help her celebrate her twenty-first birthday in a week’s time.
She was wearing one of Isobel’s castoffs now—a lovely light green gown of sprigged muslin trimmed with lilac ribbons and a matching spencer. As always, Eliza had arranged Olivia’s hair beautifully. Not that Hamish ever seemed to notice his wife’s efforts to look as attractive and as elegant as possible.
The sound of voices drifted onto the terrace, and Olivia turned in her seat to regard the drawing room behind her. Since their return, Hamish had been so busy—either meeting with various gentlemen in the library or quitting the town house altogether and disappearing for such long periods—she’d barely seen him. She suspected that a great deal of his time was taken up with looking for Tilda’s mother, Euphemia, and she was in two minds about how she felt about that. She’d grown terribly fond of the little girl, but deep down, she understood that Tilda belonged with her own mother.
And then Olivia saw the drawing room door open, and Hamish entered in the company of the exceedingly handsome Duke of Exmoor—Olivia had met the nobleman a few months before at Lord and Lady Malverne’s wedding. But it was the pretty young woman with light brown curls and bright blue eyes on the duke’s arm who snagged her attention.
It had to be Euphemia Harrington. There was no mistaking the resemblance between Tilda and her mother.
Olivia rose from her seat, her pulse quickening in anticipation. “Hamish,” she murmured as he stepped onto the terrace with the duke and Mia Harrington. “You found her.”
“Aye.” He grinned. “I did. My lady wife, allow me to introduce—”
He got no further as Tilda squealed, “Mama,” and then Mia was flying down the terrace steps onto the lawn and catching her daughter in her arms. “Oh, my baby girl,” she sobbed, and sank to her knees with Tilda clinging to her as if she would never let her go.
Olivia’s vision blurred. What a glorious, beautiful moment. Never in her life had she been so affected. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she watched Mia smother her ecstatic daughter’s face with kisses.
It seemed everyone else was similarly moved by witnessing the reunion of mother and child. Nurse Swan, her hands clasped beneath her chin, was openly crying, and when Olivia glanced at Hamish, he was brushing a tear from his cheek too. Even the Duke of Exmoor’s blue eyes were suspiciously bright.
Hamish drew close, and to Olivia’s surprise, he laced his long fingers through hers.
“You’ve done a wonderful thing today, Hamish,” she murmured, her heart swelling with pride for the man she couldn’t help but love.
“And I would never have found Euphemia if it weren’t for you.”
“And Nurse Swan.”
“Perhaps . . . Olivia, I . . .”
Olivia looked up into her husband’s face, and her breath caught. The longing in his gaze was unmistakable. Dare she hope that he’d say something, anything, to indicate he’d changed his mind about her and their marriage? That he wanted to have children with her?
But when he spoke next, it was clear that he hadn’t.
“You’ll make a wonderful mother when you wed again one day—” he began, but Olivia cut him off.
“Don’t, Hamish.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice as she let go of his hand. “Just don’t. You once said, in this very garden in fact, that I should never underestimate my true worth. Well, I’m tired of you doing exactly that whenever it comes to me.”
And then she descended the stairs and crossed the lawn to introduce herself to Mia.
* * *
* * *
She was wrong. Hamish knew the precise worth of his lovely wife.
The problem was, he didn’t deserve her. That’s what he told himself as he watched Olivia walk away from him.
Max drew closer and clapped him on the shoulder. “I think it’s time for a celebratory brandy, old chap,” he said. “Or whisky if you have it.”
“Aye. Whisky it is.”
“And when things settle down”—Max nodded toward Mia, Tilda, Nurse Swan, and Olivia—“I’ll pay my respects to your new wife. It’s been a while since I met her at Nate’s wedding in June.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that you’d already been introduced.”
Max shrugged. “I’m sure I mentioned it the other day when you were telling me all about your own wedding.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Hmm. It must have slipped my mind.”
As Hamish poured the drinks, his gaze strayed to his friend. Max slouched in that negligent way of his against the French doors, watching the women fuss over Tilda. Or