The Fifth Kiss (30 page)

Although she herself had come to the very same conclusion just a couple of days before, she could not now admit the truth of it. Her emotions seemed to have taken control of her tongue. “You mean we cannot go on in this present arrangement because you wish to wed Miss Oglesby. I quite understand, my lord. You have as much right to pursue
your
life as I have to pursue mine.”

He threw her a quick glance over his shoulder and then walked to the window. “We
all
have to pursue life … even if we'd sometimes prefer to hide away in corners and let it pass us by.”

She stared at his back silhouetted in the window by the light of the setting sun. Was he speaking of her … or of himself? But there seemed to be little point in continuing to quarrel. “I … I suppose I may stay until tomorrow afternoon, so that I can say a … a p-proper goodbye to the children …?” She pressed her lips tightly together to keep them from trembling.

“Don't ask foolish questions. You may make whatever arrangements you wish.” The words were curt, but the voice was hoarse.

“Very well, then. I shall go and start my packing at once.” She went quickly to the door. “I hope you will believe, Miles, that I … I … wish you h-happy,” she said softly.

He nodded his head. She stood motionless, hoping he would turn and face her once more—that by some miracle of the fates he would say something …
anything …
that would change or alleviate the aching emptiness inside her. But he neither moved nor spoke, and she quietly left the room, perceiving for the first time, and with terrifying dismay, that in spite of what he'd said, she was leaving her life
behind
her.

chapter twenty

Olivia's return to the house in Brook Street was a cause for sincere rejoicing for everyone in the family, but it was not long before she recognized that, although she was held in great affection by each one, none of them had any real need of her. Many of the activities that had been her responsibility—like deciding on the week's menus, copying manuscript pages for Charles or making certain that her father took time from his books to eat his luncheon—had been taken over by Elspeth. And the household had fallen into so comfortable a routine in the months of her absence that she almost felt like an intruder.

This state of affairs was far from comforting. Already crushed by the pains of unrequited love and her very real concern over the happiness of her beloved niece and nephew, she could barely keep up a semblance of equanimity before the family. Before long, she became aware that Jamie was watching her with wrinkled brow and that Charles and Elspeth were whispering about her worriedly.

There was only one thing for her to do. She had to take herself in hand and begin to, as Strickland put it, pursue her destiny. She had to force herself to get out in the world. For that, of course, she needed to seek the advice of her brother Jamie. With some eagerness, he informed her that Morley Crawford had been inquiring after her with persistent interest. With her permission, Jamie advised his friend that he was free to pay a call on her, and within a week Crawford became a frequent visitor to the house on Brook Street.

Olivia tried sincerely to find enjoyment in his company. But she succeeded only at those times when he escorted her to the theater or the opera. There, for a few hours, she was able to forget herself … to lose herself in the artificial world of make-believe. And she also found it a relief to be occupied, even if the occupation was as mundane as freshening her wardrobe or planning superficial amusements. But Morley Crawford had neither matured nor changed in the months since she'd last seen him, and it was difficult to maintain a sincere interest in his rather commonplace, boyish conversation.

Morley, however, had found Olivia
greatly
changed—and all for the better. She seemed to have become even prettier than before—slimmer and more mysterious. Better still, she no longer disconcerted him by saying outlandish things and making unconventional suggestions. She was quieter, more restrained and more willing to let him take the lead. Once more he fell head over heels in love. And this time he was determined to court her until she'd agreed to become his wife.

It soon became plain to Olivia that Morley had serious intentions, and, on reflection, she admitted that there was a distinct possibility that she might one day accept him. There was very little else she could do. Strickland evidently had been quite right—her “bluestocking pretensions” had been foolish. A lady of intellectual pretensions was looked on by all the world as queerly eccentric. Even so formidable a bluestocking as Madame de Stael, who was a Baroness wealthy enough to set herself up in grand style, hold
salons
and entertain all the famous writers and thinkers of the time, was laughed at behind her back. If a woman didn't wish to grow into a dried-up old maid, hiding away in the parental household and growing more and more pitiful with time, there was nothing for her but marriage. And if a girl didn't
love
any of her suitors, what matter? Olivia wondered how many of the young ladies of society had married without love, merely for the reason that there was nothing else for them to
do
with their lives. As for herself, if she
had
to marry, she supposed The Honorable Mr. Crawford would make as conformable a husband as any other. He was easy-going and likeable, his character was open and honest, and he had five thousand a year. Many girls would call him a “catch.” If Morley Crawford was her destiny, so be it.

At Langley Park, Strickland was finding
his
pursuit of his destiny more difficult. Sending Olivia away had done little to bring about a closer relationship between his children and the woman he was considering as his next wife. Their encounters were as stiff as ever. He'd tried bringing Perry and Amy, singly or together, to her when she was alone, and he tried it when she was in company with others. He'd tried taking them all riding together. He'd tried showing Leonora up to their bedrooms to tuck them up at night. None of his efforts had resulted in any perceptible growth of warmth. He had one remaining hope: Amy's forthcoming fifth birthday.

He arranged with Tilda and the cook to hold a birthday luncheon. It would be held in the large downstairs sitting room, where everything would be carefully arranged to delight and entertain the children. On the appointed day, Strickland sent Lord Gallard and Arthur out to ride, relieving them of the sort of afternoon they would find unbearably dull—and at the same time relieving the children of having to endure their stilted presences. He checked the room carefully before inviting the participants to make their appearance. As he'd ordered, one side of the room was cleared of furniture so that they could play at ringtoss and spillikins. On the other side of the room, a table had been set up for the luncheon. It was cheerfully decorated with gayly colored confetti scattered all over it (an idea of Tilda's) and had as its centerpiece a huge dish piled high with
bonbons
. The entire room had been decorated with banners and streamers, and every surface held dishes of sweetmeats and cakes. Strickland was quite satisfied that the atmosphere of the room was as festive as possible. He could only hope that it would remain so after the party had begun.

Leonora, at first, tried her best, and so did her mother and sister. They played at spillikins with enthusiasm and made much pleasantly silly chatter over luncheon. Strickland, sitting next to Perry at the festive table, making tantalizing jokes about the presents that were to be brought out for the two of them, was not discouraged by the results of his efforts. Amy was looking quite cheerful, and Perry had even exchanged some words with Leonora's mother. But after Amy had unwrapped her new doll (which didn't interest her at all) and Perry had glowed with joy at receiving a real pocketknife quite suitable for carving wood, a climactic incident occurred to spoil everything.

Leonora, determined to succeed in attracting the birthday girl to her lap, held out a brightly painted top. “Here's something
else
for you, Amy, my little love,” she said, her melodious voice sugary with temptation. “Come here to me, and you shall have it … all for your very own.”

But Amy had spied on the wrist of that outstretched hand a bracelet of garnet stones. “
Beadth
!” she breathed, her eyes eager. “What pwetty beadth!” She slid off her chair and ran toward Leonora with arms outstretched.

Leonora could not let the opportunity go by. She scooped the child in her arms, lifted her to her lap and again offered the top.

“No, thank you,” Amy said politely, “I wike the beadth.”

Leonora didn't quite understand. “Are you saying
beads
? What beads?”

“Thethe,” Amy said, reaching out for the bracelet. Her hand flew out to grasp the glittering stones, making contact with them just at the moment when Leonora realized her intention. With a hasty, instinctive jerk, Leonora pulled her hand away, causing the delicate catch of the bracelet to break and the trinket to fall from her wrist to the floor. At the same time, she dropped the top, which rolled across the table to Perry's place. “Oh!” she cried, disconcerted. “My
bracelet
!”

“Shame on you, child!” Aunt Eugenia scolded.

“I
want
it!” Amy said, sliding off Leonora's lap and scrambling on the floor for it.

“Then may
I
have the top?” Perry asked politely. But no one was paying any attention to him.

“Amy, get up from the floor and return Miss Oglesby's bracelet!” Strickland ordered firmly.

Amy was sitting on the floor holding the gold-set stones and looking at them admiringly. “
No
!” she said with a pout. “It'th
my
birfday, and I
want
them!”

“Spoilt little imp!” Cousin Hattie muttered, not looking up from her needlework.

Perry, having heard no refusal of
his
request, picked up the top and carefully wound the string around it. Meanwhile, Leonora's mother had risen from her seat and come round the table to stand behind her daughter's chair. “Oh, my lord,” she said eagerly, giving her daughter a meaningful poke in the back, “let the child
have
it. They are only garnets, after all.”

Leonora nodded in agreement. “Yes, Miles, please. It
is
her birthday.”

“On
no
account may she have it! We must not encourage such rudeness.”

“Quite right, Miles,” Eugenia agreed, and for once no rejoinder came from Hattie.

Strickland strode over to his daughter, leaned down and forcibly took the trinket from her grasp. Amy glared at him, astounded and outraged. “But I
want
it!” she wailed.

“One does not get everything one wants, my girl,” he told her, handing the bracelet to its owner, “even on one's
birthday.
”

Amy was not accustomed to denial. She burst into frustrated tears and threw herself face down on the floor. “I don't
care
! I want the pwetty beadth! I
want
them!” And she began to scream and kick her heels, her fists pounding furiously on the floor. Strickland stared down at her dumfounded, never before having witnessed one of her tantrums. Leonora, horrified, bit her lips and mutely held out the bracelet for Strickland to reconsider, while the others watched the scene aghast.

Perry, in the meantime, was paying not a whit of attention to the scene being enacted on the other side of the table. Amy's tantrums were not new to
him
. Completely absorbed in his top, he spun it out on the table and watched with delight as it careened along the édges of the plates in its path across the table.

“
Please
take—” Leonora was saying as the top spun off the table's edge right into her lap, giving her a shocking start as well as a rather painful prick on her upper leg. She jumped up with a cry, glanced at the place from which the missile had come and saw Perry, his arm stretched across in his effort to stop it, in a position that suggested he'd
thrown
it at her. This, in addition to the shrieking of the little girl at her feet, completely undid her already frayed nerves. “You horrid,
dreadful
boy!” she cried angrily. “You did that on
purpose
!”

“Perry!” Strickland barked, appalled.

“But I
didn't
!” Perry exclaimed, retreating to his chair. “I was only—”

To Strickland's horrified eyes, it seemed as if the room was in complete chaos. Amy was screaming. Mrs. Oglesby was leaning over her and begging her uselessly to stop crying. Eugenia was urging him in her booming voice to give the tot a good spanking, while Hattie was muttering that whippings never did anyone a bit of good. Lady Gallard was berating Perry for making mischief while his sister was so upset. Poor Leonora looked as if she would break into tears at any moment. And Perry's face was set in stiff, angry lines, as if an explosion was about to break from that direction as well. “I have had
enough
of this!” Strickland shouted in disgust. “Amy, stop that caterwauling and get up from the floor
at once
!”

Amy just kept on screaming. Strickland was completely at a loss. What was he to
do
with this hysterical child?

Tilda, who had kept in the background during the entire scene, stepped forward and came to his side. “Miss Olivia says that children won't stop their tantrums when people fuss over 'em. It's best, she says, to leave 'em alone in their rooms 'til they cry it out,” she told him quietly.

He looked at her appreciatively. “Very well then, Tilda. Take her out of here at once. I'll be up later to deal with her.”

Tilda knelt down, scooped the child up under one strong arm and carried her, yowling and kicking, from the room.

The silence that followed their exit was thick with tension. “Perry,” Strickland said, turning to the second culprit in rigidly suppressed anger, “you will come over here and
apologize
to Miss Oglesby!”