Page 43 of House of Thorns
Chapter Twelve
Remembrance
Olivia placed the last envelope on the stack and rubbed her tired, reddened eyes.
She’d written every opera singer she could think of, in England, Scotland, Ireland, on the continent and off. Even those associated with the smaller opera houses. And in each letter, she’d enclosed another, addressed to Louisa. Surely, one of the letters would find its way to the opera singer, and surely, once she’d read the heartfelt apology, along with the doubling of her fee,surely, she would return?
Olivia heaved a sigh.
She’d started this venture for so many reasons, to honor her mother’s memory and her father’s—for what he had been—and to share the beauty of his music with the world. Everything had gone so splendidly…until she’d met Lord Randall.
If only she hadn’t gone to Louisa’s townhouse that night.
She leaned against the shop counter and tiredly lay her head down on her arms.
She’d rest…just for a minute.
The next thing Olivia knew, the rays of the morning sun warmed her cheek. Groggy, she lifted her head and glanced about.
Her father was already playing the piano in the parlor, a sad, mournful melody. Olivia held still. Somehow, he knew. She hadn’t told him what day it was. How could she when he spent most of his days trapped in a dream?
Four years ago, to the very day, she’d been robbed of her parents. Four years ago, her mother had died.
She straightened and grimaced. It was painful to visit her mother’s grave, but even more painful to bear the burden alone. Still, she wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity.
If she hurried, she could ready herself and visit her mother’s grave before her appointment at the bank. The bluebells still bloomed along the river. They’d always been her mother’s favorite. She’d collect them along the way, as she always did, and lay them on her mother’s gravestone. So many years, they’d collected them, together. She closed her eyes, almost hearing her mother’s laughing, teasing voice. She hurried toward her room.
She’d just set foot on the bottom stair when she heard a knock on the shop door.
The piano stopped.
“Don’t fret, Father,” Olivia called. “I’m running to the door, now.”
As the music resumed, Olivia hurried to the shop.
A glimpse through the curtains revealed a fine carriage waiting on the street as well as the fine blue silk of a woman’s skirt as she waited by the door. The fine fall of lace from the sleeve revealed the gown to be an expensive one.
Quickly, Olivia lifted the latch.
Deborah stood there with red, swollen eyes, clutching a letter to her breast.
“What is it?” Olivia asked, her heart leaping to her throat.
Her cousin swallowed like a nervous bird and then swept inside. “It’s all wrong, Olivia,” she whispered. “You aren’t to blame. It’s my doing.”
“What is?” Olivia asked, alarmed as she followed her cousin to the counter.
“It’s all wrong,” Deborah choked. “I’m at my wits’ end.”
She certainly looked it. There was a wild look of desperation about her that tore Olivia’s heart. “If you tell me, I might be—”
“Grandfather can’t find out,” Deborah interrupted. Then, dropped her hands to her waist. “Already, I’ve grown thicker, Olivia. Another month, there is no hiding.”
She was right. Perhaps, there wasn’t hiding, already.
The look in Deborah’s eyes was a tortured one. “Oh, Olivia. It’s the end. I’ll be disowned.”
Olivia gave her cousin’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I can’t see how grandfather can disown you, Deborah. He doesn’t have another heir left now, does he?”
