Page 44 of House of Thorns
Deborah shook her head.
“Then, don’t fret. We’ll think of something.” Olivia drew a deep breath, a depressing one. “Nicholas will make this right.”
“Nicholas,” Deborah mouthed his name and then dropped the letter onto the counter. “Will you see he gets this? I don’t know where he is staying. Do you?”
The sight of Nicholas’s name on the envelope depressed her even more. Despite his claims to the contrary, something stood between him and Deborah. Why else would she write?
“Please, Olivia,” Deborah begged, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
Olivia nodded, slowly.
The scrape of boots on the step outside interrupted further conversation, and as one, they turned as the door swung open.
Lord Randall entered.
He was persistent, to be sure, dressed as the perfect gentleman, suave and sophisticated as he strolled into the shop. He looped his silver-handled walking stick over his arm and doffed his hat.
“Lady Deborah. Miss Mackenzie. Good morning to you both.”
It struck her then what irritated her about the man. He was perfect—too perfect. Orchestrated. Decidedly fake.
“I must go,” Deborah blurted as she rushed to the door.
“Wait,” Olivia called, stretching out her hand, but Deborah disappeared through the door.
Olivia grimaced. Her cousin was so high strung, but then, she had caused to be. It was entirely unfair she had to bear this burden alone. She pursed her lips, angry with Nicholas as well as herself for her own behavior with the man.
It was only then that she noticed Lord Randall watching her every move.
“May I be of service?” he asked.
Again, such a gentlemanly, polished manner and speaking such kind words…so why did she want to smack the smile right off his face?
Forcing a polite smile, she murmured, “I believe I should be asking that of you, my lord, as you’ve come into my shop.”
He twirled his walking stick and sauntered to the counter. “I merely came by to offer the services of my carriage, Miss Mackenzie. Surely, you are attending Lady Kendrick’s charity event?”
Even if she hadn’t already planned to visit her mother’s grave, she wouldn’t have bothered to attend. What was the point? Doubtless, Elena’s throat ‘still hurt.’
“Thank you, Lord Randall, but I’m fine,” she replied. “I shan’t be attending. I thank you for your kind offer.” She owed him no further explanation.
Something about him hardened, almost imperceptibly—something chilling. So. Hedidhave a temper, as gossip claimed.
Feeling a sudden need to put space between them, Olivia stepped behind the counter.
“I see,” he murmured. “I thought you were attending.” Again, the overly polished smile. “I thought merely to be of service, after hearing Lord Blair and your cousin conversing on the matter.”
Olivia lifted a brow.
“But then, perhaps I misunderstood.” He shrugged. “Such is the way with those in love, they so often finish the sentences of the other. They could have been conversing about an entirely different matter, aye?”
The words hurt, even though they shouldn’t, and as much as she didn’t care for Lord Randall, in this, he had no cause to lie. So, Nicholas reallywasa rake. How could Lady Blair produce such a lying son?
Lord Randall smiled politely and leaned against the counter. “Now that I am here, I do believe I would care to purchase a song, after all. A gift for a pianist.”
“Ah yes,” Olivia replied through wooden lips. “Do you have a piece in mind?”
“No. Only, something popular. Special, perhaps. Something new?”
