“Even so, you might agree to bear me company. Since I am to be here in the country for several weeks at least, I imagine I will grow exceedingly lonely with no one to talk to. Would you mind very much if I visited you occasionally? You wouldn’t have to speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence. And I could refrain from conversing with you. Then again, it might prove awkward with us each ignoring the other. We would resemble an old wedded couple who scarcely say a word to each other from dawn to dusk.”
The image brought the faintest hint of amusement to the girl’s lips, and Vanessa felt a small ray of hope that eventually she could get through to her.
“Of course,” she added casually, “you might come to find my companionship agreeable. I could read to you, comb your hair, share confidences… the sort of things sisters do.”
Olivia looked away, before saying sadly, almost wistfully, “I’ve never had a sister.”
“I have two of them, both younger. Come to think of it, you remind me a little of Fanny. She has your coloring, although I cannot tell about your eyes. Are they gray like your brother’s?”
There was a long pause. “Blue. My eyes are blue.”
“I’ve always wanted to have blue eyes. Mine are dark, like a horse’s. My brother always ribbed me unmercifully about them when we were children. He used to call me Old Ned, after an aging hack who had been turned out to pasture.”
When Olivia remained silent, Vanessa leaned forward in her chair. “I brought you a present.”
For the first time, Olivia showed a spark of interest. She cocked her head a degree. “A present? What is it?”
“Telling would spoil the pleasure, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
She held out the small package. “Would you care to open it, or shall I?”
“You do it.”
Vanessa carefully untied the ribbon and removed the tissue paper. Inside was an exquisite gold-embossed volume bound in calfskin. It had cost her dearly, a sum Vanessa could ill-afford, yet she considered it a small price to pay if one counted what her family owed this young girl.
She handed the book to Olivia, who peered at the cover but couldn’t seem to make out the title in the darkness.
“Should I light a lamp?”
“Yes… please.”
Vanessa obliged, but although she kept the flame low, Olivia shielded her eyes as if in pain. A moment later, however, her vision seemed to adjust.
“Oh…” The word was a whisper spoken almost reverently.
The gift was a collection of sonnets by William Shakespeare, chosen because Aubrey had said Olivia liked poetry.
Vanessa felt a sharp twinge of guilt at the reminder. She was here under false pretenses, and yet her subterfuge was necessary. She couldn’t reveal her connection to the man who had brought the girl low. Olivia would certainly never allow her close enough to help if she knew the truth. “Thank you, Lady Wyndham.”
“Do you think you could bring yourself to call me Vanessa?”
“Yes… Vanessa. Thank you.”
“So you enjoy Shakespeare?”
“Very much. And the edition is beautiful. I shall cherish your gift.”
“I would be happy to read to you sometime, if you would permit me.”
For a long moment Olivia regarded her, searching her face with intelligence and a quiet wisdom. “You are very persistent, I think.”
Vanessa smiled. “Quite. My mama says it is my greatest failing. But, like Old Ned, I have excessive reserves of endurance.”
To her delight, the two of them shared an intimate moment of accord.
“Where did you find so lovely a volume?” Olivia asked softly.
“At Hatchard’s bookshop in London. If you like, I shall take you there the next time you are in town.”
“I doubt I will be going to London anytime in the future,” the girl replied bitterly.
“No? Your brother told me he hoped to take you there next year for your come-out.” That wasn’t quite true, but Vanessa had no doubt that if Olivia expressed even the slightest interest, Damien would give her a dozen come-outs.
Olivia raised eyes that were full of pain. “How can I have a Season,” she asked, her voice low, desolate, “when I cannot walk, let alone dance?”
Her heart hurting, Vanessa reached out to take the girl’s hand. “My dear, I cannot pretend to know how difficult this all must be for you, but I do know you needn’t face it alone. You have people who care for you, who will help you through the worst of it, if you only let them.”
“I suppose Damien told you… what happened.”
“He told me that you met with a tragic accident which you in no way deserved.”
“I thought… he was angry with me… for behaving so foolishly.”
“No. If anything, he is angry at himself for not protecting you better. From what I’ve seen, your brother cherishes you. He would do anything in his power to help you get well.”
“He doesn’t cherish me, not really.” Olivia’s voice trembled. “He never paid me the slightest heed until my… accident. I’ve always been alone.”
“I know he regrets that. And you aren’t alone, Olivia. The servants obviously adore you, and I’m certain you have friends who are concerned for you.”
A tear spilled down her pale cheek. “Some of my friends called at first, but I… turned them all away. I didn’t wish them to see me like this.”
“That is understandable,” Vanessa said gently. “And were I in your place, I daresay I would have felt the same way. It would be easier simply to give up, to believe my life over, to lie on my couch and never have to face the world. It would be easier… but it would not be fair.”
“Fair?”
“To your brother. I cannot believe you have any notion how much he blames himself for letting this tragedy befall you.”
“He wasn’t to blame,” Olivia admitted in a low voice.
“You will never convince him of that, not as long as he can do nothing to help ease your misery. He is hurting for you, Olivia. Is that what you want?”
There was an obvious hesitation. “No…” she said reluctantly. “I don’t want Damien to hurt for me.”
“Then you might begin by agreeing to see the physician he has engaged for you. Even if you show little progress, you will at least have tried for his sake.”
When Olivia turned her face away, Vanessa felt her heart sink.
“There,” she murmured, “I believe I’ve said enough. I shan’t badger you any longer, but will leave you to rest.” She paused. “Would you like me to turn out the light before I go?”
“No…” Olivia said in a small voice. “Leave it on, please. I should like to read my sonnets.”
Vanessa felt the constricted feeling in her chest ease a little. She had made a tiny measure of progress, at least. And she had given the girl something to think about besides her sorrow and shame. Yet it would be a long, difficult task to bring Olivia Sinclair to any semblance of her former health or spirit.
She changed for dinner several hours later with the assistance of a maid whom the housekeeper sent. With inordinate care, Vanessa chose a high-waisted gown of powder blue silk, more for its demureness than for its admittedly flattering lines. Unfamiliar with her new role of rake’s mistress, she preferred to err on the side of modesty.
It was with renewed trepidation that she sought out the drawing room on the lower floor. Daylight was fading with the setting sun, and the moment was swiftly approaching when she would be required to fulfill the amorous duties she had agreed to.
She found her nemesis standing at one of the open French doors, staring out at the courtyard gardens. The soft golds and crimson of approaching twilight bathed the scene and entwined with the scent of roses to create a magical aura, yet Damien Sinclair did not seem to have passion on his mind. He stood still as a statue, his lean-muscled frame looking sleek and powerful in a tailored blue dinner jacket.
Drawn to him in spite of herself, Vanessa crossed the elegant room silently and came to stand beside him. He didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence, and yet she was certain of his awareness. Her own senses had taken on a fresh alertness, heightened by misgivings about what the evening would bring.