The Phoenix Of Love. Susan Schonberg

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       Chapter Four

       London, 1816

      “Olivia!”

      With painful slowness, Olivia brought her vision back into focus on the oil painting in front of her. The gay foursome, frolicking in the great Italian outdoors, danced across her eyes, the delicate brushstrokes of their picnic spread not quite becoming clear fast enough.

      Knowing she had slipped back into her memories as easily as she had slid into her chemise this morning, Olivia strove for the center of calm that would help her retain her composure. There, she had it. But she hadn’t yet responded to the call of her name. Mortified but determined not to show it, she dropped her gaze to the slight form of her grandmother across the room, only to see the old woman perched precariously on the edge of a Georgian armchair covered in maroon-and-gold-striped upholstery.

      “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the last five minutes.” The look Lady Raleigh gave her was stern, but there was a worried frown that creased her brow, and her lips were white with fright.

      Olivia was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Grandmama. I’ve been losing my concentration a lot lately. I guess I’m just tired,” she dissembled.

      The dowager stared intently at her relative, knowing full well she was being put off with a half-truth. But she decided not to make an issue out of it. “Marie,” said Lady Raleigh, loudly addressing the seamstress on her knees who was pinning the hem of Olivia’s gown, “Olivia is exhausted. And to be frank about it, so am I. It looks as if we shall have to fit her ball gown at another time. Say, tomorrow at four?”

      “Oui, madame.” The petite French seamstress immediately got to her feet and began helping Olivia out of the dress. In moments, all trace of the afternoon’s fitting session were gone, and the two ladies were left alone in the charmingly decorated room.

      Lady Raleigh got up from the chair and walked over to the bellpull. Her steps came slower now that she found it necessary to walk with a cane.

      “We shall have our tea in here today, I think,” she said as she turned around to face her granddaughter.

      “That would be lovely,” Olivia responded without the kind of tonal inflection needed to make the statement ring true. Immediately she went back to her contemplation of the painting.

      But instead of reaching up and pulling on the rope, Lady Raleigh merely rested her hand on the velvet cord and frowned at her charge. It tore at the old woman’s heart to think that to Olivia, her life was a normal one. Even after all these years in her grandmother’s loving company, she had never seen the girl feel anything. Not really. She had never seen her look unhappy or sad. She had never appeared angry or disgruntled. She never looked frustrated or upset. Her face, as beautiful as it was, seemed to be carved from marble, for her features never moved with expression.

      But more than any other expression, Lady Raleigh wanted to see Olivia smile. Underneath it all, she knew that her granddaughter was suffering. The masque she played for the world was the way Olivia hid pain so deep it seemed impossible to heal. Of that, Lady Raleigh was sure. But she so desperately wanted to see her smile. She wanted so much for her granddaughter to be happy.

      A few times, the old woman remembered with hope, a few times she had seen something lingering at the corners of Olivia’s mouth. Sometimes, when her guard was down, she would smile just a tiny bit, a ghost of something that could be much grander, much more impressive, if she were but to try.

      But that was the problem. Lady Raleigh knew that now. Olivia had no heart to try. Whatever feelings the girl had were locked away deep inside her heart, behind walls so high and thorny the old woman had little hope of ever seeing them in her lifetime.

      Yet, she knew they were there. She knew because she also knew that Olivia was fond of her aged relative. It showed in her gestures and in her voice. Sometimes her voice would grow soft and wistful, even while her face kept its expressionless lines. But only on occasion. It was actually very rare.

      Lady Raleigh knew that her granddaughter responded to intimacy by stepping back, by avoiding the situation like a colt shying from its handler. It was as though Olivia distanced herself from any contact with other human beings that would put her on any footing other than that of a distant acquaintance. Even with her grandmother.

      And she so needed that contact, thought Lady Raleigh as she gazed with fond sadness at the beautiful young woman across the room. Olivia desperately needed someone to tear her away from those silent, damning thoughts—the ones that ate at her and kept her from her grandmother’s company, even while she was in the same room.

      “What do you think of your gown, dear?” inquired the dowager loudly, hoping to break Olivia from the new trance that had gripped her young charge.

      Olivia turned her head to look at her grandmother. Her eyes, even though they were focused on her relative, seemed to look through her. “It’s lovely, of course.”

      Lady Raleigh nodded vigorously. “And so it is. There can be no doubt about that. And you will look lovely in it, my girl,” she announced in ringing tones, and she hit her cane on the ground for emphasis.

      Slowly Olivia dropped her gaze from her grandmother’s, and she searched distractedly for the embroidery she had left near her seat Finding it, she picked at the tiny СКАЧАТЬ