Page 2 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“My dear,” Lady Helvellyn said, wafting herself furiously with the pearl-handled fan she used whenever wearing her famous Aston pearls. The wind she created with her frenzy of fanning caused the oil lamp lit on the side table to flicker, or perhaps the flicker was from her still swishing satin skirts. “Whatever has got into you? You cannot expect any gentleman to propose with your disconcerting demeanor. It is unacceptable, especially after the trouble I went to having youre-approved at Almack’s.”

“Almack’s, smallmack’s,” Olivia muttered and reached up to unpin the curls that had been painstakingly placed in her honey-colored hair by her maid hours before. Though most young ladies would beg, borrow or steal to get into the famously snobby social club—for to be a part meant you were pre-approved as acceptable marriage material—Olivia had been given the cut direct the previous season. She was well on her way to achieving it again this year, much to her mother’s horror. Secretly, she hoped her punishment would be that she was sent to their estate in Scotland, and then she would fake pout all the way there.

“Olivia Grace Aston.” Her mother’s shrill tone would normally have been enough to pull Olivia from her mood, but not today.

Even if the Prince Regent himself walked into her boudoir at that moment, she’d not be able to do more than stick her tongue out at him. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Prinny wouldn’t like that. So, she’d have to whip out her own extravagant fan and do it behind there.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, tossing pins toward her dressing table. “Mother, I am tired.”

“You’retired?” The viscountess approached with such sharp steps Olivia feared her mother’s legs might snap clear off. She tapped her fan onto the dressing tabletop, accentuating every word. “How am I going to explain this to your father?”

A sarcastic remark was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue. But one glance at her mother, whose brown eyes bore a particularly pained look this evening, had her biting her cheek instead.

“Pouring your punch on that poor Lord Hibbert.” Lady Helvellyn snapped her fan closed and tapped it against her thigh.

Olivia sat up straighter, her hands gripping the edge of the chaise. It took everything she had not to shout out her frustration or, at the very least, grab the blasted fan and defenestrate it. “He deserved it, Mother.”

Lady Helvellyn scoffed. If she frowned any harder, the powder she’d put on her face would crack. “Ladies do not pour punch on gentlemen,” she said again. The fan snapped back open to flutter once more. If she continued at this pace, her mother wouldn’t need her maid to take her hair down as the fan would do the task for her.

Olivia pursed her lips, keeping her eyes on her mother, and said what she’d been avoiding since their silent carriage ride home from Almack’s. “Well, then we are in agreement, for LordHog-Grubberis not a gentleman.”

The viscountess stopped fanning, slapping the opened silken fan against her chest and causing Olivia to wince as though it had been her cheek.

“Olivia! Such vulgar language. I’ll not be in the least bit surprised if the patronesses decide to revoke your voucher again, even with my cousin being a part of the set. You’ll not be invited to any more balls. There will be no proposals forthcoming. Your season will end.Again.” Lady Helvellyn’s cheeks had gone red, and her breathing was labored. If she didn’t calm down, she’d suffer a fit of the vapors.

Olivia considered standing in case she needed to break her mother’s fall. The familiar sting of tears burned, and she fought to hold them back. What did she care if there was no proposal? She didn’t want to marry a goat anyway. Besides, Lord Hibbert and his pompous friends were not gentlemen. He, and so many others like him, hadnotbeen simply asking for a dance. He’d insulted her. Gutted her. And she couldn’t even tell her mother about it because Lady Helvellyn would suffer a fit of apoplexy if she knew the truth.

With a deep breath, she tried to push away her anger. Tried to push away the vile words the blackguard had hissed. “I am sorry, Mother, for having embarrassed you and for possibly ruining my chances once more.”

But I am not sorry for dumping my punch on that swine.

Her mother’s eyes flickered with panic, and she spoke hurriedly, as if she didn’t get all the words out, they would dry up. “We shall write a letter tomorrow, begging forgiveness of Lord Hibbert. And then another to the patronesses.”

Olivia nodded, all the while knowing she would never write such a letter.Never.She just needed her mother to leave her be.

The fan snapped closed, and Lady Helvellyn tapped it on her palm. “And we shall speak of this again in the morning.”

Again, Olivia nodded, though she would do everything she could to avoid it. Perhaps even sneak out early for a ride in Hyde Park.

Lady Helvellyn swished from the room, suddenly distracted, her slippers barely making a sound as she glided on the thick rose-gold floral-designed Axminster carpet that matched the curtains and canopy of the four-poster bed.

Olivia barely had a moment to breathe before her maid came through the door. Elaine took one look at Olivia and seemed to understand. Silently, she led Olivia to her dressing table and finished unpinning her hair.

“We may be headed to Scotland tomorrow.” Olivia studied her fingernails, zeroing in on a white dot beneath the nail.

Elaine finished with the last pin. “I’ve always loved Scotland this time of year. Will there be a house party?”

Olivia guessed that the last thing her father would wish for when he found out about her latest blunder would be to put her in front of more people she’d possibly insult. “Not likely.”

“Ah.” Elaine picked up the silver hairbrush and pulled it gently through Olivia’s hair until it crackled.

“It happened again.” Olivia stood, allowing Elaine to undress her.

“Punch?” Her maid had the kindness to act as though she were simply commenting on what Olivia might like to have for breakfast.

Olivia let out a long sigh and trudged to her bed. “Yes.”

Elaine pulled back the covers, smoothing the soft sheets. “Have you told your mother and father why?”

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