Mandy Goff - The Blackmailed Bride

What kind of woman is she?

“I apologize,” he said. “I was merely thinking of how different you are.”

“That doesn’t sound very complimentary.”

“It is a compliment of the highest order. The ladies of my acquaintance wouldn’t be content to ride through the country when the amusements of town are within a day’s travel distance,” he assured her.

Olivia pursed her full lips. “London holds no allure for me.”

“We are kindred souls in that regard.”

“Then why do you stay in town?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “You answer to no one. You may come and go as you wish. I should think, were I you, I wouldn’t step a toe inside the limits of London.”

He smiled at her and wished it were so simple. “Since my father’s death, I must take all the responsibilities of the marquessdom—unfortunately, that includes business in town. The mantle is heavy and not one I wear joyfully.”

Her expression instantly sobered. “I’m sorry about your father. How long has it been?”

“A year,” he answered. “I would have returned to England immediately after his death, but by the time news reached me, I was mired in business I couldn’t leave unfinished.” Why did he feel compelled to offer an explanation, vague though it might have been?

She didn’t ask what kind of business.

He wouldn’t have told her if she had.

“I didn’t wear mourning for him.” The confession was out before he could think of any reason why he would tell her this.

“I’m sure he would have understood your decision,” Lady Olivia said.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Actually, the deceased marquess would have seethed with anger to know his son didn’t wear all black for him.

Nick had been so consumed with his own rage toward his father, he couldn’t fathom showing him that level of respect. “Our relationship was…strained.”

The woman at his side still said nothing.

In the silence, Nick warred with regret at a broken relationship with his father. But his father had insisted Nick yield to his wishes. Nick couldn’t do that.

So he’d left.

Which had created an even larger gulf, not just physically, between them. The only heir to the marquessdom running away to foreign lands, doing things nobody wanted to imagine…his father had been furious Nick would risk his life, and most important, risk the title leaving the immediate family if something were to happen to Nick.

Nick determined not to look at Lady Olivia, but when he felt a slight pressure on his hand, he looked down to find she was touching him to get his attention.

“I understand.” The two words held a wealth of untold sympathy. And he felt as though she truly did.

They both turned at the sound of an approaching rider.

“Apologies,” Marcus said as he came abreast of the pair. “One of the tenant farmers wanted to ask about repairing his roof. He stopped me before I could catch up with you.”

“That’s all right,” Lady Olivia said. “Now that you can finish giving Lord Huntsford a tour, I should probably return inside.”

If Nick thought her manner was abrupt, he had no reasonable explanation for the behavior. Just moments before, she’d been perfectly cordial.

Marcus, however, seemed concerned. “Perhaps you should rest before dinner.”

She nodded, but Nick noticed she didn’t voice an agreement. With a quick turn of the reins, she had her horse pointed back in the direction of the house. She waved a brief farewell then kicked her horse into motion.

Marcus had begun a conversation—something about the crops he was planning for the upcoming season. Nick listened as best he could with his attention diverted. Why was it that Lady Olivia could alternately be so charming and agreeable, but the next moment seek the quickest way to escape his presence?

Her retreating figure didn’t offer any clues, however. And while he hated the fact that he couldn’t seem to do otherwise, Nick stared at her even after she could no longer be seen in the distance.

The next morning, Olivia wandered through the countryside just beyond the gardens at Westin Park. Traipsing feet had left trails through the growth, making it easy for her to simply meander. The day was beautiful. The green hills stretched as far as she could see, and the trees swayed with the gentle, rifling breeze.

She felt herself calming. She’d not cried this morning at all. She could do this. She would agree to Finley’s proposal. Olivia had no other choice.

But she wouldn’t let it destroy her. Finley was only a person after all.

And hadn’t she faced worse?

And done so alone?

“Lady Olivia, is that you?”

Olivia started at the voice, wondering who had intercepted her on the path. She turned toward the sound, finding the parish vicar strolling behind her.

“Reverend Thomas,” she greeted. The minister had been in his position since before she was born. He was a grandfatherly man. And while she no longer ascribed to his particular view of God, she was glad to see him.

“It is an unexpected pleasure to see you,” he said, coming abreast of her. “Is your brother in residence as well?”

“Yes. We returned this morning.”

“Have you given up on London already?” he asked with a conspiratorial wink. He knew how Olivia had fought to stay home after Marcus’s decree.

“I’m afraid we’ll be returning in a few days.”

“Will you be coming to the service tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

The thought made her uncomfortable. “I am not certain what my brother intends.”

“Well, we’ve certainly missed you here,” the minister said.

She smiled at him, hoping it reached all the way to her eyes. “I can’t tell you how difficult it’s been being in London and knowing I must stay there until the end of the Season.”

“Surely it’s been enjoyable as well?” he asked her.

“I prefer the assemblies here over the balls there. And nothing compares to an evening staring at the sky and the stars from my bedroom window at Westin Park.”

Reverend Thomas smiled knowingly. “Well, I, for one, am surprised some gentleman hasn’t swept you off your feet yet.”

“Actually, Reverend, I swept one off his feet,” she said, thinking of the Viscount Danfield. That evoked perhaps the first genuine smile of the day. She wondered if the young man had recovered from his mishap.

But thinking about proposals made her mind naturally wander to Finley’s, which erased the smile.

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” he answered. But then Reverend Thomas scrutinized her, sensing the change in her mood. Olivia could feel his old, almost rheumy eyes on her. The man was much too perceptive.

“How have you been faring, dear?” The concern in his gaze was genuine, and, at his caring expression, she felt the tears well and threaten to spill over.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she confessed.

He nodded sagely. “Understandable.”

“Do you have a cure?” she asked with the glimmer of a smile.

He stopped, and the suddenness had Olivia backtracking to stand beside him. “Would you want the one I have to offer?” he asked.

She didn’t have to think about her answer. “No.”

It seemed her destiny was to disappoint everyone whose path she crossed today. The vicar looked absolutely crestfallen.

“I wish you would talk to me about it, Lady Olivia. We have known each other many years, have we not?” She nodded.

“I can bear the weight of whatever pain you carry. Or better, we’ll give it to God. He can shoulder it better than both of us.” His tone was hopeful, as though she might decide to trust him after five years of faith in nothing.