Page 4 of The Scot Who Loved Her

“Mad Marian,” the wasps of society called her, but this Olivia would not tell her parents. And last night, it was this moniker Lord Hibbert had hissed in her ear that had her reacting so harshly.

As Olivia cringed in anticipation of the pain this would bring to her parents, the earl and countess exchanged a worried glance.

“I see,” her father said, his voice muted.

Her mother looked ready to faint, her pallor several shades whiter.

“Perhaps it would be best if you came with me to Scotland for a few weeks,” her father said. “I’ve some business to attend to, and there will be a hunting party there. It will give your mother a chance to speak with the patronesses of Almack’s.”

Olivia nodded, though she didn’t think it would make any difference. The patronesses had already made an exception for her last season. To do so again would smack of favoritism, and Olivia had not the popularity amongst the ton to deserve such, or anyone else to defend her nature as she’d not made many close English friends. To be shunned by the patronesses would not be the end of the world, but it would signal to all of society that Miss Olivia Grace Aston was notgood ton. Invitations would lessen, and along with them, the number of suitors calling at her home. Young ladies, both current and future acquaintances, would be shooed away from her. And by this time next year, Olivia would be labeled a spinster. Her parents would either ship her off to their English country house or Scotland or find it necessary to increase her dowry to a sum that would draw the lowliest of men to her side. While she didn’t regret retaliating, perhaps she should have thought of an idea that did not mean she was to be forced into a lifetime of unhappiness.

“Are you...” her mother started and then stopped herself.

“I am fine, Mother.” Olivia tried to smile, but she feared it came out more of a grimace.

Was she fine? Many times over the last year her parents had tried to ask if she was feeling well, worried she might end up like Marian and the women in their family before her. When the gossipmongers whispered “Mad Marian” and asked if she was soon to join her sister, a burning rage filled Olivia’s chest. Now spent of the truth, Olivia picked up her knife and cut through the softened golden butter, spreading it on her toast. “I was upset and offended. I acted in haste, but I assure you, I amfine. Now that I’ve told you, I feel a weight has been lifted.”

The cold toast scraped over her tongue, and she worked on chewing it, finally taking a sip of tea to swallow. She managed to choke down her toast before begging to be excused.

Lady Helvellyn looked down her nose at her daughter, studying her as though she were a speck of dust on the mantle that a maid had forgotten to clean. Olivia kept her face as docile as she could under the circumstances. She and her mother had never truly gotten on well. Marian was the golden child. The most loved. The best behaved, whereas Olivia had a penchant for mischief as the youngest in their family, and often found the best way to get attention was through that naughtiness.

Now that Marian was safely housed at the Edinburgh Lunatic Asylum, Lady Helvellyn had not shifted her love or favoritism to Olivia—in fact, she had the feeling her mother wished it wereherinstead who resided in the notorious hospital for the mentally ill.

It was her father who broke the silence by clearing his throat. Unlike her mother, Lord Helvellyn seemed to favor neither of his daughters and was, more often than not, put out that he’d not had any sons. His entire estate was due to go to his sister’s eldest boy, an arrogant physician in Brighton. “Have your maid pack your things. We shall leave just after noon.”

Olivia nodded, a little relieved. The journey to Huntford Manor—a few hours ride over the border of Scotland, would take them several days.

It would be weeks before her father would even consider coming back to London. By the time they returned, at least a month would have passed. She was hopeful that by then, plenty of other young ladies would have blundered enough to put her punch pouring out of everyone’s minds, and she might be saved from spinsterhood or a most unsuitable marriage.

As she walked out of the dining room into the elegant foyer, she happened to glance through the massive windows beside the grand oak front door, with stained-glass windows flanking its sides and an arched rainbow of glass above it.

A man stood in the road, staring through the gate at their house, giving her pause.

On instinct, she neared the window to see who the man was, expecting to see Lord Hibbert there to torment her some more. None of the others had actually dared to say the moniker: “Mad Marian.” The others had merely asked after her sister in a silky affectation of concern that didn’t disguise their pleasure in Marian’s condition. She’d rejected them when she was the toast of the season. And they smarted for it. What Olivia wouldn’t give to meet a man, just one, who cared more about the welfare of others than his pride!

Approaching the glass cautiously, as she would a bird who’d landed on a perch, she pressed her forehead against its cool pane and watched the newcomer disappear down the road.

“Can I be of assistance, my lady?” Briggs, their butler, arrived from seemingly nowhere. His voice was scratchy with age and he sounded bland, as though he’d given up on any pretense of joy.

Olivia pulled away from the window, feeling oddly unsettled. “No, thank you, Briggs.”

He bowed to her and then went back through the hallway toward the kitchen. Though the unsettled feeling didn’t dissipate her, she cautioned herself that it was simply nerves about leaving. Though she was tormented with balls, musicales and social calls, being in Scotland meant that she was closer to her sister. Meant that if someday Marian were allowed to come home, Olivia would be there to welcome her with open arms. And this was another reason she wished she’d not acted with such haste in tossing her punch on Lord Hibbert. Huntford Manor might as well have been on a different continent than the asylum.

Olivia climbed the stairs slowly, sliding her hand along the polished wood of the banister, remembering days that she and Marian had tried to slide down the slick slope with their governess, Mrs. March, running behind them.

Olivia didn’t even know what Marian was doing or how she was feeling. Once her parents had her sister carted off, they’d not taken Olivia to see her. Had in fact forbidden it, not thinking it suitable for a society lady to be seen in a lunatic asylum. They wanted society to forget about her sister and those in their family who’d suffered the same affliction, fearing society’s slight, as though they, too, would be thrust aside like their mad king.

Madness was an embarrassment even at the highest of society’s levels. If their king had to be shut away and his son, Prinny, put in his place, why should they believe anyone else’s suffering would be excused from being eschewed?

They wanted Olivia to forget, but how could she simply pretend her dearest companion and accomplice was gone?

Well, she couldn’t.

In Olivia’s bedroom, her maid was already folding her gowns and wrapping them in paper to keep them fresh on the road.

Olivia chewed her lip. “Elaine, your cousin...” She paused, knowing that her line of questions, should they be overheard by anyone, would put her mother in a state and likely land Elaine on the curb without so much as a coin—which was one reason why Olivia always made certain to give her a few coins from her pin money.

Elaine gave her a small smile and a quick nod, tying a ribbon around one of the packaged gowns. “She said your sister—” They both jerked their heads toward the door, half expecting to see Lady Helvellyn burst through it. When it remained firmly closed, Elaine lowered her voice. “She said your sister is well. She sleeps a lot but has stopped talking about conspiracies. Seems more at peace, my lady.”

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