Page 85 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“How could he know that? Admit it, until you learned that Grasping and Slyboots were based on us, you thought them enormously amusing. That’s because you’ve met many a lady like those two. It’s why they’re funny—we all know someone they resemble. And Thornstock probably knows more people they resemble than most. I’m rather surprised he didn’t do more than tell his playwright friend about us. Thank goodness Mr. Juncker never put in his plays the real tale of what happened that night. Thornstock must have put the fear of God into him.”
Olivia stayed silent. If she opened her mouth at that moment she would spill the truth about everything, and that still seemed wrong. For all she knew, Thorn had some other, more important reason for keeping his writing secret from even his family.
All of a sudden, she remembered how she’d teased him about being jealous of Mr. Juncker. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. It was odd how he’d behaved at those times. He’d been grumpy, annoyed. Not because he was jealous, but because he was having to hide something he was surely proud of. He didn’t need whatever money he got from his writing—that much was clear. He did it for pleasure. And because he obviously had a passion for the theater.
“But Mr. Juncker’s shenanigans aren’t the only reason you’re angry at Thornstock, are they?” Mama went on. “Surely something more is upsetting you.”
She sighed. Mama might not understand her stepdaughter’s chemistry work or how Olivia thought or even what she wanted out of life, but Mama could always tell when Olivia was upset.
“I’m just . . . worried about his reputation,” Olivia said. “What if he means to keep on bedding married women?” And then lying to her about it as he’d lied all this time about being her favorite playwright. “Or going to his club every night after spending all day in Parliament? Or—”
“Being like your father.”
Reluctantly she nodded. “I . . . I love Thorn so much, Mama, that I don’t think I could bear knowing he was doing such things. This betrayal already hurts almost too much to endure.”
Her stepmother kissed her cheek. “Dear girl, marriage is no guarantee of a happy life. It’s rather like . . . like playing billiards. You strike a ball with your cue, intending for the ball to go one place, and instead it careens in another direction entirely. But that doesn’t mean you stop playing billiards. We have to try. Heartache is what we risk.”
Mama clasped her hand. “So don’t let your father’s behavior convince you to give up on your dreams, whether they be to succeed as a chemist or to succeed at love or both. Your father made his choice, and I made mine. You must make your own based on your hopes for your life. Sometimes, we get lucky.” She kissed Olivia’s hand. “I certainly did.”
Tears stung Olivia’s eyes as she squeezed Mama’s hand. She didn’t believe in luck. So she had to figure out how to make her own, whether by burying herself in her work for all time or taking a chance on marriage to Thorn.
Or, as Mama had said, “both.” She wanted both. And she began to believe that Thorn was the only man in England who could and would give her that.
The next day, Thorn accompanied Gwyn to her Mayfair town house. While there, he told Wolfe he’d spoken with the coachman injured in his father’s accident. It was a difficult endeavor given the state of the man’s mind, and Thorn had only gleaned one bit of useful information. The coachman had said he’d seen a stranger walking away from the coach on the day Thorn’s father had left, but given the number of guests in the house and the hooded cloak the person was wearing, he couldn’t say for sure if the person was a man or a woman, or even if the person had fooled with the carriage. Since it had been raining that day, he hadn’t thought the hooded cloak odd at the time.
Then Wolfe and Thorn discussed how to convince Elias to reveal who’d paid him, but the truth was it might be easier to check those guest lists from the two house parties and see who was at both. That meant talking to Mother. Thorn wasn’t sure how much to tell her, but he had to tell her something.
Unfortunately, out of concern that Mother might hear of his engagement before he could share the news in person, he’d sent a hasty note to her as soon as Olivia had accepted his offer. Now he ought to tell her the wedding was off. But if he asked for the guest lists without giving her a good reason for wanting them, she would try to get the truth out of him, and he wanted to consult with his siblings before he told her about their investigation. So he was just going to pretend he was still engaged, ask for the guest lists, and pray that Mother believed his explanation for why he needed them.
When he reached Armitage House, he paused only to doff his hat and greatcoat. Wolfe had already told him Mother was here and not in Lincolnshire. She had elected to stay in London because Sheridan was in town, and they were attempting to unravel the tangled business affairs of Thorn’s stepfather, Sheridan’s father. Not that Mother had much to do with it, but apparently she wanted to be around in case Sheridan had questions.
As Thorn passed through the foyer, he glanced at the salver with its pile of calling cards. That stopped him short. William Bonham’s card was on top. Perhaps Mother had another reason to be in town. He released a long breath. Gwyn approved of the friendship between Mother and their stepfather’s man of affairs, but Thorn wasn’t sure it was a good idea. After three marriages, surely Mother was ready to be done with the wedded state.
Not if she’s in love.
He grimaced. It was such an unequal match she’dhaveto be in love to pursue it. Her friends would cut her off if she married so far beneath her. Then again, she didn’t seem to care that much about her society friends. Rather like Olivia, actually.
Ignoring the pain that thinking of her provoked, Thorn joined his mother in the breakfast room, her favorite spot in the afternoon, since that’s when it—perversely—got the best light. Gwyn had always said that whatever architect had deemed it a breakfast room needed to find a new profession.
“Thorn!” Mother exclaimed. She leaped out of her chair and hurried over to kiss his cheeks. “How was Berkshire?”
“Fine,” he said.
“And how is your new bride-to-be? I’m so happy for you, though I had no idea you were looking for a wife, let alone one like Miss Norley.”
The blow to his gut was swift and painful, made all the more so because he had to hide it. “What’s wrong with Miss Norley?”
“Nothing, as far as I know.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I barely exchanged two words with her at the ball. You never even said you were courting her, so it didn’t occur to me to ask her any questions. She seemed very quiet, that’s all.”
“She is. But you’ll like her once you get to know her.”If I can ever get her back. “She loves the theater.”
“Wonderful! Someone who can accompany me to see my favorite plays.” She cast him a sly smile. “And where is she just now?”
“In Surrey with her mother.”
“Oh, of course.” Mother tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led him over to a cozy arrangement of chairs near the windows. “When she’s back in town, you must bring her by so she and I can discuss wedding plans.”
“You and Olivia and Lady Norley with all your wedding plans,” he grumbled as he settled Mother into her favorite chair. “Between the three of you, you act as if a wedding requires the same strategic planning as a concerted attack on the French.”
