always eats her heart out.”
Bronwyn shrugged, not indifferent, but very uncomfortable.
With full-blown indignation, Olivia queried, “Don’t you remember when Holly fell in love with her fiancée? They were married and rapturously happy until another pretty face caught his attention. And then another, and then another—”
“You don’t have to harp on it.”
“And poor Holly still loves that man, and every time he finds another mistress she cries and cries.”
“I couldn’t love a man like that,” Bronwyn said with emphasis.
Olivia laughed a little hysterically. “The women in this family don’t have a choice. None of our other sisters love, because they’ve never found the right man. But when one of the Edana women does love, it sticks like tar. Nothing scrapes it off, nothing remains the same. No matter what that man does, we Edana women can’t escape the awful trap.”
Bronwyn turned away from Olivia’s certainty.
“Maman’s beautiful. Holly’s beautiful. Neither one of them can keep the man she loves. Worst of all, Adam is by far the most attractive of the husbands.”
“You noticed, did you?” Bronwyn said dryly.
Olivia leaped to her feet and came to embrace Bronwyn. “I love you dearly, but your looks won’t keep a man by your side. With those mesmerizing eyes, he must have women throwing themselves at him. If you love this viscount of Rawson, you’ll have nothing but heartache in store.”
Olivia’s words struck deep at Bronwyn’s precariouspoise, but she seized the moment to declare, “That’s why you must come with me tomorrow night.”
“No.” Olivia shook her head. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
Chapter 6
“Olivia wouldn’t come.” Seated in the horse-drawn cart, her skirts spread in a great pile of yellow dimity that draped over Adam’s legs and dangled off the side, Bronwyn bounced along the road to the village.
“Olivia is delicate, isn’t she?” Drawn by his dark magnetism, the setting sun kissed Adam’s face and acquainted itself with his features.
Bronwyn’s fingers itched to touch the spark of gold in his black hair. “I don’t know if delicate is the correct word.” Still peeved at Olivia’s defection, she strove for a pleasant tone; his sidelong glance told her she hadn’t quite succeeded.
“Did she have the headache?”
Bronwyn examined her thumbnail. It had grown out to an acceptable length, and she rubbed the smooth edge with her index finger. “I believe she’s suffering, yes.”
“Your sister seems almost ethereal, untouched by the world.” His carefree handling of the ponies matched his casual outfit of brown breeches and a snowy shirt. His rough stockings and sturdy shoes told the story; tonight he cared nothing for formality.
His carefree demeanor made her yearn to discard thepanniers that held her skirts out so stiffly, to toss aside the decorative petticoat, to remove the stomacher that cinched her tight. Her full and formal wig she’d relinquished for a smaller one topped with a cap. She wished she could run barefoot as she’d done as a child, feeling the grass between her toes.
He continued, “Olivia’s skin is so fair, her hair so dark, she looks like the princess in the old fairy tales.”
Bronwyn smiled, a mere curving of the lips, and touched the modest wig covering her own scorned locks. “She looks like the rest of my sisters.”
“You’re different.”
“So I’ve been told,” she said in brittle agreement. In the silence that followed, she scolded herself. Adam admired Olivia; who did not? For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to hear someone praise her sister, and that only because of this inconvenient emotion stirring in her.
“Will your father be angry with you for coming with me?” She didn’t answer, and he added, “Alone?”
She almost laughed aloud. “I can handle Da.” Seeking to mend her bridges, she waved at the village cuddled into the hollow
Bronwyn shrugged, not indifferent, but very uncomfortable.
With full-blown indignation, Olivia queried, “Don’t you remember when Holly fell in love with her fiancée? They were married and rapturously happy until another pretty face caught his attention. And then another, and then another—”
“You don’t have to harp on it.”
“And poor Holly still loves that man, and every time he finds another mistress she cries and cries.”
“I couldn’t love a man like that,” Bronwyn said with emphasis.
Olivia laughed a little hysterically. “The women in this family don’t have a choice. None of our other sisters love, because they’ve never found the right man. But when one of the Edana women does love, it sticks like tar. Nothing scrapes it off, nothing remains the same. No matter what that man does, we Edana women can’t escape the awful trap.”
Bronwyn turned away from Olivia’s certainty.
“Maman’s beautiful. Holly’s beautiful. Neither one of them can keep the man she loves. Worst of all, Adam is by far the most attractive of the husbands.”
“You noticed, did you?” Bronwyn said dryly.
Olivia leaped to her feet and came to embrace Bronwyn. “I love you dearly, but your looks won’t keep a man by your side. With those mesmerizing eyes, he must have women throwing themselves at him. If you love this viscount of Rawson, you’ll have nothing but heartache in store.”
Olivia’s words struck deep at Bronwyn’s precariouspoise, but she seized the moment to declare, “That’s why you must come with me tomorrow night.”
“No.” Olivia shook her head. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
Chapter 6
“Olivia wouldn’t come.” Seated in the horse-drawn cart, her skirts spread in a great pile of yellow dimity that draped over Adam’s legs and dangled off the side, Bronwyn bounced along the road to the village.
“Olivia is delicate, isn’t she?” Drawn by his dark magnetism, the setting sun kissed Adam’s face and acquainted itself with his features.
Bronwyn’s fingers itched to touch the spark of gold in his black hair. “I don’t know if delicate is the correct word.” Still peeved at Olivia’s defection, she strove for a pleasant tone; his sidelong glance told her she hadn’t quite succeeded.
“Did she have the headache?”
Bronwyn examined her thumbnail. It had grown out to an acceptable length, and she rubbed the smooth edge with her index finger. “I believe she’s suffering, yes.”
“Your sister seems almost ethereal, untouched by the world.” His carefree handling of the ponies matched his casual outfit of brown breeches and a snowy shirt. His rough stockings and sturdy shoes told the story; tonight he cared nothing for formality.
His carefree demeanor made her yearn to discard thepanniers that held her skirts out so stiffly, to toss aside the decorative petticoat, to remove the stomacher that cinched her tight. Her full and formal wig she’d relinquished for a smaller one topped with a cap. She wished she could run barefoot as she’d done as a child, feeling the grass between her toes.
He continued, “Olivia’s skin is so fair, her hair so dark, she looks like the princess in the old fairy tales.”
Bronwyn smiled, a mere curving of the lips, and touched the modest wig covering her own scorned locks. “She looks like the rest of my sisters.”
“You’re different.”
“So I’ve been told,” she said in brittle agreement. In the silence that followed, she scolded herself. Adam admired Olivia; who did not? For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to hear someone praise her sister, and that only because of this inconvenient emotion stirring in her.
“Will your father be angry with you for coming with me?” She didn’t answer, and he added, “Alone?”
She almost laughed aloud. “I can handle Da.” Seeking to mend her bridges, she waved at the village cuddled into the hollow
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