Susan Schonberg - The Phoenix Of Love

Olivia couldn’t break her gaze from her grandmother’s. Her eyes were positively mesmerizing. Was this what it was like to be on the other side of her stare? Unsure, she replied, “Thank you.”

At that moment, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a visitor. The innkeeper’s wife, having.regained her earlier blustery manner, came into the room like a ship under full sail. Setting the refreshments out, she kept up a constant stream of chatter, not once noticing that her conversation was completely one-sided.

For Olivia, the interruption was an opportunity to reflect on her own impressions. She decided that Lady Raleigh was not what she had expected, either. From her father’s countless tirades, she had expected her grandmother to be a veritable dragoness. Oh, she had a bark… Olivia could see that, but she doubted the frail body before her had much of a bite. She narrowed her eyes a little as her thoughts steamed onward, but it was the only change in expression she allowed herself. At least until she got a good look at the spread laid out by the landlady.

With the woman gone and the food before them, Lady Raleigh was about to continue her conversation when she noticed Olivia’s expression. The child was not as good at hiding her feelings as she thought she was, Lady Raleigh noticed. The stare Olivia was giving the hot, buttered scones was practically burning a hole in the table.

In truth, Olivia was very smitten with the idea of biting into one of the scones. It had been so long since she had had anything like them. Looking hungrily at the treats before her, Olivia had to use all of her willpower not to reach out and snatch one.

Lady Raleigh’s words broke into her thoughts. “Go ahead, girl,” she offered kindly. “Take one while they are still hot.”

Olivia started to reach for a scone and then abruptly remembered her manners. “Wouldn’t you care for a scone, Grandmama?” she asked with all of the graciousness of a grown hostess.

Lady Raleigh, pleased at both her granddaughter’s polite behavior and her new name, shook her head. “I believe I’ll wait,” she replied.

While Olivia finished her scone and sat eyeing another one, Lady Raleigh continued their discussion. “Do you miss your father, Olivia?” she asked in a clipped voice.

Unsure of how to answer such a question, Olivia took a moment to think about it as she finished chewing her food. She regarded her grandmother seriously. “I accept my loss.”

“That’s a rather grown-up attitude for someone as young as you,” the lady replied.

Olivia shrugged her shoulders delicately. Her grandmother had meant no offense by the comment and none was taken. Still she wasn’t sure how to respond to her. For the moment, she decided not to try.

Lady Raleigh continued. “I do not pretend to have had any affection for Edgar, Olivia. He stole my daughter away from me and her rightful heritage and I cannot forgive him for that.” She added almost as an afterthought. “I can’t forgive her, either.”

Olivia regarded her grandparent gravely. In a quiet voice, she told her, “Papa blamed you for Mama’s death.”

Instead of snorting in disgust as Olivia was sure her relative would do, Lady Raleigh sat still, as if stunned by this bit of information. But after a moment she regained some of her composure and replied with an indication of uneasiness, “I do not doubt that my daughter and I caused each other grief during our respective lifetimes, but I can hardly be held accountable for her death. Your father never did want to see anything for what it really was. That’s one reason, although it is hardly the only one, my husband and I disapproved of the match.”

Olivia’s eyebrows quirked together in puzzlement. “One reason?”

“Yes.” Lady Raleigh’s own eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Olivia—your mother, that is—was engaged to an earl when she ran off with your father. The wedding papers were all but signed. We had no choice but to cut her.” She gazed at Olivia with brutal frankness. “She was a fool and she should have known better.”

Olivia took her time thinking this over. Up until now she had only her father’s version of the story. It was interesting to hear another version of an event that had caused so many people bitterness and pain. Still she felt somewhat unaffected by the whole affair—as if the story were an entertaining bit of gossip about someone else’s family.

Without warning, Lady Raleigh changed the topic. “You will be coming to London to live with me.” Her voice brooked no argument. “My husband died some years ago, leaving me a widow. The estate in Sussex went to my nephew, a pompous young man whom I detest, but he was kind enough to let me live in the dowager house, if I so chose. I detest the country, however, and live year-round in London instead. I have a house on Wimpole Street. It’s not overly large, you understand, but more than adequate for the pair of us.” She looked at Olivia expectantly.

Not wishing to offend her grandmother, she replied, “I’m sure it is quite nice.”

Lady Raleigh gave her a brisk, decisive nod. “Very well. We will leave in three days’ time. Although I doubt you have much to pack, I’ll need to stay at least that long to make sure all of Edgar’s affairs are in order. God knows, there are probably a hundred debts to pay off.

“I shall stay here at the inn until we leave for town. I won’t stay at your father’s house—you understand I cannot. Edgar would turn over in his grave if I did, and my husband would rise from his in outrage. You may come and visit me here as often as you like in the meantime.

“Mrs. Potts has graciously offered to oversee your packing for me. I’m sure she is already waiting for you at the house even as we speak. My coachman will drive you back.”

As she seemed dismissed, Olivia got up uncertainly from her seat. Subdued, she walked across the parlor to the door. Before she opened it, however, she turned around to face her grandmother. Politely she waited to be acknowledged.

“Well?” queried the lady, her imperial bearing once again very much in evidence.

“Do you…” began Olivia hesitantly. She searched for the right words. If she asked this question, then she would be opening herself up to attack. This strange woman before her would know her vulnerable spot. She’d know how to wound her in the future.

And yet how could she not ask it? She couldn’t very well leave Isis behind. An argument over the Siamese would be a terrible way to start her new relationship with her grandmother.

She almost bit back the words. But, no, she had to ask. Finally she opened her mouth again. Her eyes grew unconsciously wistful as she phrased the question. Such an awful lot of her future depended on the answer she would receive. “Do you…like cats?” She waited silently, building up her defenses against the rejection that was sure to come.

Again Lady Raleigh spied the little girl hiding behind the grown-up facade. With a conviction that would have surprised many of her cronies back in London, she declared soundly, “I adore them.”

London, 1816

“Olivia!”

With painful slowness, Olivia brought her vision back into focus on the oil painting in front of her. The gay foursome, frolicking in the great Italian outdoors, danced across her eyes, the delicate brushstrokes of their picnic spread not quite becoming clear fast enough.

Knowing she had slipped back into her memories as easily as she had slid into her chemise this morning, Olivia strove for the center of calm that would help her retain her composure. There, she had it. But she hadn’t yet responded to the call of her name. Mortified but determined not to show it, she dropped her gaze to the slight form of her grandmother across the room, only to see the old woman perched precariously on the edge of a Georgian armchair covered in maroon-and-gold-striped upholstery.