Page 40 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Hyacinth’s usually up with the starlings. I’ll just pop into her room and check on her.’ Mrs Hughes pushed her chair back to rise, but Olivia scrambled to her feet.
‘Don’t. I’ll do it. I can’t remember the last time I woke her.’
Mrs Hughes’ cheeks creased, and her eyes softened. ‘Right you are, Ollie.’
‘Ollie?’ Philippa raised both brows, looking from Mrs Hughes to Olivia.
Olivia was the one hiding her blush now by turning quickly to rush down the hall.
Mrs Hughes speared a kipper with her fork. ‘A pet name I used when she was just a girl. Always getting into scrapes, that one. Fearless. She kept me on my toes, that is certain.’
Philippa desperately wished for a splash of whiskey in her tea. ‘A trait her daughter seems to have inherited.’ She turned to ask Callum about the letters he’d intercepted, but a scream had her pushing free from the table and racing down the hall and up the stairs instead.
‘She’s gone! Hyacinth is gone! Someone must have broken in and taken her. Oh my God. What can we do? We must find her. Now. Immediately.’ Olivia was tearing apart her daughter’s very empty room. Her face had paled considerably since she left the table, and her green eyes were wide and wild.
Philippa intercepted Olivia as she lunged for the chest of drawers snugged under a window. She wasn’t sure if the frantic woman hoped her daughter was hiding in one of the drawers, or if she was going to scale the dresser and try to squeeze out of the window and jump to the ground in pursuit of the girl. Holding Olivia’s shoulders in a firm grip, she used her best duchess voice. ‘What we must do is remain calm, Olivia. And you must breathe. Slowly.’
Olivia shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. ‘I can’t. She’s gone. They took her.’ Her words were strangled by obvious panic.
Philippa ran one hand up her shoulder and gripped Olivia’s neck, squeezing gently. Commanding her hadn’t worked. Perhaps she should try a different tactic. ‘I need you to breathe, darling. In through your nose, hold it, then out through your mouth. One deep breath.’ She had softened her voice to a soothing hum. Olivia blinked rapidly, but she dipped her chin in assent. Philippa saw the woman’s chest expand, freeze for a moment, and then slowly contract. ‘Good. That’s excellent. Now again.’
Olivia repeated the deep breath.
‘Good. Once more.’ As Olivia complied, Philippa applied gentle pressure on the back of her neck, rubbing the tight tendons. ‘Well done. Just focus on your breath.’
Sniffing, Olivia reached up and used the back of her hand to swipe at her wet cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered. Philippa glimpsed what she must have looked like as a young girl, but it was Olivia the woman who straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and pressed those lips together in a determined line. ‘What should we do, Philippa?’
My God, she is brave. And fierce. And fantastic. And she’s asking for my help. I will not fail her.
‘Let’s search her room. Carefully. Mayhap we can find a clue as to her whereabouts.’ Turning her head, she spoke to Mrs Hughes who stood in the narrow hall with Callum behind her. ‘Will you help? Callum, can you check the stables and see if any of the horses are missing? Look for clues about which direction they might have gone: carriage wheel tracks, anything that could give us an indication of what time they left and where they might have been heading.’
Callum looked ill. His cheeks had gone terribly pale, and his Adam’s apple bobbed sporadically as he swallowed. ‘Yes, of course.’ Spinning, he rushed to follow her orders.
She returned her focus to Olivia. ‘We’re going to find her. I promise you that. And when we do, we’ll get her safely away from here.’
It was a promise Philippa intended to keep.
* * *
Olivia couldn’t believe the number of things she didn’t know about her daughter. She had an affinity for Gothic horrors. She collected seashells, most particularly any blue ones she could find. Her drawers were messy, but her desk was tidy. She had a folder of poetry hidden beneath her mattress. Rather good poetry, though Olivia would never claim to be an expert in such a subject. And Hyacinth was a prolific writer and receiver of letters. Countless letters were secreted away in a leather satchel tucked under a loose board next to her bed.
‘Money under your floorboards. Letters under hers. You two are far more similar than either of you thinks.’ The small curl in Philippa’s lip invited Olivia to join her in a moment of levity.
‘You might be right.’
‘I usually am.’
Ah. There was the proud duchess Olivia had seen striding across every great ballroom in the beau monde. Stealing her breath. Invading her thoughts. Wreaking havoc on any attempt to remain unaffected. But instead of infuriating her, she found comfort in Philippa’s confidence. Surely with such a powerful ally, she would find Hyacinth.
But aren’t we supposed to be enemies?
It didn’t feel that way. Not any more.
‘Here.’ She gave half of the letters to Philippa, sat on her daughter’s bed, and began sifting through her pile.
Mrs Hughes emerged from the closet, her hair dishevelled, her face suspiciously blotchy. It was clear the woman had been crying. ‘You two look through those letters. I’ll put the kettle on. Tea never hurts in these situations.’
‘Tea with whiskey often helps in these situations,’ Philippa murmured.
