Page 38 of The Butterfly
Setting his gaze someplace beyond her, he shrugged one shoulder as if what she’d said—as if she herself—meant nothing to him.
“And ye’re a spoiled, petulant little brat. Now, go. I cannae even stand the sight of ye anymore.”
The last of her defenses crumbled, his cruelty and coldness having destroyed them. She turned to flee, certain she might collapse at his feet and begin to beg in earnest if she did not get away from him. And what would that serve, other than to make her look like even more a fool than she already did? No, she must escape this with what was left of her dignity.
Still swiping at her eyes, she ran from the stable, her chest burning as she fought to breathe past the sobs ripping through her chest, compressing her lungs until she was certain she might collapse from lack of air. She ran, and did not stop running until she had burst into her chamber.
Maeve came rushing from the dressing room, eyes wide at the sight of Olivia, face reddened and streaked with tears. “Goodness, my lady! What’s happened? Are you all right?”
“Get out!” Olivia screamed, her body shaken from the force of the anger that came pouring out of her just then. “Get out and leave me alone!”
She did not make a habit of treating servants badly and had never raised her voice at Maeve. Thankfully, the maid must have realized she only needed to be left alone and fled without another word.
The moment the dressing room door clicked shut, she crumbled to her knees, every bit of what she’d tried to hold back rushing out of her all at once. She sobbed like some wounded animal, the sounds she made foreign and shrill, echoing from the walls and ceiling. Tears raced down her face and neck like rivers of fire, her cries tearing her fragile body with a force that left her breathless. Before long, she could not even hold herself up anymore, lying down upon the floor as her crying quieted to hiccups and pants, her tears drying upon her face. Curling into herself, she closed her eyes and tried to pull herself back together, to mend what Niall had just torn to pieces.
“I hate him,” she whispered, her voice gone hoarse from crying. “I hate him, I hate him!”
But, even as she spat the words, they made her feel no better. They were not true. She did not hate him, could never bring herself to hate him.
Nevertheless, he had spurned her, tossed her aside, and made it clear that the future she had wanted with him would never happen. She did not know what had caused this, if it were something she had done, or if she was right to assume that Niall had simply grown afraid. Couldn’t he see that she was afraid, too? But, she had been willing to face it all as long as she’d had him. Now, what was she to do?
Thank goodness Adam was not here, having set off for his Grand Tour days prior. She would not see him again for at least two years, his travels taking him to faraway and exciting places. Before leaving, he had asked her what she wanted, if she were certain she knew what she was doing with Niall. Adam had no idea of the depth of her love for their friend, nor was he privy to their plans to elope. She had tried to make light of her dalliance with Niall, insisting that she knew it could not last, all the while praying that it would. When he had asked her what she wanted for her life, the answer had been simple.
“Happiness, I suppose,” she had told him. “In whatever way I can find it.”
And that was exactly what she would do. This hurt more than anything she had ever experienced. It would probably always hurt, though like any other wound, would become less painful over time. She would find the strength, day by day, to put Niall behind her and force her memories of him into the deepest, darkest corner of her mind.
Happiness … she would find it without him. She no longer had any choice.
London would give her the chance to start over. There, she would become a new person. She would be beautiful and charming enough to catch the eye of a good man. Perhaps not a man as perfect as Niall … but he would care for her. He would treat her well and please her stepfather with his connections and wealth. She would marry him and go on to do all the things that would be expected of her. And somehow, she would find a way to be content with her lot in life. She would do it if it killed her.
“Good-bye, Niall,” she whispered as the setting sun began casting her room into darkness. “I hope someday you can be happy, too.”
Two months in London did very little to cure Olivia of her melancholy. She spent her days paying calls, taking walks, exploring the city—which proved to be her favorite part of the entire experience. There were museums and parks, coffee houses, and Bond Street! There was always something to see, do, or explore … all under the watchful eye of her cousin or his wife. She would much rather have done it all with Adam, but could not begrudge him his time on the Continent.
She had already received a letter from him, filled with a recounting of his sea voyage and his first days in Paris. He’d promised to send her gifts from every stop and had thus far purchased a parasol, several silk fans, and a volume of poetry written in French just for her.
When writing him back, she kept her words light so he would not suspect the pain she hid. It would worry him to know she went about her first Season lonely and missing Niall. She would not ruin his trip by burdening him with her troubles. As well, it would destroy the men’s friendship, so she kept it all to herself. None of it mattered, anyway. She had come here to find a husband, and by the time Adam set foot back on English soil, Niall would be far behind her.
The evening was when the true husband hunt began, with weekly trips to Almack’s where she sipped watery lemonade and danced with the men who inspected her as if she were a prized mare. There were also the parties and balls she received invitations for. Being the sister of the rebellious future Earl of Hartmoor had her quite in demand, her social calendar always filled.
Between her busy days and whirlwind nights, she should not have time to pine after Niall. Yet, that was exactly what she did. Mostly at night when she lay alone in the dark, thinking of the times she’d spent in his arms. Their game of ‘what-ifs’ plagued her dreams, their whispered wishes floating up to the stars.
He had told her to forget about him. That proved harder than she could have ever thought. She’d met many men since coming to London, a handful of whom were genuinely interested in her. There was a viscount, the second son of a duke, and a baron … all three handsome, charming, wealthy, and possessing all their teeth. According to her dear friend, Avis, these were the most important qualities for one to consider while on the Marriage Mart. After all, a girl could wind up with a man old enough to be her father, or with a dying estate, or putrid breath.
Still, when she tried to picture life with any of these men, Olivia could not conjure any excitement over it. If only she could bring herself to feelsomething… anything other than friendship or camaraderie toward one of them. Instead, she could only compare them to Niall and find them lacking. While it was not well done of her, she still found herself wishing they were taller and broader in the shoulders. Their faces were too boyish, too smooth, lacking all the character and ruggedness of the visage she loved most. When their soft, gloved hands took hers, she longed for calloused fingers and a firm grip.
Each night before falling asleep, she would remind herself that she could not have what she truly wanted and must make do. If she could only find a man to take her mind off Niall, someone who made her feel … well,anything,then perhaps, she might stop feeling as if she would curl up and die.
Another month passed her by, then another, and day by day she began to lose hope. Oh, she was having a perfectly lovely time in London and rather thought she might enjoy living here instead of Edinburgh. She’d made wonderful friends, gotten to experience the opera and the theater and so many other exciting things. In truth, she found more comfort in her friends and new adventures than in the prospect of marriage, which still did not appeal. Thus far, she had rebuffed the viscount’s clumsy proposal and dashed the hopes of the son of the duke, who had hinted that he might be working himself up to offering for her. She liked both gentlemen well enough, but knew she’d never be happy with them.
Olivia had given up the husband hunt and settled on enjoying what time she had left in London when a hand tapping her upon the shoulder one evening at Almack’s changed everything.
She turned, fan fluttering to ward off the stifling heat. At first, she saw only a man’s waistcoat, having nearly bumped her nose against it turning to face someone standing far too close even in such a crowd.
But then, she glanced up, up past the white swirl of a whimsically tied cravat adorned with sapphire tiepin, into the face of the prettiest man she had ever seen.
His skin was pale and smooth like marble, emphasizing a shock of rich, auburn hair which fell over his forehead in a tumble of artful curls in the style of Byron. There was something decidedly haughty about his face. Though, it proved more alluring than off-putting. Perhaps that was because in the midst of those prominent cheekbones, straight nose, and angular jaw sat a merry pair of blue eyes. They matched his tiepin in their dark hue, and she wondered if he or his valet had achieved the effect on purpose.
