Page 14 of Mentor to the Marquess
“Where is the lass?” she asked.
He stepped into the woman’s path. “Who are you?”
“Lily, how wonderful!” Lady Allen said, stepping around him. “It has been an age. Did Lady Briarwood send you?”
“Aye, my lady.” She dropped the bolts of fabric ends down on the carpet with a loudthud. “I’ve come to outfit the lass for the season.”
“Thank God,” Lady Allen said. “You are our savior.”
Then Lily turned to the door and shouted, “Lads, bring them here!”
He staggered back as a line of servants filed in, carrying trunks or armfuls of fabric in colors ranging from pale yellow to rich cobalt while Constance flitted around them, barely muffling her squeals of excitement.
Lady Allen clung to his side. He curled his arm around her waist before catching himself. His excitement at Constance’s reaction to the envelopes had left him giddy.
“She didn’t recognize them,” he said. “What does that mean?”
Lady Allen pursed her lips. “Are you sure she isn’t lying?”
He throttled down the immediate urge to fly to his daughter’s defense. As much as he thought he knew her, he was too sensible to believe it was a coincidence that the letters they found were addressed to the same newspaper that was publishing articles attacking Olivia. It was much more likely that Constance, who was barely eighteen and on the cusp of makingthe most important decision of her life, had become skilled at lying to her father.
He sighed. “No. I’m not sure.”
Lady Allen squeezed his bicep. “Have patience. I’ll get the answer out of her in time.”
He hoped she was right. Knowing that his daughter was hiding something from him was like walking around with a sliver embedded in his flesh. He longed to rid himself of the pain, but it was too deep to remove on his own.
It seemed like only yesterday Constance had shrieked with joy as he’d carried her on his shoulders around the house. Now she was entering society and preparing to choose a husband. The weekly allowance he gave her was a pittance compared to her dowry.
His thoughts screeched to a halt.
There was no way of proving if she was lying about the envelopes, but he could check the account he had opened for her. If she had paid the editor to publish the articles, there would certainly be large withdrawals.
He made his excuses to Lady Allen and his daughter and left them to sort out the dresses themselves.
He had an appointment with his banker.
Chapter 9
The moment Lord Lowell left the room, the tension in Olivia’s shoulders eased.
God, what he must think of her. One moment she was accusing him of slander and cringing from his touch, the next she was patting his arm and assuring him all would be well. She felt like a young woman again, at the mercy of the powerful emotions swirling inside her.
Then there was the matter of Constance and her involvement with the newspaper. She wished it was as simple as demanding the girl stop, but until they knew if Olivia was right about the girl being manipulated, it was too risky. If someone intended to ruin Olivia’s reputation, confronting Constance might prompt them to escalate. Likewise, forcing Constance into a corner could tie her more firmly to the man who was manipulating her. Not that she had any proof that it wasn’t Constance herself who had arranged the articles. It was Olivia’s instincts that warned her the situation was not as simple as it seemed.
No, the best course of action was to earn the girl’s trust by continuing in her role as matchmaker. Even if it meant confronting memories she had repressed since the earl’s death.
She lifted a length of lavender satin that slid along her skin like a caress and carried it to Constance. “How do you feel about this for an evening gown?”
Constance ran her hand along the fabric. “It’s beautiful. I cannot wait to attend my first event.” Her eyes glazed over.“Sometimes I imagine I’m a princess invited to a royal ball, dancing with princes from each country until I find one who…” She flushed. “My apologies, Lady Allen. Mrs. Quill says I am prone to flights of fancy.”
An ache started in Olivia’s chest. Constance reminded her so much of herself, before her imagination had been routed out, first by her parents, then by her governess, and finally by her husband.
She would not be like them. Constance deserved to enjoy every moment of her adolescence before she was thrust into the role of wife and then mother.
Olivia picked up the bolt of satin, draped it around her shoulders, and swished it around like a cape. “You might be a princess, but I am a queen, watching over the grand ball from my throne upon the dais.”
Constance’s mouth fell open, but it did not take her long to recover.
