Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (9 page)

The turmoil he
struggled to hide pierced her to the quick. A month on and she
could be in no doubt that he had felt her deception, her
disappearance, keenly. A vein throbbed at his temple. The simmering
anger in his slate-grey eyes reminded her more of her late husband
than the easy-natured Max she loved.

Concentrating
on the points of her slippers she whispered, ‘I must thank you for
providing my son with such excellent care during this past year.
Where is he? I have waited a long time for this moment.’ It was
pointless trying to communicate her feelings through her eyes. It
was pointless trying to communicate her feelings through any medium
when there could be no future between them.

After being
told that Julian had been taken to the dower house where he was
being greeted by his great aunts, Nathaniel, with a proprietary
air, said smoothly, ‘Lady Farquhar is a conscientious mother, Mr
Atherton. You will recall from my letter that I have known her for
the duration of her marriage and can vouch for her’ – he hesitated,
as if imbuing the word with meaning – ‘softer side.’

Max glanced
sharply between the two before focusing his stony gaze upon Olivia.
‘It causes me great pain to part with the lad,’ he said, adding
with heavy irony, ‘However only the
cruellest
of men would
deny a child his mother’s love.’

Focusing on
the door at the top of the landing through which she wished she
could simply disappear, Olivia nodded.

Max drew
himself up. ‘I was more than prepared to lend a sympathetic ear,
Lady Farquhar, if you had chosen to petition me personally,’ He
paused. ‘Instead, I see you are acceding, to the letter, the
conditions laid out in my cousin’s will.’

‘I did write
to petition you for Julian,’ Olivia said faintly. She could not
look at him. Could not bear his disgust.

‘I seem to
recall I suggested we meet in person.’

She could
hardly say that Nathaniel had decided his course was the better
one.

‘Lady Farquhar
and I shall be married just over the twelve months’ mourning
period.’ Nathaniel’s voice sounded overloud and pompous.

‘I have known
her, did I tell you, since her marriage to the late Lord Farquhar
being as I was, in a manner of speaking, his religious adviser.’
Max nodded, still looking at Olivia. ‘You mentioned it, sir.’

‘Marriage is
not an institution into which one enters lightly, as Lady Farquhar
well knows.’ Nathaniel patted Olivia’s hand as colour burned her
cheeks.

How she hated
his cloying condescension.

Raising her
head she saw Max’s lips curl into a bleak smile. ‘You are a
fortunate man, Reverend.’

‘Indeed, I am,
and I wish you similar good luck.’

‘I am in no
hurry.’

‘The marital
state has much to recommend it.’

Max
transferred his look from Olivia’s blushing countenance to offer a
nod. ‘I’m sure you are right, though smarting after a recent
rejection I am in no hurry to pursue it.’

The silence
seemed endless. Striving for courage, Olivia interjected, ‘You will
recover. Perhaps it is your pride rather than your heart which
suffered the injury, sir.’ She strove for sympathy and hoped
Nathaniel did not notice the trembling of her voice. ‘Perhaps the
lady had her reasons’ – Olivia drew in a breath – ‘and they had
nothing to do with you. Perhaps she had already promised herself to
another.’ She forced the emotion from her tone and exchanged a
smile with Nathaniel, as if she too felt no more than a distracted,
passing interest in Mr Atherton’s admission. Turning back to Max
she added, ‘Having shown such kindness and care towards your ward I
cannot believe a disinclination towards your character was behind
the lady’s rejection.’ How could she sound so distant, as if she
were indeed consoling a stranger on a matter of the heart? A matter
which was of no concern to her?

Max gave an
eloquent shrug as he matched his pace with theirs in the direction
of the front door. ‘It no longer signifies.’ This was more painful
than anything.

‘You must
accompany us for lunch,’ Nathaniel pressed him. ‘The dower house,
where Olivia resides with her aunts, is just up the hill.’ He
smiled. ‘Might I offer you accommodation at the manse? I know
you’ve travelled many hours.’

Max inclined
his head. ‘That is most kind of you, Mr Kirkman, however for the
boy’s sake I will not linger. Lady Farquhar will be anxious to be
reunited with her son and I would hate to’ – he transferred his
gaze from Kirkman to Olivia as he added, coldly – ‘intrude. I have
already bespoken a room at The Jolly Miller.’

*

With a nervous
glance down the corridor Olivia patted the thick veil for
reassurance. Her throat was as dry as sandpaper as she drew back
her hand and gave a discreet knock. It was madness to even be here.
She would not deviate from her course. She would marry
Nathaniel.

Yet she owed
Max an explanation. She could not bear that he thought she was
everything he had ever been told about Lady Farquhar. And
worse.

‘I wondered if
you’d come.’ He opened the door, standing aside so she could enter.
His voice was as cold as his eyes. Nothing in his expression
brought to mind the old Max: the untroubled, charming young man
with his disarming air of ingenuousness.

‘Max, I only
came here to apologize,’ she said in a rush. She wanted to make
this brief. Her mission was to convince him she’d not set out to
hurt him; that in fact her actions had little to do with him. She’d
charted her course before they’d even met.

‘At least do
it so I can damned well see you and lift that hideous veil,’ he
said, closing the door behind them and leading her into the small
room with its bed, washstand and chair.

Obediently she
removed her bonnet, placing it on the washstand.

She knew
herself too well to try and pretend she wasn’t waiting for some
acknowledgement of longing or admiration. She told herself it would
make her task so much easier if there were no sign of it, but when
she saw the pain in his expression her own heart answered and her
best intentions fled.

Quickly, she
turned and went to the window. With her back to him she said
tightly, ‘Everything I said was true about my motives. I was
prepared to do whatever it took to get Julian back. Please
understand that I never meant to hurt you.’

‘It just
pleased you to toy with me.’ He made no move to come to her. His
voice was strained. ‘Pretend, even, you cared for me a little.’

‘No!’ she
swung round. ‘There was no pretence and it’s the reason I had to
explain. Max—’ She lowered her voice while she fixed her eyes upon
his handsome, beloved face. ‘I am not here to persuade you to take
me back for I fully intend to marry Nathaniel. I just don’t want
you thinking my actions constituted any part of some elaborate,
prearranged plot.’

He took his
time replying. Picking up her bonnet he began stroking the folds of
black netting. His tone, when he spoke, was one Olivia had never
heard: bitter, ironic and hurt.

‘Let me try to
understand you,’ he said, slowly, transferring his attention to her
face. ‘You came to Elmwood to try and persuade me to give you back
Julian’ – he paused with heavy emphasis – ‘but instead of asking me
outright you pretended to be someone else while all the time
falling madly in love with me.’ Tossing the bonnet on to the bed he
raked back his hair, his agitation clear though there was no sign
of it in his measured tone. ‘Then, when I provided you with the
perfect solution to all your heart’s desires by offering marriage,
you skipped back home to marry Mr Kirkman whom you’ve intimated you
do not love, so as to regain Julian as per Lucien’s will.’ Sparks
of anger flashed in his normally calm, grey eyes. ‘And yet, you
still maintain your feelings for me were genuine. What, Lady
Farquhar, do you think that says about you?’

Olivia studied
him while she struggled to respond. He looked young and vigorous,
and so like Lucien it was hard to formulate an answer. So like
Lucien might have looked had he been incarnated into a better
person. There was the same dark cowlick that almost fell in a curl
above his right eye. Lucien had encouraged it to fall. He’d liked
its rakish look and the way it enhanced the devilish glint in his
eye.

There was no
devilish glint in Max’s eye. Just raw hurt.

Yet again, she
was the cause through her alluring, beguiling, enticing ways. For
isn’t that what she did? Seduced men for her entertainment? It’s
what everybody thought.

‘Max, it’s
because you were sure to believe the rumours, sure to think I was
that kind of woman that I did what I did,’ she whispered, taking a
step closer, holding the back of a chair for support.

He appeared
unmoved. Warily, from the centre of the room he watched her. His
voice was still cynical though she could hear the strain he tried
to disguise as he replied, ‘Actions speak louder than words,
Olivia.’

‘What would my
reception have been, Max, had I announced myself to you as Lady
Farquhar?’ Pain sliced through her. ‘If I’d dressed and deported
myself demurely you’d have considered I was acting a part. You’d
have waited for me to slip up, reveal myself for the scheming
seductress society believes me. You’d not have let me have
Julian.’

He ignored
this. ‘You did not object to my advances, Olivia.

Perhaps you’ve
forgotten that.’ A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth.
‘Foolishly I believed at the time you felt something for me.’

‘How can you
imagine I was pretending?’ she cried, bringing her hand to her
breast to press against the sudden pain there. ‘I assumed my maiden
name, but that was all. Everything I said, every action was honest.
My only wrongdoing was concealing my identity. Everything I said,
every response towards you, was real.’

He gave her a
searching look, then, with a sigh, moved to the door.

‘Thank you for
your apology,’ he said, tonelessly, his hand on the door knob. ‘I
imagine that took some courage.’ He inclined his head in dismissal.
‘As you pointed out yourself, though, it doesn’t exactly alter the
fact that you deceived me and are about to marry someone else.’

She didn’t
know what to do. This was not how it was supposed to end with Max
calmly showing her the way out. Once the soft click of the latch
consigned her to the passageway with Max on the other side of the
door the one spark of love that had ever honestly flickered in her
breast would be snuffed out and she’d be more alone than she’d ever
been.

Yet wasn’t
that what she’d engineered, herself?

‘I gave you my
heart,’ she whispered, stopping in front of him. ‘I’d have given
you everything.’

‘I’m sure many
men would gladly have accepted, Olivia. I, however, was looking for
something more permanent.’ He glared at her.

‘Something
honestly given with no strings attached.’ He stepped back as if
afraid of coming into contact with her.

His words
pained her though she acknowledged the truth of them. Biting back
her first response which was to defend her actions she stepped as
close to him as she could without actually touching. She’d leave,
not because she wanted to, and not before she made one final stand.
She could not bear to leave without his forgiveness.

‘I responded
as I did because you were kind.’ Tentatively she rested her hand
lightly on his lapel. ‘From our first encounter you made my comfort
and welfare your concern. I had not experienced such
thoughtfulness.’

He looked at
her hand with suspicion, turning his head away to stare through the
half-drawn curtains. The casement panes were dirty and the room
bathed in gloom but his pain was clear.

On her
account.

‘My husband
spent our entire marriage punishing me for’ – she made a derisive
sound – ‘forcing him to the altar when I was a foolish debutante.’
How badly she wanted Max to understand. She withdrew her hand. Max
brought his head round. His eyes glowed with some emotion she could
not recognize. She could not bear to think it was disgust. ‘When
your feelings for me went beyond mere kindness I responded with
every fibre of my being. I wanted you, Max. I wanted you so badly,
but I had not the courage to reveal myself as scandalous Lady
Farquhar, branded so unfairly by her husband as a harlot, an unfit
mother.’

‘If you
considered me so’ – he swallowed, adding derisively – ‘kind, why
not lay bare your scandalous past so you could defend each charge
to my satisfaction?’ The suspicion returned to his manner. ‘Such as
the truth behind Lady Farquhar’s Butterfly?’

It shouldn’t
have felt like a slap in the face after all this time. She should
have expected it, and it should have been she who brought it
up.

Rage at the
long and lingering injustice bubbled up so that she hissed, ‘Lady
Farquhar’s Butterfly paid my husband’s gambling debts.’ She was so
upset she didn’t know if she could continue. But she must. She
clung to the door knob for her knees had gone weak, the pounding in
her brain threatened to obliterate her lucidity. She was so angry
even the shock and understanding that registered suddenly in Max’s
eyes was no catharsis. When he put out a hand to help her she drew
back.

‘One night
Lucien lost more heavily than usual.’ Each word was an effort. Her
defences were in place. Max would not dare touch her while she
glared at him with as much poison in her heart as if he had been
his hated cousin. ‘Perhaps he was more than unusually affected by
the drink. He must have made some reference – coarse and ironic, no
doubt – about the birthmark on my breast to his gambling partners.
A birthmark he fancied was shaped like a butterfly. I was sitting
at another table with several of the men who weren’t playing Faro.
None of the wives was there. It was not a respectable gathering,
but Lucien thought I was decorative.’ Drawing herself up in an
effort to salvage her pride, she shrugged. She would manage to
control her emotion sufficiently to recount the rest as if it was a
sordid moral tale in which she had but a passing interest. It was a
trick she’d perfected as Lucien’s wife.