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is entirely my fault,’ Decima said, trampling down her embarrassment in an effort to quell Olivia’s distress. ‘I should have made my presence known as soon as your mama began to speak. And, in any case, she spoke most kindly of me.’

      ‘Yes, but…’

      ‘My freckles? Perhaps I should try her thoughtful recommendation.’ But Adam likes my freckles, the rebellious voice murmured in her ear. All the more reason for getting rid of them then, she thought firmly.

      ‘Decima?’ Olivia asked hesitantly.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Might I…might I come and speak to you, in confidence?’ Olivia was flushed, her head bent, her fingers twisting together.

      ‘Of course.’ This would be the ideal opportunity to talk frankly to Olivia about focusing all her attention upon Adam and not allowing her ‘friendship’ with Henry to develop, but it was hardly a duty Decima felt ready for. ‘Why not call tomorrow, about three? I am sure everyone else will be out, so we can have a comfortable talk.’ Her heart sank. It would be nice if doing the right thing was easy.

       Chapter Nineteen

      ‘You do not love Lord Weston at all?’ Decima regarded Olivia’s miserable face with horror. The younger woman must have misread her expression for one of condemnation, for she began to sob quietly, wringing her hands into the fine muslin of her pretty morning gown in her distress.

      ‘I want to be dutiful, and I do not have to love him, do I?’ she faltered. ‘Mama says no gentleman would expect such a thing in any case and I am foolish and wicked to think about it.’ She stifled a hiccup in her handkerchief. ‘I think he is very kind…at least, he used to be, but I am so silly, Mama says, no wonder he seems strict with me now.’

      Oh, lord. Decima cast a hasty glance at the drawing-room door to make sure it was firmly closed and did her best. ‘I know that love is not considered a prerequisite for a happy and fulfilling marriage,’ she began carefully. ‘Between gentlefolk, and especially the aristocracy, I believe it is the exception rather than the rule. But there must be mutual affection and respect, I am sure—do you not feel those things for Lord Weston?’

      ‘He was very kind to me before we became betrothed.’ For some reason Olivia blushed scarlet. ‘And, of course, I respect him because he is so intelligent and has such a great position.’

      ‘Well, then, I expect this is all nerves and you will be very happy when you are married.’ Decima thought she sounded like Hermione. But what else could she say? Should she encourage Olivia in her doubts in the hope that she would jilt Adam? That would be despicable, besides risking ruining the girl’s reputation.

      ‘And do not forget he proposed to you despite the fact that you are not titled and—forgive me—perhaps not as richly dowered as some young ladies.’

      For some reason that produced an even deeper blush and a look of total misery. ‘I am sure he had no intention of proposing to me before the Longminster house party.’

      ‘Then that shows how taken he was with you,’ Decima said, attempting to inject a rallying tone into her voice. ‘You must know how beautiful you are, and I am sure you have all the skills needed to manage a great house.’

      ‘Th…thank you.’ Olivia dabbed at her eyes. ‘You do not seem at all afraid of him.’

      ‘Why, no. Why ever should I be? Has he said anything to give you a fear of him?’

      ‘No…’ Olivia did not seem too sure. ‘He seems very stern sometimes, but then so is Papa.’

      Not very romantic. ‘Has he done anything to alarm you, then?’ Decima persisted.

      ‘He…kissed me.’

      ‘Oh. Well, that is to be expected, is it not? I mean, you are engaged to be married.’

      ‘I did not think it would be so…so…’ Olivia stammered. ‘I thought he might kiss me on the cheek, or my hand, but not on the mouth like…like that.’

      ‘Ah. Er…has your mama explained about…um…marriage?’

      ‘Not really. She says I am a goose.’

      ‘Well, I cannot talk to you about it, Olivia. After all, I am unmarried myself and really do not know about these things.’ Decima could feel the blush rising up her throat and only hoped the girl would attribute it to the embarrassment of discussing intimate matters. She tried again.

      ‘But don’t you think, if you were to attempt to return any affectionate, or even passionate, gesture by at least not shrinking from him, that might help? He would feel you trust him and you might sooner become accustomed to his…caresses.’ Olivia nodded thoughtfully, dabbing her eyes. ‘And if you were to confide in him a little, explain that you feel nervous—not about kissing, but about some subject that is easy to discuss, say, how you will get on with a large household to manage—then you will get to know him better and he will make allowances for your inexperience.’

      ‘I will try,’ Olivia said bravely. ‘Thank you so very much, Decima. I would never have dared discuss such things with Mama.’

      ‘But you were having real doubts about the betrothal? Is there anyone else?’ Decima pursued.

      ‘Oh, no! Mama would be so angry if I were to fall in—I mean, if I were to do such a thing.’ The colour was ebbing and flowing under Olivia’s fine skin as she looked both guilty and utterly wretched. She was obviously a very poor liar. ‘I could never go against what Mama felt to be right.’

      Decima waved goodbye to Olivia as she stepped up into her carriage with mixed feelings and a crashing headache. Loving Adam meant she should want what was best for him, and if that meant Olivia, then so be it. On the other hand, she still had nagging doubts about whether Miss Channing truly was the bride for him. Had he simply fallen for a ravishingly pretty face? But that seemed to suffice for many men. Which was a lowering thought—one would have hoped that the object of one’s affection had better judgement.

      The Freshfords returned home to find their guest reclining on the sofa, languidly flicking through a book of poetry and fighting what Decima frankly described as a thundering headache. She took herself off to her room rather than dampen everyone’s spirits over luncheon and was somewhat cheered by Pru’s smiling face.

      ‘I’ll make a cold compress for your forehead, shall I?’ Pru tiptoed about, finding the hartshorn and the lavender water and humming softly under her breath.

      Decima levered herself up against the pillows and regarded her with interest. Pru had been very quiet, and extremely close-lipped, the past few days, and Decima had decided not to pry, but it was such a relief to talk to someone who appeared to be happy that she ventured a question.

      ‘Have you seen Bates lately, Pru?’

      ‘Yes, Miss Decima. Almost every free evening I’ve had, and my half-days. I don’t think we’ve stopped talking, hardly.’

      ‘Really? Bates talkative? Don’t you argue any more?’

      ‘He was just shy, that’s all. Bashful, like.’ That seemed unlikely, but then, Decima decided, she was not regarding Bates with the eye of love and perhaps Pru was more perceptive about his character. ‘We don’t argue at all now, not about anything.’

      ‘That is wonderful, Pru.’ Headache forgotten, Decima sat up properly. ‘Has he said anything about the future?’

      ‘Not yet, but he sort of hinted. He said his lordship might see his way to letting him have a cottage if he ever felt like settling down.’ That was promising. It would mean losing Pru, of course, but Decima couldn’t begrudge that. ‘I think he might say something this evening.’ Pru’s round face was creased by a beaming smile and Decima thought she had never seen her look so pretty.

      ‘What

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