brown, Gervaise. You know full well that I’m content simply being outrageous. I’ll leave you to hold the torch for natural perfection.”
Gervaise bent over Lady Kate’s hand, but suddenly he wasn’t looking at her. He had just caught sight of Olivia.
She was probably the only one who caught the quickly shuttered surprise in his eyes. The glint of triumph. She wanted to laugh. Here she’d been hiding herself from judgmental mamas, when there had been a viper in the room all along.
“It seems I arrived just in time,” he said, straightening with a delighted smile as he shot his cuffs. “As quickly as this place is emptying, I might have missed you all. I know Miss Fairchild, of course, Kate, but who is this?”
“Make your bows to Mrs. Olivia Grace, Gervaise,” Lady Kate said. “Olivia, this is Mr. Gervaise Armiston. He is about to take me over to the door so I can see off our brave soldiers. I have no brave soldiers of my own. Only Gervaise.”
Gervaise chuckled good-naturedly and extended an arm. “I also live to serve, Kate,” he protested. “It’s just that I only serve you.” Giving Olivia a quick bow, he nodded. “Mrs. Grace.”
Olivia swallowed against rising bile. “Mr. Armiston.”
Lady Kate rested a slim white hand on his midnight sleeve. “Excellent. Come, Gervaise. Let us now go and remind our soldiers what they fight for. Grace, Olivia… tomorrow.”
The duchess had barely turned away before Olivia’s legs gave out from under her, and she sat down hard.
“Olivia?” Grace Fairchild asked, her face creased in concern. “Are you all right?”
Olivia looked up, trying desperately to quell her nausea. Suddenly, from the streets below, military drums shattered the night. Trumpets blared, and the Duchess of Richmond rushed about the ballroom, urging the men not to leave until after dinner had been served.
“Just another hour!” she pleaded.
Officers lined up at the doors to get a farewell kiss from the lovely Duchess of Murther. Some girls wept, while others swept off to dinner with the remaining men. And in the corner where the chaperones sat, Olivia’s world collapsed.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She had to warn Georgie. She had to warn them all.
She couldn’t. Any contact with them would lead Gervaise right back to them, and that would prove fatal.
Just as it had before.
Oh, Jamie.
Grace touched her shoulder. “Olivia?”
Olivia jumped. “Oh…,” she said, trying so hard to smile as she climbed to still unsteady legs. “I’m fine. I suppose it’s time to go.”
“You’re sure you’re all right? You’re pale.”
“Just the news.” Gathering her shawl, she avoided Grace’s sharp gaze. Pasting on a false smile, she turned. “I wish I were more like Lady Kate. Look how she’s making all the men laugh.”
Grace looked to where the duchess was lifting on her toes to kiss a hotly blushing boy in rifleman green. “Lady Kate is amazing, isn’t she?”
“She’s a disgrace, ” one of the nearby women hissed.
Several other heads nodded enthusiastically.
“Glass houses,” snapped a regal older woman at the end of the row.
Everyone looked over at her, but the woman ignored them. Reticule and shawl in hand, she rose imperiously to her feet. She was a tall woman, with exceptional posture and a proud face beneath thick, snowy hair. She’d taken only two steps, though, before she caught her toe and pitched forward, almost landing on her nose. Olivia jumped to help, but Grace was already there.
“Dear Lady Bea,” she said, steadying the elegant woman. “Do have a care.”
The older woman patted her cheek. “Ah, for the last Samaritan, my child. For the last Samaritan.”
“That’s good, Lady Bea.”
“Indeed it is,” the older woman agreed. Grace smiled as if she knew what the woman meant and ushered her on her way.
“Lady Kate’s companion,” Grace confided as they passed.
“Mrs. Grace!” Mrs. Bottomly screeched. She was bearing down
Brenda Rothert
Kenneth Oppel
Khloe Wren
Rebekkah Ford
Arturo Pérez-Reverte
Steve Stroble
Andrew Shaffer
D. R. Macdonald
Stella Duffy
David Foster Wallace