style="font-size:15px;"> “But you will not care for them? Lady Ravensden must be received everywhere—do you not think most people will be prepared to forgive you?”
“Perhaps. I shall simply ignore those who do not,” Olivia said bravely. “Now, tell me, what did you make of the Reverend Hartwell’s sermon last Sunday?…”
Olivia was thoughtful as she walked home that evening. It was warm and pleasant as she skirted the walls of the Abbey grounds. How odd to think of it empty and deserted, except perhaps for Solomon Burneck. She supposed the Marquis’s butler was still living there, that he would remain as a caretaker until the new owner arrived.
Who did the Abbey rightfully belong to now? Olivia did not know. Everyone had a different opinion as to what would happen to it, though she suspected that in their hearts most would like to see it return to the Yardley family.
Olivia knew much depended on whether or not an heir could be found, and since no one seemed to know if the Marquis of Sywell had any distant relatives, it was a matter for speculation, and would likely continue to be so for many months.
The fate of Steepwood Abbey did not, however, occupy her thoughts for long. What was she to do with her own life?
Since Lord Burton had banished her to the country, Olivia had refused to dwell on his unkindness. She had resolutely guarded against giving into self-pity, for there was no use in crying over something that was spoiled and could not be mended.
At first she had tried very hard to settle into the life at Abbot Giles. She had quickly grown fond of dear Papa, for who would not? She sensed that her aunt felt her lacking because she did not have Beatrice’s skills in the stillroom and the kitchen, though she was not unkind, and they went on well enough together.
Olivia was not precisely unhappy, merely restless. She did not have enough to occupy her time now that there was no need for either her or Nan to do so many of the tasks that had been necessary when they had only Lily and Ida, and Bellows, of course.
Olivia had been educated as a lady. She had been taught to read and write and to calculate figures; she had studied a little history, a little art and music, and she was proficient at embroidery; she played the pianoforte and the harp, sang, and did a little sketching.
Perhaps if she had married a man with an important title, she would in time have become a brilliant society hostess, her drawing-room the meeting place for artists, poets and politicians. Olivia knew this was very unlikely now. She had jilted a man, an important man, and she did not expect to be given a second chance, since gentlemen did not like to be made fools of, and most would not care to risk a repeat of her disgraceful behaviour. Besides, she would only marry if she found a man she could love, who also loved her—as much as Harry Ravensden loved Beatrice.
So if she was not to marry, what was she to do with herself instead? She was an intelligent girl, and she knew her education was lacking. She did not know many things Beatrice had been taught, but then her sister had been educated at home by their father, who was an unusual man.
Olivia could study at home, of course, and indeed she had begun to borrow books from her father’s library, books she would not have considered opening in the past. Although she was determined to improve her education through reading, she could not help feeling restless. She was in fact a very passionate girl and she needed an outlet for all the love that was inside her.
Olivia was very grateful to Harry Ravensden for settling ten thousand pounds on her. It meant that there was no hurry for her to make up her mind to do anything…and yet she longed for something to happen. If she had been born a man she might have taken up some sort of a profession, but very little was open to her as a female. She knew well that the life of a governess or a companion was a soulless existence, far less pleasant than her own at the moment.
“You are being missish,” Olivia scolded herself aloud. “You lack for nothing…except perhaps a little excitement, a little romance.”
If only she were a man! She would instantly enlist in the army and go to fight with their brave men in the Peninsula.
The Regent’s address to Parliament at the beginning of the year had mainly concerned Wellington’s brilliant victories in Spain. One of his most recent at Badajoz had excited even Papa when he read of it in his newspapers.
“The siege of Badajoz has been attempted several times,” he had told Olivia, “but our men did not have the besieging tools and battering rams necessary. However, this time, Wellington put his men out to sea from Lisbon and then went in secretly in small boats up the river to Alcácer do Sal, and after some fierce fighting the walls of Badajoz were breached. And Lord Wellington will not be content to stop there, believe me. He will sweep the French from Portugal and Spain before he is finished.”
Olivia had been impressed by the heroics of the men who had fought and won such victories. In her heart, she longed for adventure. How wonderful it must be to fight and win for the sake of glory and of England!
She sighed as she reached Roade House, knowing there was little likelihood of her ever leaving the shores of her homeland. The best she could hope for was to visit her sister and Lord Ravensden occasionally, and spend the rest of her time as usefully as she could at home with Papa and Nan.
“It seems unfair of us both to go and leave you here alone,” Olivia said as she kissed Nan’s cheek just over a week later. “Are you sure you will not change your mind and come with us? You know that Beatrice would be happy to see you.”
“I stayed with Beatrice for a few days at Easter,” Nan said. “I am quite content here, Olivia. I shall begin preserving the soft fruits as soon as you and Bertram have gone.”
“And I shall be home within a week,” said Mr Roade, “unless Ravensden wishes me to begin work on our project, of course—but I shall write and let you know. You will be comfortable here, sister. Besides, Olivia could not be expected to travel alone, even though Ravensden has sent his carriage and servants to fetch her.”
Olivia smiled at her father’s thoughtfulness. After Lord Burton had thrown her out, she had travelled from London to Northampton by public coach, and from Northampton to Abbot Giles on a carter’s wagon. No harm had come to her then, though she had been shaken until her body was aching all over, and her heart had felt as though it were breaking. However, her sister’s kindness had soon restored her, and she was grateful now for her family’s care of her.
“You spoil me, Papa,” she said, allowing Lord Ravensden’s groom to hand her into the carriage. “Perhaps we should go? Coachman will not want to keep his horses standing.”
“Yes, yes, no sense in waiting.” Mr Roade beamed at her. “Au revoir, Nan. I dare say I shall be back before you have had time to miss me.” He climbed inside the carriage to sit opposite his daughter. “I must admit I am looking forward to seeing Beatrice and Ravensden. He tells me he has found the diagrams relating to the flying machine of which he wrote some months back. Yes, indeed. It should prove a most interesting visit!”
Olivia waved to her aunt from the carriage window. She found her father’s preoccupation with his rather odd inventions a little disturbing. He had not yet installed another of his stoves at Roade House, though he had told her he was certain that the local blacksmith had not followed his instructions in making the previous design.
“It was the fault of inferior workmanship,” he said now. “I told Ravensden I suspected it, and he agreed. If he thinks it worth his while to let me experiment with my new designs, which I believe he must think exciting…we shall
