Page 53 of House of Thorns
Olivia didn’t bother turning around. “At the price of my father? Never. Yet even more so, from myself. I detest Lord Randall. I will never wed the man.”
“I’ll not give you a penny otherwise.”
This time, she did turn. With a laugh combined with a humph of disdain, she retorted, “Never have I asked from you a single penny. I will most certainly not start now. I’ll make my own way—without your help. That, I promise you.”
She really did leave then. She stormed out of the sitting room, down the hall and out the front door.
It wasn’t until she reached the edge of Glasgow Green that she realized she’d left without garnering news of Deborah’s time of return. She expelled a breath. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. She’d find a different way to reach her cousin, one that avoided any meeting with the cantankerous, judgmental Duke of a grandfather.
Just what the man was up to fair puzzled her. Why care now? Why throw a husband and a dowry in her path? Did her concert hurt his reputation that badly?
She smiled, coldly. If it did, then she’d double her efforts. She’d do everything possible to makeAn Enchanted Summer Eveninghappen. She’d even bally well sell the press if she had to.
The moment she set foot in the park, another hand dropped on her arm. She jerked free and glanced up, surprised and affronted and very much irritated at men manhandling her arm and shoulder as they pleased.
To her great annoyance, Lord Randall peered down at her with a pleased, smug expression.
Pleased, was he? Unable to stop the anger from erupting, she snapped without preamble, “You’ve spoken of me to the Duke?”
His brows twitched, obviously not expecting such a direct response. “Forgive me, am I out of order?” he asked after a moment.
“If you’re asking if you’re out of order discussing my future with the Duke—without my consent, mind you—then the answer is yes.” She looked him straight in the eye. “The Duke does not speak for me. You have been misinformed.”
Olivia didn’t miss the tic of his jaw muscle nor the fleeting flare of his nostrils. The rumors of his temper were obviously true. Her anger deepened all the more. Howdareher grandfather seek to forge a union with a foul-tempered man with a title—simply for the sake ofhis own reputation. Small wonder Deborah was distraught about confessing her situation to him.
"Olivia, please.” Lord Randall stepped closer.
So now, it was ‘Olivia,’ was it? Did he really think she’d swoon over him, fall for him that easily? She wasn’t Louisa’s kind.
“If you’ll excuse me, Lord Randall,” she murmured in frosty tones. “I must be going.”
As she turned, he reached out as if to touch her again.
She stopped him with a withering glare. “Goodday, my lord.”
Irritated, she marched down the garden path, ignoring his calling of her name. Really, the man was a mystery. What did he expect of her? That she’d turn around and run into his arms?
She arrived at the shop, out of sorts, and slammed the front door shut.
The bang brought Mrs. Lambert through the curtains. “Oh, it’s you, lass,” she snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. “I sold a song while you were out. Put the coins in the box there.” Her mole hairs pointed the way.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lambert.” Olivia grimaced. One sheet. Still, one sale was better than none.
She opened the box and emptied the coins into her palm. Eight shillings in all. Her gaze caught on one of the coins. It was bent. She squinted closer. It was the coin Lord Randall had given her. Odd. Bent, like the coin stolen from her box under the floorboard.
Strange.
What were the odds she’d possess two bent shillings?
With a sigh, she shrugged the thought away and headed to the print room to work. She had to bolster her sales. It was time to advertise in the paper, but first, she had to bind the music she’d printed.
* * *
Morning arrived dreary and unseasonably cold, but for all the gloom, the shop bustled with customers. Olivia smiled, pleased. Her last newspaper announcement had proved fruitful. She eyed her box beneath the counter. While it wasn’t overflowing, she was pleased with the week’s sales.
A gasp circled a group of young women perusing the music near the window.
“Who is it?”
