philippa squinted at a squiggle in the left corner and made out a clear C and H. It was an easy bet these paintings were created by young Callum. A farmer hiding an artist’s soul.
‘I tolerate it because I deserve her enmity. I abandoned her for ten years to the cruel will of her father. And her feelings about me are not likely to improve when she realises I am going to banish her to a foreign country with no friends, no family, and no connections. Whatever love she might have once held for me will be totally destroyed when she understands her fate, so yes. I accept her disrespect because I deserve far worse. I deserve her utter contempt, and I’m quite sure I shall receive it.’ Olivia’s voice shook, and her eyes, greener than a northern forest, flashed with rage and grief. Two emotions Philippa knew well.
‘Where are you sending her?’ She wanted to cross the small space separating them and pull Olivia into her embrace. Not to seduce, but to comfort. Highly alarming. The Duchess of Dorsett did not comfort criminals. And yet, her chest ached to see such anguish on Olivia’s features erased.
‘Percival has a distant cousin who took his wife to the Americas to see what fortune he might find in the new lands. He’s done rather well for himself there, according to the letters he would send. Percival never liked him, which is all the recommendation he needs in my eyes.’
Philippa couldn’t stop the sharp laugh. ‘A sound measure for a man.’
‘His letters always sent poor Percy into a snit. I wrote to him of our need to find sanctuary for Hyacinth in August after everything… transpired. He has welcomed her into their home for as long as necessary. He and his wife live in Baltimore. They were not blessed with children, so mayhap there is some room in their hearts to care for a child, though she’s hardly that any more. It is not ideal, but she will be safe, and that is what matters.’
Not whether she loves her mother. Or is able to spend any time with her.
‘Whatever happens, I want you to know I am sorry for what you’ve lost with your daughter.’ The words ripped free from Philippa, and she was shocked at the pain of it. Pain she felt for Olivia’s suffering. She never felt empathy for her enemies.
Is she still my enemy?
Olivia tipped up her chin and swiped at a single tear trailing down her cheek. ‘Thank you.’
Tension pulled between them, tightening like a corset and making it difficult to breathe. Philippa took a step closer, and when Olivia did not retreat, she took another, then another. She stopped when Olivia was within arm’s reach.
‘You are not what I expected, Lady Smithwick.’
‘Olivia. I think we are past using titles, don’t you, Philippa?’
Hearing her name on Olivia’s lips shifted something elemental within Philippa. Few people earned the right to be so intimate with her. But Philippa yearned to hear her name once more. ‘Say it again.’
‘Philippa.’ Olivia’s voice was raw with either pain from Hyacinth’s earlier rejection or something quite different but no less vital. Desire.
Reaching for her, Philippa took her hand and pulled her closer until their bodies met, but she didn’t press her mouth against Olivia’s sweet lips. Instead, she indulged in her own need to comfort the woman. Wrapping Olivia in her arms, she held her tight. Olivia’s breasts pressed against her own, her trim waist was designed for Philippa’s hand to rest on the flare of her hip. Her body was stiff, but after a moment, Olivia softened, melting into Philippa like honey in the sunlight.
They stood that way for moments, or maybe millennia. Philippa rubbed her hand up and down the bumps of Olivia’s spine. Their breaths aligned. Her heart thumped in rhythm with the woman in her arms. Peace, an elusive and fleeting thing, descended.
Olivia pulled back first. ‘We should return to the others.’
‘Of course,’ Philippa replied. But her body ached at the loss, and she fought the urge to pull Olivia back.
