Page 92 of Managing the Major

Chapter Thirty-Six

Duplicity, Complicity, and Trust

When the butler showed Alastair back into Genevieve’s drawing room several hours later, he froze in surprise at the sight of Octavia sitting near the fireplace with Freya in her lap. Evan Hope relaxed on a brocade sofa with his wife.

He wondered if Octavia was still furious with him. Yes, she had misjudged the situation, but after hearing the story from Genevieve, he could see Octavia’s point. Especially the way Lucy had twisted things.

He had something to say regarding that in a blistering letter sent by special messenger to Lady Crawford’s residence. It should arrive at any time now with the caveat that if she approached any member of his family again, he would ruin her.

“Good afternoon, Alastair,” Evan greeted him. “Do come in. Genevieve has found out some very interesting details about Octavia’s dinner with the countess.”

Alastair looked warily at Octavia. “I, er…”

“It’s quite all right, Alastair,” she said in a reasonable tone. He relaxed a smidgeon. “Genevieve and Evan know that we argued and why.”

Somewhat relieved, he lowered himself into a chair. She still didn’t look pleased with him. Blister it! How had such a tangle come about? Things became worse when Freya jumped down from Octavia and onto his lap, stretching out comfortably. He grimaced and flashed an apologetic look in Octavia’s direction.

“You are a little traitor,” she said, shaking her finger at Freya.

At least she had decided to address him. Actually, she spoke to the dog that time, but it was close enough. Fortunately, he had taken the time to stop home and clean up, changing his boots and breeches for trousers. He also made sure to write that damned letter and send Thomas with it immediately.

“Are you growling, Alastair?” Octavia asked uncertainly. He flushed but said nothing.

She appeared pale but enchanting in a sprig muslin gown with pink flowers, her hair in a simple loose knot. She looked less animated than usual, and he wondered with a pang of guilt if she was taking care of herself.

“I corresponded with Countess Lieven today,” Genevieve told them. “It was just so very curious to me how things conspired at the dinner party, and evidently, Lady Crawford made a special request regarding the seating to the countess at Almack’s. Since they are good friends, she saw no reason to refuse and sat us together with Lady Crawford, Lord Ehnes, and Baronet Whitefall. She said it seemed harmless enough and sent her apologies for the discomfort you experienced. And that, my girl, is the most apology anyone will get from Dorothea Lieven.”

A loud snort was all his love had to say on the matter. Alastair gladly added, “Harrumph.”

Evan then took up the story. “Well, I spoke to Richard. He approached Lord Crawford after returning from Epsom as a possible donor for the hospital, knowing he had ample funds to spare. The viscount agreed to take part. Then, on Wednesday, he came to Richard at Almack’s and said he preferred to keep his contribution and any other involvement anonymous. Richard saw no reason to refuse the request, but when he reviewed the paperwork Lord Crawford returned earlier today, it bore Lady Crawford’s signature.”

Octavia’s eyes widened. She glanced at Alastair, growing pale as she saw through Lucy’s deception.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll ask Richard to return the money; I want nothing to do with the Crawfords.”

“That’s not necessary,” Octavia protested. “Your soldiers’ hospital is a very worthy cause, and every farthing counts. Lady Crawford can’t do any more damage now that her duplicity has been exposed.”

“Perhaps there’s a way to limit her involvement but keep the funds,” Evan said, raising an eyebrow. “Richard can remove her name from the committee and keep the initial donation with the stipulation of no further gifts. He’ll know how to make it sound acceptable to the viscount, and Lady Crawford will agree if she doesn’t want the whole sordid story coming out. I’ll speak more with him tomorrow.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Evan, and I appreciate your generosity. This was all Lady Crawford’s rather Machiavellian attempt to discredit me in front of Octavia. But it’s entirely my fault; I failed to recognize her unhealthy fixation on something that ended a very long time ago.” Alastair looked over at Octavia, hoping they might have a chance to talk.

Genevieve rose and yawned. “I feel like a walk.”

“You do?” Her husband looked over in surprise. Even Alastair knew that Genevieve heartily disliked anything but the most sedentary activity.

“Yes, Evan.” She raised her eyebrows, but he was oblivious to her hints. Finally, Genevieve stared pointedly at him. “Evan…you are going to accompany me.”

“Oh? Oh, yes…of course, dearest. I’m sure the butler will see our guests out—when they’re ready to leave, of course.”

“Please stay as long as you wish,” Genevieve added. Evan agreed in a confused fashion, but she took his arm, patting it reassuringly, and led him out of the drawing room.

When they were alone, Alastair put Freya down and stood uncertainly. She flopped down by the fireplace, sighing heavily.

Octavia stared nervously down at her hands, and he had begun to lose hope when she rose abruptly and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He wrapped them around her, squeezing tightly, and pressed his lips to the top of her head, then her forehead. Freya danced around them, barking furiously.

“I’m so very sorry, Alastair—I was horrid, just horrid! Can you ever forgive me for doubting you? I wanted so badly to come to you this afternoon…I was so miserable. But my stubborn pride kept me away.” She sniffed and raised her head; her cheeks were wet with tears.