Chapter 3

Mayfair, London

"I am not wearing that gown, Aunt Mel. It's practically indecent!" Olivia groaned.

"Of course not! Why do you say that?" her aunt demanded, dangling a maroon taffeta gown before Olivia's eyes. It was beautiful, no doubt.

"For one, the bodice is so low that my breasts might pop out at any time."

"Olivia Cavendish, that is no way to speak in front of your aunt," she said, trying to look stern.

"Would you rather I spoke this way in front of my peers?"

Olivia knew that she was often bold but she'd learned that from none other than her dear aunt.

"I never..." her aunt started and then her face split into a reluctant smile. "What am I going to do with you?" she shook her head. Olivia shrugged and turned to hold onto the bedpost so her maid could lace her corset.

"Not too tight," she instructed. She only wore a corset because propriety demanded it.

Meanwhile, Menace, her terrifying-looking mastiff pushed the door open and jumped onto her bed.

"Get down from the bed this instant, dog," Aunt Mel ordered. Menace didn't budge and Olivia had to bite back a smile. Her aunt huffed.

"What are you wearing then?" her aunt asked, deciding to ignore the hound.

"The mint green silk."

"Over my dead body. You'll look like a cucumber in that one," her aunt muttered, picking up said gown as though even touching it was below her dignity.

Olivia rolled her eyes.

Cucumber?

Aunt Mel certainly knew how to bring down her ego a notch or two.

Aunt Mel began rummaging through her closet while she rolled on her stockings.

"This!" she exclaimed exiting the closet, holding up a beige silk gown with a ruffled bodice.

It was a beautiful gown although it was meant for someone younger. But seeing Aunt Mel's excited expression, Olivia didn't have the heart to say no.

She nodded.

Aunt Mel squealed. "Listen to me and you're going to have scores of suitors, just you wait! And then you'll be married in no time," she said and gave the gown to her maid to get it ironed.

Olivia did have suitors, just not the sort she wanted.

"I doubt I'm going to get married at this age, Aunt Mel."

"Nonsense. You're not old."

"I'm five and twenty."

"Just stuff it, Olivia. I promised your mother, God bless her soul, that I'm going to get you married and I'll be damned if I break that promise. I made the mistake of trusting your father the first time around. I'm not going to sit around and wait for you to get betrothed to some silly fortune hunter again or not marry at all," her aunt finished.

"You're not married," Olivia pointed out.

Aunt Mel-Lady Melissa Bentley was a beautiful woman. Even at forty-three, she was quite exquisite. She had the same blue eyes as her niece. She was usually cheerful and full of life, bustling about the place. But there was a sadness in her that Olivia had sensed more times than she could count.

"Marriage is not for everyone, my dear girl," she smiled sadly, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

Olivia just gazed at her face, wishing her aunt would confide in her. But Aunt Mel had always been very secretive about her reasons for not marrying.

"Let's get you ready then, we're late as such," she said suddenly, snapping out of her reverie.

Olivia was ready to leave after an hour.

"Wait, don't forget this," her Aunt said, holding up her opal necklace. She smiled. Her father had gifted her this a few years ago. It was an unusual piece of jewellery—the necklace was beaded with pearls and the large white opal pendant was set in gold. But she loved it.

She allowed her aunt to drape it on her neck.

"Now you look lovely," Aunt Mel smiled, tugging at a lock of her brown hair from her coiffure and arranging it so it slid down her neck to her bosom.

Olivia didn't know what difference it made but her aunt seemed pleased with her handiwork, so she didn't say anything.

***

The Sutherland ball

Grosvenor-square, London

Olivia entered the ballroom with her head held high. The stares didn't bother her anymore.

There were different kinds of looks that she received, of course—the pitying kind, the disdainful (as if it was somehow her fault that her fiancé hadn't turned up at the altar), indifferent ones and then the worst kind were the ones that the men threw her way-the lustful glances. Ever since she'd been jilted, the gentlemen(who hardly deserved to be called that) thought that she'd be grateful for whatever attention that she received. Maybe the lewd gazes, she could get used to. But the suggestive caresses and inappropriate offers, she couldn't.

It was in times like these when she'd say to herself-deal with it and find a way to be happy. These words-so practical had kept her going all these years. No matter how horrible the situation, these words would bring back the memories from a lifetime ago...when she'd had no real troubles.

But to be fair, not all men were bad, she thought as her dear friend Archie spotted her and began to make his way towards her. She had the most uncomplicated relationship with him.

"God, you look beautiful tonight, Olivia," he grinned as he came to stand in front of her.

"So you don't think I'm always beautiful?" she pouted playfully.

"You know you are, minx," he chuckled, tugging at her ear. "There's just something else today."

"Why, thank you," she smiled.

"Got any space on your dance card for this old friend?"

"Oh I don't know, I'll have to check," she rolled her eyes, showing him her almost empty dance card.

"You only just arrived, give the poor men some time to get dazzled by you," he winked as he scribbled his name onto her card.

Olivia grinned, shaking her head.

"I'll fetch you some punch?"

"That would be lovely."

And with that he was gone.

Her aunt appeared out of nowhere. "He fancies you, you know."

"Aunt Mel, how many times do we need to have this conversation? Archie's only my friend," she groaned.

"Friendship is the foundation for love. I don't understand why you won't marry him. He's perfect," her aunt said stubbornly.

Olivia rather supposed he was. He was handsome and kind. He was a marquess, so her father wouldn't object. And she enjoyed his company.

But butterflies didn't flutter in her tummy when she set her eyes on him and neither did her pulse quicken.

There was only one man who'd made her pulse quicken and set the butterflies aflutter.

And no, it wasn't her ex-fiancé.

"Please, Aunt Mel, I don't want to talk about this right now," she sighed. Her Aunt's mouth set in a mulish line and Olivia knew that she was about to launch into a tirade. Luckily Archie, god bless him, arrived with the punch.

The angry lines vanished from her aunt's face and were replaced by the brightest smile Olivia had ever seen. "Lord Archibald! You look especially well."

The woman belonged in a theatre, clearly she was wasting her talents in this sultry ballroom.

"Thank you, my lady, so do you," he grinned, offering Olivia'a punch to her. She declined, but her eyes gleamed with mischief when she excused herself from there, leaving them alone.