“Yes, that was the other day and this is today. Her ladyship has changed her mind. That is a lady’s prerogative. We wish to be wed.”
“And the Duke of Ashmont?” Newland said. “Is he aware of this change of plans?”
“He will be.”
“In that case, perhaps we should wait until such time—”
“Since it’s quite impossible for him to marry Lady Olympia—she being unwilling to marry him—and since we are rather in a hurry, it would be best we have the settlements drawn up as soon as possible,” Ripley said. “I’ll send my solicitors to you tomorrow.”
After he had them make certain changes to his will.
“The wedding will take place no later than tomorrow evening,” he added.
“Tomorrow,” Lord Gonerby repeated. “Well, this is all very gratifying to be sure. Two suitors for my Olympia. Not that I’m surprised. She—”
“Is incomparable, and any number of men would wish to be suitors,” Ripley said. “However, as far as Lady Olympia is concerned, there is only one, and that would be me. She ran away from Ashmont. I caught her. She didn’t object to being caught. In fact, she’s keen to marry. Me. Not Ashmont. I trust this is clear.”
Judging by Lord Gonerby’s expression, nothing was clear to him.
His brother-in-law was another matter. His grim expression told Ripley that the marquess had put two and two together—for instance, Ashmont + Ashmont’s temper = duel—and quickly understood what the hurry was about.
Gonerby began, “Well, I am not at all sure that we ought—”
“Quite clear, duke,” Newland said firmly. “Olympia was to have been married a few days ago,” he told his brother-in-law. “The more quickly matters are resolved, the more quickly scandalous rumors will dissipate.” Before giving Gonerby a chance to respond, he went on, “Since time seems to be of the essence, one assumes that settlements like those arranged with the Duke of Ashmont will be acceptable.”
“That will make a starting point,” Ripley said. He paid his lawyers well to fuss over details. “However, I mean to have my solicitors add a few conditions, to do with the Gonerby Hall library. I doubt you’ll find them onerous. And now, gentlemen, I must be off.”
A servant appeared then, with a tray of food and drink.
Ripley left the other two men to refresh themselves.
He found Olympia pacing in the corridor.
“I thought you’d be with your mother, deciding what to wear to the wedding,” he said.
“I don’t care what I wear,” she said. “And I strongly doubt you will.”
“Something easy to get off,” he said. “Without a lot of buttons, preferably.” The image appeared in his mind of Olympia unbuttoning the endless line of buttons . . . the look on her face when she was done. “On second thought, lots of buttons. Hundreds of them.” But, no, he couldn’t think about buttons now. He needed to keep his head clear. “You’re right. I don’t care what you wear. Apart from the wedding ring.”
“The thing is, I should like there to be a wedding,” she said.
“There will be.”
“And a marriage,” she said.
Ah, well, that was a horse of a different color.
Olympia knew that facial expression. She’d seen it at one time or another on every male in her family.
Ripley was going to be a man.
Of course he was. He was a man.
She hid her despair, reminded herself it was Dominate or Be Dominated, and said, firmly, “I know it’s absurd to ask you not to do anything foolish or reckless. Not to mention, you’d be another man altogether if you weren’t foolish and reckless. But I will ask you—no, I will tell you—that you are to give Ashmont this note from me.”
She held out the note. The neat folds had become somewhat crumpled as she paced, waiting for Ripley to emerge from Papa’s study. She’d suspected he’d try to slip out without saying goodbye.
He looked at it.
“Ripley.”
He shook his head. “I’m going to see him tonight,” he said. “I’ll tell him, face-to-face. What I won’t do is hide behind your skirts.”
She didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t grab him by the throat and shake him. She didn’t draw back her hand.
She looked at him in the way she’d look at one of her brothers when he was being stubbornly wrongheaded.
He sighed and took the note.
“You are not to burn it,” she said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Or destroy it in any way. You will give it to Ashmont.”
“Olympia, we discussed this.”
What they had done was argue, for a good part of the way to London. Then he’d given up arguing and started kissing, and from there, matters had taken an enlightening turn.
“It was not a discussion,” she said. “You told me it wasn’t my responsibility to write notes. You’re the man and you would deal with your friend, one man to another. But you were wrong, and if you hadn’t used unfair tactics—”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
Love.
Neither of them had uttered the word. She was still operating under the assumption of infatuation, possibly fatal infatuation. But then, he mightn’t be using the word love in the strict sense.
“That’s a handy phrase,” she said. “Useful but not strictly true. The fact is, I broke my promise to Ashmont. A betrothal, after all, is a sacred promise. In times past—”
“Don’t really have time for splitting historical and legal hairs, you know. A great deal to do and not much time to do it in.”
“Ashmont deserves an apology,” she said. “From me. I was wrong to invite him to release me from the engagement instead of telling him it was over and I wouldn’t marry him. I was wrong to run away, instead of showing some backbone—or my true colors—and telling him I didn’t want to marry him.”
“But if you hadn’t done all those things, you’d be a good girl,” Ripley said.
She was still getting used to the idea of being a bad girl. At first, it had been a dreadful shock. Now, a great deal that hadn’t used to make sense about her life had begun to make excellent sense.
“Men can behave badly yet still do the honorable thing and apologize,” she said. “I can be a bad girl and do the honorable thing, too. Which I’ve done. In the note. Which you will give to Ashmont.”
“You’re presuming he’ll be sober enough to read it.”
She wanted to cry. She wouldn’t let herself.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know if it will do any good. All I know is, I owe it to him.” She paused, and told herself again she would not cry. “And I don’t want you to fight.”
She managed to get it out without her voice breaking.
“For all we know, he’ll wipe his brow in relief, clap me on the shoulder and say, ‘Better you than me,’” Ripley said.
“If he has any sense, he will.”
“None of us has any sense, m’dear. You know that.”
“Oh, Ripley!” She flung her arms about his neck. “You are not to fight him,” she said, her cheek against his chest. “I won’t have it. You tried to do the right thing. I made it impossible.”