Page 2 of With Good Grace
She smiled, filled with fiercely possessive maternal love for this child, brutally conceived into a loveless marriage, and now the focal point of Olivia’s life. Nothing, not even her feelings for Jake, mattered to her more than the welfare of this incorrigible scamp.
Olivia returned to the drawing room. There was half an hour before Jake was due and, nervous at the prospect of being alone with him after such a long separation, Olivia felt too restless to remain still. She checked arrangements in the salon where dinner would be served; a far more informal setting than the dining room that, although small by Jake’s standards, would still feel cavernous with just the two of them occupying it. The table was beautifully set with crisp white linen, sparkling crystal and Olivia’s favourite china. There was a small vase of pink rosebuds in its centre, giving off a heady perfume. The fire and a plethora of candles as opposed to gas lamps created an intimate ambience. Perhaps Jake would think she was trying to seduce him. Olivia stifled a smile, unable to deny to herself that that was her exact intention.
She wandered back from the salon to the main drawing room and sat down. Two minutes had passed. Still another twenty eight to fill. She sighed and picked up a book she knew she would not be able to concentrate upon, startled out of her reflective nervousness by the sound of the door knocker. Jake was here already? He was always punctual but being this early implied that he was as impatient for her company as she was for his. A small smile tugged at Olivia’s lips at this display of un-Jake-like behaviour.
Olivia’s momentary feelings of euphoria gave way to anxiety and confusion when Green entered the room and informed her that Lady Grantley required a moment of her time.
‘Margaret?’
Olivia could not have been more shocked if Green had informed her the Prime Minister had called. She nibbled at her index finger, at a loss to know what her sister-in-law could possibly want with her. Even if she had a compelling reason to call, she was a stickler for protocol and would never impose herself at such an unsocial hour. Olivia had little time for the woman but knew, given their history, that she must have a very particular reason for wishing to see her. Curiosity overcame distaste.
‘Show her in, Green,’ she said, sighing.
Olivia stood as Margaret Grantley walked through the door, wearing a smart walking gown of green twill and an unbecoming hat trimmed with excessive ribbons and ostentatious silk roses balanced precariously on its brim. After all the false accusations Margaret had thrown at Olivia at the time of Marcus’s murder, she ought to be quaking in Olivia’s presence. Margaret had not apologised to Olivia when she discovered that she was innocent; in fact she had not contacted her at all.
This was the first time they had seen one another in two years, but it appeared that Margaret’s opinion of her own self-worth had not undergone any marked alteration during that time. With her nose in the air, as though stepping into a drawing room situated in the relatively unfashionable district of Chelsea was beneath her, she seemed anything but humbled to be begging an audience with Olivia.
‘Thank you for receiving me,’ she said stiffly. ‘I can see that you are expecting company,’ she added, her glance taking in Olivia’s evening gown, an edge of disapproval in her expression, ‘and so I shall not detain you for long.’
‘I wonder at your wishing to detain me at all,’ Olivia replied, waving her unwelcome visitor to the nearest chair but not offering her refreshment. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked, resuming her own seat.
‘Nothing but the direst necessity would have brought me here, I can assure you of that.’
‘And only good manners persuaded me to receive you,’ Olivia replied with asperity.
‘I will get directly to the point.’
‘I wish you would.’
‘It is Hubert.’
Olivia lifted one shoulder. ‘What of him?’
‘He has disappeared.’
Olivia’s mouth fell open. ‘Excuse me, let me see if I have got this straight. You have come all this way just to tell me that your husband has disappeared?’ Margaret’s lips tightened but she remained haughtily aloof. Olivia ought to take satisfaction from telling her to go to the devil, but she was not quite that petty minded. Besides, beneath Margaret’s display of remote superiority, Olivia could see that she was very anxious. ‘Evidently that is your reason for calling. What is less clear is what you imagine that unfortunate situation has to do with me.’
‘I will be the first to admit that we have not always seen eye to eye, but—’
Olivia fixed her nemesis with a look of chilly disdain. ‘You told the officer investigating my husband’s murder that you always knew I would kill him one day.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Margaret appeared uncharacteristically flustered. The woman had ice in her veins and Olivia had never seen her lose control of herself. ‘You had already been arrested. The detective implied that they had proof of your guilt and asked me about your relationship with Marcus. Surely you did not imagine I would lie for you?’
Olivia shook her head. Even now when it was evident that Margaret thought Olivia could help her in some way, she still refused to acknowledge her own prejudices. Her assertions about the state of Olivia’s marriage—assertions that were based on nothing more solid than conjecture—had helped to keep her incarcerated in the hellhole of Newgate Prison for longer than might otherwise have been the case. If Olivia closed her eyes she could still smell the desperation and misery that clung to the place and its miserable inhabitants like a dingy shroud.
‘What makes you imagine I can help you to find Hubert, even if I felt so inclined?’
Finally Margaret lowered her head and had the grace to look ashamed of herself. ‘I was not fair to you; I can quite see that now.’
Olivia lifted a brow. ‘You have come to apologise and assume that will make things right between us.’
‘I am in dire straits.’ Margaret sat a little straighter—a feat Olivia would have considered impossible—and sent Olivia a defeated look. ‘I dare say that knowledge affords you considerable pleasure.’
‘I am nothing like you, and do not take pleasure in the misfortunes of others.’
‘No, I don’t think you do.’ Margaret’s sigh was deep and prolonged. ‘I misjudged you.’
‘We have never liked one another and that situation is unlikely to change, so why come to me with your problems? Surely if Hubert is missing then it is a matter for the police.’
