Page 16 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Mother.” Olivia ignored the bevy of social cards and gave her mother an awkward hug as the lady was more intent on showing the stack.

“Do you see, my dear? I have brought you back into the fold of society.” She tapped the cards, gushing her pleasure. “The Patronesses of Almack’s were gracious enough to forgive you and have done nothing but sing your praises all week.”

Lady Helvellyn turned and rushed toward the drawing room, giving Olivia no choice but to follow. “And what did you have to do in return?”

Her mother waved away the accusation and blubbered on about a musicale, a few soirees and several nights at the opera—all of which she’d already agreed for Olivia to be present at.

All the while, Olivia felt as though eyes were on her, watching her, knowing what she’d done. A prickle wove its way up her spine.

The Scotsman had told Daniel that he was not going to forget her. And Daniel had been quite vehement in his accounting that the tall Highlander was very much alive and well.

He was going to come after her. She was certain of it.

Or was that another one of her delusions? Olivia stepped toward the window to peer outside at the street, relieved not to find a braw warrior standing at the gate, bloody and angry.

“Olivia Grace Aston, have you heard a word of what I’ve said?”

Olivia snapped back to the conversation and forced a smile. “Yes, Mother. I am very grateful for your efforts, and I shall behave at the functions I am able to attend.”

“Able to attend? Oh, my dear,” a short, hysterical laugh escaped her mother, “you’ll be attending them all.”

“And die of exhaustion?” Olivia sighed, already tired from the mention of it. All that smiling and curtsying.

“Oh, do not be so dramatic. You must present yourself in society as we’ve painted you these last few weeks.”

Her mother rang the bell for tea, and Olivia slumped, then sat up straight, or rather perched on the edge of her favorite chair.

“And what of the nincompoops who are the reason behind my fall from grace?”

Lady Helvellyn pursed her lips in disapproval. “Ladies do not say that word.”

“Nincompoop?”

“Oh, so vulgar!” Her mother slapped the cards down on the delicate side table. “Perhaps I shall have to ask Cousin Louisa to come over and teach you some manners.”

Cousin Louisa was the most sought-after etiquette tutor when it came to being presented at court, and Olivia despised her. The feeling was mutual on both sides as Olivia had felt the need to give Louisa a run for her well-honed reputation. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I promise to behave and never to saythatword again.”

Lady Helvellyn breathed out a sigh of relief, her fingers waving and arms flapping once more, giving Olivia the impression her mother wished to be a bird. “Well then, it’s settled. Go and wash up. We shall attend the garden party at Lady Cowper’s townhouse in Mayfair, and you shall thank my cousin in person.”

Lady Cowper was her mother’s second cousin and one of the most influential ladies of Almack’s, not to mention London society, despite her young age. While she would accept Olivia as a favor or in return for whatever payment her mother had made, Olivia knew that it was not out of the kindness of her heart.

As exhausted as she was, Olivia knew it would be pointless to argue with her mother. Dutifully she trod the stairs and donned the new lacy white gown with copious violet ribbons and floral embroideries her mother had commissioned without her input. With a touch too many frills, Olivia felt as though she’d be on display rather than inconspicuous as she’d hoped for.

Sometime later, she found herself forcefully smiling at their host and a bevy of other twittering ladies. But her eyes were drawn to the prominently displayed emerald pendant at Lady Cowper’s neck—the one that had used to belong to Olivia’s mother.

Lady Helvellyn didn’t bat an eye, and suddenly Olivia was all too aware of the price her mother had paid for her to return to society. A priceless family heirloom. The emerald had been passed down from generation to generation. A gift from Queen Catherine Parr to one of her lady’s maids, who happened to be an ancestor of Olivia’s mother.

That was too much, and she was about to say just that when her mother pinched her arm.

Olivia’s mouth promptly clamped shut.

Once she was ushered outside, her mother introduced her to someone else or pushed a glass of punch into her hands—with a whispered warning not to toss it on anyone—every chance she turned to say something. The gardens were beautiful, not in the least hampered by the hazy gray sky. Lady Cowper had recently had the entire terrace remodeled to something out of a Greek play. The pathways were re-graveled with stones that gave off a hint of pink, and the flowers were vibrant and fresh. Thepièces de résistance, however, were the massive topiaries shaped to form animals in what Lady Cowper was calling her “green menagerie.” There were dozens of exotic creatures, from lions, tigers, bears, unicorns, elephants, whales and even an ostrich.

They passed up every treat offered to them, as her mother was quite adamant that ladies never ate unless seated properly a table—and even if they’d accepted, they were only allowed a few precious bites of each offering. However, that did not apply to punch.

After at least three glasses had been forced into her, Olivia felt ready to burst. “Mother, if you will excuse me, I need a moment in the ladies’ retiring room.”

“Of course, dear.” Her mother inclined her head with a motherly smile, then whispered, “Behave yourself.”

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