Page 67 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Wearefriends, Oliver. The best of friends there ever was on this earth. No one can understand the relationship I have with Emily, but that is part of what makes it so special. You have to understand.”
“I guess I never will.”
For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. She felt like someone meandering in and out of a dream. In the realm of the dream, there dwelt Lord Peter and her experience in captivity. Out of the dream, here was Oliver and her betrothal, and her father’s wishes for her.
“Madeline?” he said. “Are you alright?”
“What is it?” said Lisbelle, shuddering out of a dozing sleep. “M’Lady? You feel ill? What can I do for you?”
Madeline laughed uneasily. “I’m alright. Dear me.”
Lisbelle, quickly recomposed, went back to her knitting and fell to sleep upon the instant.
Oliver smiled at Madeline. “Forgive me, I meant nothing by it. It’s just that ... well, you looked so strange in the moment.”
“Did I? How so?”
“It’s difficult to describe.”
“Did I have the look of someone lost between two worlds?”
“What an odd thing to say.”
“Oliver?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“When can we get married?”
His face shone. “At the instant of your total recovery.”
“So be it,” she said feigning disappointment.
“Would you have me carry you off in the night unbeknownst to all?”
She smiled at him, saying nothing.
He lowered his head, a frown playing on his face.
“What is it, Oliver?”
“Your father,” he said. “He doesn’t approve of me, does he?”
“Nonsense. He wants only my happiness.”
“But he’d rather I was an Earl or a Duke delivering that happiness.”
She nibbled her bottom lip. Her father had never mentioned it as of late, but she knew it was what he wanted. She’d seen the look in his eyes when he spoke of Lord Peter.
“Nonsense,” she said, staring into his eyes—the colour of dark honey. “At any rate, Papa isn’t marrying you. I am. And to the Devil with all expectations of us.”
“Madeline,” he said, his tone one of shock.
“Well, I mean it,” she said, anger surging in her. “I want nothing but what my heart desires. And I care not for the wishes of my father or anyone else.”
At this, she felt herself swoon. She put a hand to her head.
Oliver rose. “Lisbelle?”
