Page 56 of Mentor to the Marquess
When the second course, a chicken fricassée served with new potatoes, appeared, she leaned over to whisper in Thel’s ear. “This is not going well.”
“If I may be so bold,” Mr. Dawson said suddenly, “I understand that all of you have concerns regarding my intentions toward Constance, but I assure you that despite what you might have heard”—he glanced at Olivia—“I am an honorable man. My only desire is to ensure Constance is happy.”
The duchess put her hand on her chest. “Oh, dear. I suppose it was terribly rude of us to put you on the spot.”
Mr. Dawson inclined his head. “You are invested in the well-being of your granddaughter, Your Grace. Anyone would have done the same in your position.” He paused for a moment before his gaze settled on Olivia. “However, there is one matter that confuses me. As Constance and I have an agreement, why must there be a matchmaker present?”
The room went so silent that the patter of rain on the windows could be heard, as well as clanging and bubbling from the kitchen.
“Mr. Dawson is right,” Lord Felix said. “I, for one, have settled my opinion.”
“I would rather not spend another second in her presence,” Felix’s wife said.
Mr. Dawson looked at Thel. “Lord Lowell, does your personal attachment to this woman outweigh the desires of the rest of your family?”
Olivia stared at Thel, waiting for him to respond. When he did not, pressure built behind her eyes until she could no longer stand it. She shoved back from the table and rushed from the room.
Thel might not see the cruelty behind Mr. Dawson’s cool façade, but she did. The moment they were married, and Constance could no longer escape, Mr. Dawson would drop his act and become like the earl. Demanding. Possessive. More a prison guard than a husband.
She wished she’d let Thel challenge him to a duel, because then at least it would be over.
She came to a halt as she reached the front door, a plan crystalizing in her mind.
Thel couldn’t challenge him, but she could.
She would write another article in her guise as a gentleman, this time demanding the writer provide proof of his claims against her. At the same time, she would casually remark in front of several of her servants that she needed to destroy several important documents related to her marriage that she was storing in her office. If her suspicions were correct, Mr. Dawson was bribing one or more members of her staff to gather information to use against her. He would learn of the documents, and, feeling compelled to produce proof, would try to steal them.
“Olivia, wait,” Thel said from behind her.
She spun around, anger forgotten. “I know how we can stop him.”
Thel shoved his hands in his hair. “No more plans. No more lies. Mr. Dawson might not be the most appropriate choice, but he has my brother’s approval. Constance loves him. It’s over.”
The damned man was going to sentence his daughter to a life of abuse because he couldn’t see beyond his fantasies. She grabbed his wrists. “Stop this nonsense, Thel. Love isn’t some magical force that will save Constance from a life of misery. Don’t be so childish.”
He stepped back, shoving her hands away. “That’s what you think of me? That I’m childish?”
His words slipped between his ribs and dug into her heart, but she would not give up while there was a chance to convince him. “You’re only seeing what he wants you to see.”
“What about the things we’ve done together?” he asked. “Were they merely games?”
“Thel, listen to me! We can still beat him. I can use the divorce petition to—”
He held up his hand. “That won’t be necessary. I apologize, Lady Allen, but your services are no longer required.”
Chapter 23
RESPONSE TO ACCUSATIONS. The author who has graced this paper over the past week is nothing more than a jealous miscreant intent on disrupting the reputation of a respectable woman who cared for her husband until his dying breath.
Why should we believe a man who makes baseless accusations threaded through with obvious malice and jealousy and provides nothing but his own assurances to back up his claims?
In sum, show us your proof, sir, or still your tongue forever.
Olivia crouched beneath her desk, waiting for the door to open and her adversary to reveal himself. It had been hours and still there was no sign of Mr. Dawson. She dearly hoped it would not be another wasted night. She was growing tired of spending her evenings alone.
She would much rather be in Thel’s bed.
But that was impossible now. He had cut her out of his life two weeks prior without hesitation, choosing to believe in fantasy instead of logic, and she had no one to blame but herself. She had held back the full extent of her feelings against the chance that he shared the same temperament as her former husband, even though everything he had said and done had been proof of the opposite. She’d tried so hard to erase Lord Allenfrom her mind, but it seemed the damage he’d done was too extensive. He would haunt her for as long as she lived.
