And what would he think of her part in the charade, and the fact that she’d hidden the truth from him for so long?
Marcus would be disappointed. Well, disappointed was probably not the right word. But she refused to consider a harsher emotion, one that would forever change the way Marcus looked at her.
She’d become a liar in order to protect him, never anticipating he’d discover the truth…either about her mother or about her.
She wasn’t sure which revelation would crush him more.
I could accept Finley’s proposal.
The thought repulsed her.
But was it worse than confessing to Marcus?
Could she bear to hurt her brother when she had another option?
No, she couldn’t.
Olivia thought she’d cried all the tears she had, but a few slipped down her cheeks anyway. Consigning herself to a loveless marriage—one built on deception and manipulation—was a heavy decision. But it was one she would make rather than becoming the instrument of disillusionment for her brother.
This was all because of that stupid letter. Had their mother only kept her last words—her selfish confessional—to herself, Olivia wouldn’t be in this predicament.
But no sooner had the hateful thought taken root than she chastised herself. She should have burned the letter immediately after reading it all those years ago. As long as those precious, final words remained undestroyed, Olivia had assumed the risk of someone finding it.
It was her fault. She’d been too weak, too overcome with grief and loneliness to destroy the last tangible link to her mother.
And now, it appeared she would pay for her weakness.
“How long have you been in here?” Marcus’s voice startled her so much she jerked, and the lid on the box slammed closed.
Turning, Olivia thrust her hands behind her back as though they were holding something worth hiding. How long had her brother been watching?
“Just a few moments,” she answered.
“Have you been crying?” Marcus asked in near horror as he came closer to examine her face.
“Perhaps.” She couldn’t stop the following sniffle.
“Would it be too much to ask why you are weeping in the library?” His voice was mild.
“I’ve missed my books.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had missed her books. She’d miss them even more soon—along with the library itself, and the house and the life she’d be giving up when she married Finley.
“You took most of your books to London with you,” Marcus returned.
“Just my favorites,” she argued.
“I think we carried at least fifty volumes with us.” He was beginning to look less suspicious and more amused.
“I have a lot of favorites.”
He shrugged. “I believe Sarah is unpacking your things in your room. Do you wish to lie down for a few minutes?” he asked, eyeing her skeptically. “We’re not dining for many hours yet.”
“No, I’ll find something to amuse myself until then.” Or, more likely, she would obsess about what she was going to do, until she realized there was nothing to be done.
Then, she would cry some more.
“So you don’t have any pressing plans at the moment?” he asked, moving to one of the settees and sitting rather indecorously. He rested his head against the back of the piece of furniture.
She shook her head, wondering if he could see her with his eyes closed like that.
Apparently, he could.
“Excellent,” her brother said. “I planned to take Nick around the estate on horseback. Would you care to join us? I know how much you’ve missed being able to ride.”
She could tell Marcus she didn’t want to spend any more time with his friend than she had to, but her brother would chastise her for her rudeness. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. The marquess was just a man, one she barely knew. But she didn’t like the way she felt when he was near. Nervous. Jumpy. Fluttery.
Olivia had counted herself fortunate Marcus and Lord Huntsford had decided to take their horses on the journey to Westin Park. She’d ridden in the carriage alone, which had been preferable to having to share a confined space with the marquess.
But they had still taken a few breaks, allowing Olivia to exit the carriage and stretch her legs. The marquess had the annoying tendency to seek her out during those moments. Much like when he’d found her in the library back in London, Lord Huntsford was nothing but cordial…so she couldn’t explain why he made her feel so unlike herself.
But she couldn’t avoid the gentleman indefinitely. She wasn’t going to stay locked in her room for days, and running into him or having meals together was inevitable.
Besides, London had offered limited opportunities to ride. Olivia didn’t care much for the sedate, stately stroll through the park. She liked to feel the wind in her hair, whipping it around and into a nest her maid would complain about later. Would she still be able to ride like that as Finley’s wife? She shuddered at the thought of the restrictions that he, as her husband, would be able to place on her freedom. But no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that today. She wasn’t Finley’s wife yet—she still had time to enjoy all the things she loved.
So she agreed.
“Excellent.” Marcus hopped up from his seat. “Shall we meet in half an hour?”
Olivia nodded. And she looked at her brother, thought about how much she was going to break his heart and couldn’t stop the impulse to hug him. Which she did.
Perhaps a touch too tightly.
“Olivia?” he asked.
Marcus was probably wondering if he would need to have a doctor come and examine her.
“I love you,” she told him. She might have sniffled, but if so, it was done very, very quietly.
He patted her on the back, used to her spontaneous shows of affection. “I love you as well.” He pulled back and looked at her face. “Perhaps the fresh air will make you feel better. You look peaked.”
She looked like a wreck. Leave it to Marcus to try and soften the ugly truth. He’d been protecting her all her life.
It was her turn to do so for him.
“You’re right. The country air will be refreshing. The carriage ride must have unsettled me.” She wondered if he could see signs of her deception in her face, but Marcus looked oblivious.
“See you shortly,” he called after her as she left the room.
Fortunately for her, once her back was to him, he couldn’t see the fresh tears that had started to fall.
How was she going to tell Marcus?
Not about their mother—no, she’d resolved that Marcus would never learn about that. But to keep the secret meant accepting Finley’s proposal, and if the way he’d rushed her out of London was any indication, Marcus would not be pleased with the news. What words could she possibly speak that would make him agree to her marrying Finley? How would she handle his disappointment? How would he handle his disappointment?
The litany of unanswerable questions kept her mind busy and her stomach churning. She could think of nothing that would make her task easier.
But after her maid Sarah helped her into her riding habit, Olivia had to scold herself. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life moping around. For the moment, she was still free and would enjoy herself. And for right now, that meant spending the afternoon with her brother.
“You