April 1810
As promised, Olivia Fairfax split her time between the Baynes and Phillip. For a while it was lovely, but then life got in the way and Philip had to return to his busy schedule, which left Olivia alone in a house that suddenly seemed too large.
At least she had Hannah, a hastily employed maid, who proved to be a loyal, rambunctious sort with magic fingers and an eye for both fashion and hair design. The sweet girl talked far too much for Olivia to ever feel any loneliness.
This evening she chattered away as she took a hot set of curling tongs to her mistress' hair, an ordeal Olivia never quite understood as her hair curled prettily enough on its own.
"I have heard this ball is the highlight of the Season," explained Hannah.
"You said that about last week's ball." Olivia winces as the burning metal brushed against her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut, having a scar to look forward to in a few hours.
"Oh, but this one truly is the highlight. Lady Sheridan always hosts the fanciest events. She has not hosted many over as the past few years as she is readying her daughters for their debut. Her servants claim she is scouting out the best marital prospects for her eldest daughters." Hannah secured her topknot with several jeweled pins. Olivia's thick locks proved difficult this night and freed themselves until the maid jabbed the pins roughly, their sharp ends tinging her scalp.
"So this ball shall be brimming with eligible men?" she asked, tilting her head back.
"Yes, which I know does not interest you."
A wisp of a sigh escaped Olivia's gritted lips. "Even if I did not have Philip, eligible men in the ton neither interest me nor are interested in me."
Hannah scoffed at her mistress, pulling a face in the mirror. "Look at you, Miss Fairfax. You enchant men wherever you go. You could find a wealthy husband with ease."
She smothered the desire to laugh in her face. A husband? No. She made her bed once she agreed to be a mistress. While she felt she still cared for Philip, she wished, at times, she had taken a different path.
Marriage seemed a dream left by faeries as impermanent as their dust. That path was no longer hers.
"If only Lord Dryden divorced that wife of his," mused Hannah.
Again, Olivia sighed. "It is not quite that simple."
"Is so." The maid insisted with a harrumph. "I heard about a Scottish divorce that is as easy to procure as their marriages. It is nothing for a couple of their standing."
Hannah only spoke words that Olivia kept silent. She enjoyed her maid's honesty, even when it stung. Her frankness made her feel less foolish since someone felt the same as she.
She dared not ask these questions of Philip though he used to proclaim he would we her only if he could. His sentences were full of "woulds" and "coulds", never a hint of "will" or "can". Before she never noticed the difference. That was before he left her with the emptiest of promises though her bank account filled with each apology.
As the clock chimed the turning of the hour, Hannah let the matter drop. Lord and Lady Baynes were to call in minutes to whisk Miss Fairfax away to the ball. Philip promised his belated attendance with a cool kiss upon her lips. Cat, as she loved to do, came to Olivia's rescue, insisting she accompany them.
By the pealing of the next set of bells, Olivia descended from the Baynes family carriage in a silk cloak. She cursed Hannah's choice of gown. The maid insisted on her newest gown, spun out of whisper-thin silk with a low-cut bodice and cap sleeves encrusted with paste diamonds.
The cool May air bit through her coverings, sending uncomfortable shivers through her body. She thanked the heavens the walk to the front door was brief. Once they stepped inside the town home of the Earl and Countess of Sheridan, the sticky, oppressive air greeted them with a vengeance.
"Good God," muttered Alex. "It is as humid as the Indies."
Cat gasped aloud, stripping off her cloak. She discarded the offensive garment into the arms of a waiting footman. She regretted her own gown, a heavy velvet, having anticipated a drafty home.
"I shall perish before I have my first dance," she declared. Cat retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her neck.
Olivia removed her own cloak with less haste. They arrived only a quarter of an hour late, yet the Sheridan household was packed with the wealthiest London gentry. Olivia bumped elbows with many bachelors, unsurprised to find her maid correct once again. The only other ladies she spotted were matrons and wives though neither had any qualms with dancing with the handsome young men.
"Well, well, well, Miss Fairfax, that is quite a gown," teased the ever familiar Lord Linville. Ellis and she had become good friends after their adventures in Vauxhall Gardens. If possible, he had grown even more handsome, his cheeks dimpling in greeting, dark hair stark against his pale skin.
"Is it too much?" Olivia's hazel eyes darted about the crowded hallway. Some bodices dipped lower than her own with fabric so diaphanous, so flimsy, Olivia was certain she spotted the outlines of stays. She shook her head. "Perhaps not."
"Not one bit. May I say that you look as beautiful as always?"
"You always do," she replied.
"I find it difficult to not compliment beauty."
"I am sure your latest signora truly appreciates that."
Ellis chuckled and lifted his shoulders. "Perhaps not. I ended our entanglement just this evening."
Her jaw dropped open and she took his proffered arm. "Whyever did you do that? Is she not the most sought after soprano in London?"
La Bellissima she had named herself, this Lucrezia Rossi, lately of the blue canals of Venice. Ellis, as he loved to do, snatched her up right away. That had been only some weeks ago when snow still coated the streets of London.
"She is. But, and you will not believe this, she is a bit spoiled."
Olivia made a great show of gasping. "A spoiled opera star? I am shocked."
"And, she apparently sought the company of other men, which is not an arrangement to which I agree. I am devoted to my mistresses throughout the duration of our time together. To do so otherwise seems to cheapen the experience."
"You are a bachelor too, so it is not as if you go visit your wife's bed after visiting your mistress."
Ellis shook his head. "I encourage my married friends to find mistresses only because I know they are in unhappy marriages; otherwise, the arrangement only ends in pain. When I wed, I plan to love my wife."
She slanted a glance at the earl. Across the months, they had spoken more and she believed them to be friends. This, however, was the first time he broached such a serious topic. To think of Ellis married proved to require a great imagination. She had only known him as flitting from one opera singer to the next, practicing his own form of honour and chivalry.
"I fear I shall never marry..." she murmured. Ellis placed his hand over her own, offering a gentle squeeze.
"He speaks highly of you, but I do not think he ever will leave his wife, even if there is no love there." Ellis hesitated before continuing. "I fear he is too honourable and does not wish to disappoint their families or to reveal his marriage to be a failure." He stopped before a refreshment table, casting a concerned glance over her face.
The governess had no idea what emotions displayed themselves upon her face, only that they must have betrayed some sadness or despair. "Forgive me, Olivia." He picked up two glasses of ratafia, handing one to her with an apologetic smile.
"What is there to forgive?" She took a long sip. "I may not like it, but I accept the truth. I never anticipated this to last forever. At times...I feel it will reach its finish sooner rather than later." Olivia tossed the rest down her throat. "I find myself in need of a dance."
"Then let us go before these wolves gobble you up."
She looked around them, now aware of the appreciative glances and the frightening leers. The bachelors kept a respectable distance, yet a few looked ready to pounce. She spotted a familiar face, Lord Hedgeton, a blonde giant who happily allowed Olivia to trod upon his toes. He spoke with a man of a similar age whose coal-black curls looked out of place amongst the flaxen-haired Englishmen. He followed his friend's gaze to Miss Fairfax and bowed his head. The grey shade of his eyes struck her, for she had never before seen such a shade.
"Who is that man?" Olivia asked, tilting her head towards the stranger. Ellis rolled his eyes.
"The Marquess of Hartwell, an infuriatingly upright sort, who just returned from his Grand Tour. He is a good chap though, if not a tad boring."
"A Marquess?"
"Yes, the heir of the Duke of Kellaway."
"He shall have to marry quite well; do you not think?"
"I believe he has his eye on Lady Caroline Wren, daughter of our esteemed hosts."
"Really? Do you know what she is like?"
"Not the type to get married soon if servant gossip is to be believed."
"Oh, but it is!" Olivia cried out. "Hannah knows more than I do about the ton."
"She is far too observant. It unnerves me."
Delighted laughter bubbled from her throat. "I shall like to see you appear so unnerved or disheveled."
Ellis' jaw dropped open. When she spoke in such a way, he almost believed she flirted. Then again, it was Olivia Fairfax, the naïve governess who hopped into bed with his best friend.
No. That description no longer fit her. She analyzed her life far more than she should, dwelling on unchangeable matters. Still, it intrigued him how she self-aware she had become. Ellis disliked the sad glint in her eyes and the insincerity of her smile.
"The set is ending, Miss Fairfax, are you ready to make a fool of yourself?"
She replied with an energetic nod.
"Good. Let us begin."
So they danced as best as either of them could do. Olivia's dancing improved mildly from her first ball. Ellis, despite his dash, had never been able to remember all the steps and turns. They muddled through it as best they could with trips and stumbled that jostled the partners in their set.
As the quadrille ended, Ellis bowed to Olivia.
"I believe Philip wishes to take away my dance partner."
Olivia turned towards the edge of the dancers, where her lover stood, watching them with furrowed brows.
"Oh my, I did not expect him to show up. He is always so busy with business matters."
Ellis smiled in lieu of a reply. No one conducted business at this late hour. She would learn such truth in her own time. He hoped Philip's absences truly were due to business, but it appeared more and more unlikely as the time passed.
He escorted his friend's mistress to his side. Philip bowed over her hand, brows clearing and smile bright.
"Radiant, my love," came his quiet words.
"Late, my love," she replied. A brief frown tugged on his mouth before clearing back into his charming smile.
Linville moved over towards the refreshment table, eyes trained upon the couple. They appeared as happy as any other. He noticed the tightness behind their bold smiles that loosened when they switched partners. Olivia's hazel gaze glinted into steel, sliding away from the set, settling on a woman near his own spot. A plump woman with white-blonde hair. She looked like any other lady save the haughty jut of her chin.
A groan emitted from his mouth.
No.
Not here.
He looked to the vaulted ceiling, resplendent with its depiction of the Trojan War. Above him, painted with care, the cursed daughter pointed towards a distant threat, mouth agape. She even bore a resemblance to her fleshy namesake though the woman of legend was far more sympathetic than the one before him.
Cassandra.
"Damn it all to hell," muttered the earl.
-t��w��f�