impatiently while the Reverend did the same.
“What has brought you to Westin Park?” the older man asked. His eyes were full of genuine curiosity.
“I’ve come with my friend Marcus. I’ve only recently re turned to England and wanted a bit of time away from London.”
The minister smiled. “There seems to be quite a bit of that going around.”
Nick wasn’t sure what else to say. He never used to have a difficult time making conversation, but with Olivia’s flight weighing on his mind, his concern was finding out what was wrong.
He figured he might as well ask.
The worst Reverend Thomas could do would be to not answer his question.
“Was that Lady Olivia I saw leaving?” he asked.
Reverend Thomas smiled, but his eyes still look worried. “Yes.”
“Was she unwell?” he asked.
The older man looked as if he wasn’t going to answer the question. Nick was quickly losing the tenuous hold he had on his patience. Trying not to think of his friend’s little sister crying somewhere in the woods by herself, he waited for the minister’s answer.
“Lady Olivia has had a difficult time adjusting to leaving home,” he finally said.
Nick already knew that, and he thought he understood part of the reason why. Judging from the snippet of conversation he’d heard, however, Olivia sounded as though she had more to worry about than just being homesick. Marcus’s sister genuinely sounded bitter…and upset with God.
But Nick knew the family confidant wouldn’t tell him anything further than the surface truth. For all he knew, Nick was a stranger, and had no right to ask anything about Lady Olivia.
And he was suddenly, and surprisingly, disappointed to realize that he had no right at all.
Chapter Five
The next morning, Olivia rolled over in her bed, looked at the open drapes over the window and groaned. The bright sun streamed into the room, and she squinted against the light. All she had to do was roll over again and bury herself beneath the blankets, but sleep seemed far beyond her reach.
“Sarah?” she said to her maid, whom she heard bustling in her wardrobe.
“Yes, my lady?” the young girl asked.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get ready for church.”
“I’d really rather not,” Olivia grumbled, pulling the blanket over her head. It was a futile attempt to stop the inevitable; before long, Marcus would enter and drag her out of bed.
Sarah stopped at the head of the bed, and Olivia didn’t have to pull the cover down to see the look of indecision she knew would be on the young girl’s face.
“My lady?” Sarah asked.
“Yes?” The covers muffled the word.
“His lordship wanted me to come and help you dress for service.”
“I don’t feel well,” Olivia hedged. In truth, she felt sick to her stomach, though she knew it was an illness no amount of rest would cure. It had been years since she had been truly at peace with church attendance, but she had always borne through it for Marcus’s sake. Yet now, the idea of attending services in the church where Finley would likely expect her to stand as she pledged her life to him…no, she could not bear it. Not yet. Not today.
“Do you wish for me to inform the earl?” Sarah’s voice plainly begged her to say no.
“I’ll tell him when he comes in.” Olivia suppressed a smile at the girl’s sigh of relief.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Olivia didn’t have long to enjoy the sanctuary of her bed before Marcus came striding into the room.
“Wake up,” he said unceremoniously.
While Olivia was contemplating feigning sleep, her brother moved closer.
“I see Sarah has failed in her duties,” he said from directly above her. “I suppose I shall have to dismiss her.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Olivia said as she flung back the covers. She looked around, ready to stop her maid from leaving. But Sarah was already gone.
Marcus smiled. “I could, but I won’t. I just wanted to prove you were awake.”
“Hateful,” she muttered.
“So you say.” He picked up her cup of chocolate and handed it to her. “You had best hurry or we’ll not make the service in time.”
“I have a headache,” she said, trying to convince him to let her stay home.
“Convenient.” He dismissed her imaginary illness without another thought. “Now get out of bed. I shouldn’t have to fight with you as though you were still twelve.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “Fine, I’ll be downstairs shortly.”
“Sarah will return to help you dress,” Marcus said on his way out of the room.
Two hours later, Olivia sat between Marcus and the Marquess of Huntsford on the church pew. If there were a God, surely He was laughing at her now.
Both men barely noticed her presence once the minister began his sermon, but every other eye in the building was firmly fixed on the back of their heads. The congregants were, of course, used to seeing the earl and his sister, but this new visitor was something altogether different. Olivia didn’t have to turn around to know nearly every woman eyed the marquess speculatively. It didn’t help that Lord Huntsford walked in the chapel as though it were something he had been doing every Sunday of his life. His self-confidence and total lack of discomfort were aggravating.
Almost as aggravating as his cheery facade first thing in the morning.
“I trust you rested well,” he had greeted her with a beaming smile once she descended the stairs.
She had inclined her head, but nothing more.
And now, nearly two hours later, she was irrevocably stuck with him. Lord Huntsford was planted firmly on her right, Marcus on her left. Olivia wished she had sat on the aisle, so she wouldn’t feel so confined by the two large men. Not that either of them was aware of her distress.
The congregation stood, singing one last hymn, and Olivia, as usual, only mouthed the words. The marquess’s voice, however, sang loud and true—his clear baritone rising high into the chapel. She tried not to listen to him, tried not to think about how inevitably soon her voice would fill this very space as she pledged herself to Baron Finley as his wife.
It had been years since church had symbolized any sort of refuge for her, but now it seemed to represent the trap she’d fallen into that would bind her for the rest of her life. The very idea made her feel truly ill. So instead of dwelling on the horrible future that awaited her, Olivia devoted her attention to the meticulous counting of panes in the glass windows.
By the twelfth pane, she could barely hear the singers through the suddenly shrill ringing in her ears. The noise was so deafening she almost clapped her hands over her ears to stifle it. Olivia stopped herself when she realized that probably wouldn’t help at all.
At twenty-eight, her stomach roiled, and she forced herself to resist the urge to sit back on the pew.
At fifty-seven, she swayed, luckily catching herself in time before she pitched forward into the people in front of her.
Something was sitting on her chest, cutting off her air sup ply. The pressure was a vise. Her heart beat an irregular rhythm, and Olivia tried to ignore the thump, thump, pound sensation. Her lips were still moving, still attempting to appear as though she were singing, but Olivia doubted