Summary: What surprises does Duchess Olivia have in store for the new arrival, Lady Esther? Will Liam make his displeasure known, or will he stay quiet to keep the peace?
Author’s Note: This is a continuation of Cabernet Franc, the first part of my TRR series “That Old Grape Juice”. It takes place during the Lythikos Ball in Chapter 8, including the chat Liam and Olivia have after she kisses him. I don’t include the actual Cordonian Waltz sequence, since I already have in this fic. Each chapter will be named by the wine that features in it.
—
It’s at times like this, Liam thinks, that he remembers why he and Olivia have drifted apart, as friends. Why he misses the girl she used to be, why he can no longer pretend to like the woman she has become.
Little Cactus, he vaguely recalls calling her. She needed the thorns to survive court, to survive the curse of being woman and being headstrong in a place like this. Of never fitting in. But give her half a chance and a little care, and she’d produce the loveliest blossoms you had ever seen.
At times like this, he finds that difficult to believe.
“Shouldn’t you be with the suitor you sponsored, Lord Maxwell?” Liam quips, warmly enough that a passerby will suspect nothing but a casual conversation, coldly enough so their hostess will know exactly what he means.
Maxwell glances nervously at Olivia, then at a place far from where they are sitting. His voice is extraordinarily stilted, his words doubtless a pale mirror of the exaggerated formal style Bertrand is known for. “I would have liked to, Your Highness. But protocol deems…”
“Of course,” Liams words come out in clipped, biting tones, “The hostess’ word is law, after all. Even over a Prince’s, in her own estate.” He turns to look at her this time, his face telling a completely different story. Olivia does not answer, does not look him in the eye.
Around the ballroom, the atmosphere is one of pomp and gaiety – typical of a gathering such as this one. Several Dukes not too far away speak highly of the excellent rendition of The Blue Danube by the orchestra. Next to them, Lady Kiara admires the tiny jewelled poodle at the end of Lady Penelope’s bracelet.
Several, several tables away, Liam catches sight – only barely – of two familiar faces, and Drake. Drake sitting at the very opposite end to the seat of honour isn’t an unusual sight – they’d agreed early on, on having him sit at the back whenever there was an event. Being seated from a vantage point where you would miss nothing, while still appearing innocuous. It’s what Drake does best.
No, what rankles him are the women who seem to be sitting next to him. It’s hard to make out with so many tables in the way, but he knows the glimpse of silver is definitely Hana, and the girl in the glimmering blue gown must be Esther.
So this…this is what she wanted to talk to Anne-Marie about.
The music shifts to a piece from one of Olivia’s favourite composers – Puccini’s Musetta’s Waltz – as the entrèes finally make their way to the front tables.
“Not my favourite piece from La Boheme,” Olivia mumbles, sipping her glass of Chardonnay, “too happy.”
“That’s…kind of…the point,” Maxwell says, chuckling.
The lobster bisque tonight is divine: creamy and rich, the meat tender and the subtle spices in the broth adding a depth of flavour to the dish, sending a wave of warmth through his body. Perfect for a freezing Lythikos winter like this one.
Liam can see why Olivia has chosen to serve an oaked Chardonnay tonight. This evening’s selection is truly spectacular: crème brûlée on the nose, butterscotch and toasted nuts to the palate. It’s a wine so rich and buttery it enhancesthe creaminess of the lobster bisque.
“Uhhh,” Maxwell sighs, momentarily forgetting who he is representing tonight, “with a wine like this, who needs dessert?”
Liam pretends to look around, his eyes never completely leaving the table far back. Just about everyone has been served, is in fact halfway through their meal already. Servers are bustling from guest to guest, making sure everyone is looked after. Everyone, it seems, except for one table.
“Lady Olivia,” Liam whispers, “Your choice of entrèe tonight has been truly…sublime. I hope everyone else in this ballroom has enjoyed the same experience as I have?”
“Yes,” Olivia raises an arched eyebrow, “everyone in this room that matters.”
Dammit. Dammit.
Liam doesn’t normally curse, even in his head, but Olivia has left him no choice. Not only has she forced Hana and Esther to sit at the back of the room…she has possibly (Possibly? Certainly!!)robbed them of a good meal.
The evening wears on. Each course is more rich and more sumptuous than the last, yet somehow every morsel winds up tasting like ash in his mouth.
Olivia senses the tension at the table. She is fidgeting, running her fingers rhymically through the napkins in front of her. They have exchanged barely five sentences this entire night. She avoids looking his way, her face flushed and her forehead wrinkling in frustration. Everything seems to be going as per her plans…and yet, she doesn’t seem very happy.
In his anger, Liam cannot bring himself to care.
The orchestra switches to a slower, more romantic number – Tchaikovsky’s The Waltz of the Flowers – and Olivia takes this cue to announce the opening of her Ball. She stands tall and speaks to her audience, calmly, confidently, and Liam feels a sudden surge of pride in all that she has managed to achieve. This, the little girl he’d first met weeping over her mother’s ballgowns. The child who hardly spoke in those first few months. All animosity aside, Liam can’t deny the thought that went into this Ball, and the love that has fostered it.
“Olivia,” he says, smiling at her, “May I have this dance?”
Her green eyes, downcast for most of the evening, brighten and her face breaks into a smile.
“Of course,” she says, looking happier than she has possibly been in years, “Anything for you, Prince Liam.”
–
When Olivia suddenly grabs his collar and kisses him in front of a crowd at the Ball she is hosting, Liam almost does what he would when he is attacked off-guard.
Attack back.
Olivia’s lips move fruitlessly over his pursed ones, seeking an opening and finding none. Her hands move from his chest to his neck, and already he can feel his throat locking in protest. Violation is the only word he can give to what he feels right now.
Being grabbed and pulled and forcibly held reminds him of too much, brings back too many memories he’d prefer to keep locked away. At least Olivia had the grace not to tackle him from the back, to do it while they were still facing each other. He would have lost all faculty of thought them. Too many memories of the last assassination he’d witnessed, of his combat training. It took him years to find a way to block those memories, to feel safe even in his own home…but having his body at the mercy of someone else like this pushes him back there in no time. It’s why he always holds his body like it’s a tightly-wound coil. Why he never is able to feel truly safe, even in the safest of places. Why he almost pinned poor Esther to a table when she sneaked up on him at the Derby.
It’s the thought of Esther that makes him freeze in Olivia’s arms instead.
TenNineEightSevenSix…
He’d attacked and almost injured an innocent woman the last time. There is no way in hell he will allow that to happen to another.
FiveFourThreeTwoOne. Stop. Stop. Why won’t you stop.
After what must have been just minutes but feels like forever, Olivia steps back. He isn’t sure how he manages to extricate her arms off him, but he does. There is a faint buzzing in Liam’s ears, and only faintly can he register the gasps from the crowd.
“Liam…?” Olivia whispers, looking at him expectantly.
It’s only then that the buzzing stops, that he’s able to formulate a response.
“Olivia, uh…let’s talk. Perhaps outside?” He doesn’t wait for a response – just walks towards one of the Chateau’s French balconies. He needs a moment to himself.
What goaded her into springing that on him? It can’t have been out of any romantic attachment – she’s had enough time in private to let him know if she did. What was it then? Power? A need to show the other women she had the upper hand here? If that was the case, he’s well aware that she is going about it the wrong way.
Before he can ponder on this further, Liam hears the rapid click-clack of Olivia’s heels as she makes her way to him.
“Liam please listen I’m so…”
“Sorry. Yes. I know. That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
Olivia frowns, confused. “What is it, then?”
Liam sighs. This isn’t going to be easy.
“Correct me if I am wrong, Lady Olivia,” he says in a voice low enough to not be heard but firm enough that Olivia will be compelled to answer honestly, “but did you or did you not place two women of the court at lowest place you could give a courtier, and ruin their meal?”
Olivia scowls. “You don’t mind it when Drake sits at the back everywhere else.”
“And we both know why.”
Olivia’s turns to face him, her eyes glittering dangerously. “Don’t act all neutral on me, Liam. Say it, why don’t you? Say it. Tell me you have a problem with me treating your precious Lady Esther like she’s less than royalty.”
Liam lets the barb about Esther slide. The last thing he wants is to be this open, this early, about what he feels for her, to anyone. Not when he has no idea of what his own heart wants.
“Whatever your thoughts on them are, Lady Esther and Lady Hana are members of the court. I’m not asking you to bow before then or kiss their feet. I’m asking you to treat them like your equals. Whether you like it or not, whether they were born into it or not, that is what they are.”
Olivia is almost shaking with rage in the time that he’s done.
“Don’t, Liam,” she hisses through gritted teeth, “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable here. You’re the one willing to throw the rules out of the window for her. Don’t expect me to sugarcoat what she is to you!” Olivia’s voice becomes louder and louder as she speaks. “And don’t dictate how I’ll treat my guests at my party. If that means I’ll have to show that wench her place, I’ll do it.”
DON’T CALL HER WENCH, Liam wants to scream. He is filled with the sudden, disturbing urge to attack her the way she’s been willing to attack the woman who came halfway across the world for him, the one he’s beginning to –
“Liam?” Olivia’s voice is softer, more afraid now.
No. No time to think about this. Esther is here because of him. Doing her darndest to fit in because of him. Braving speculation because of him. Olivia arranged to ruin Esther’s evening only because Liam hadn’t the sense to keep his emotions in check last night. He’ll be damned if he lets that happen to her again.
No. There has to be another way. There has to be a way he can make this work without hurting either of them.
“Let’s talk about that kiss now.” Liam stops, wondering how to proceed, “What you did on the dance floor…that has consequences. Consequences that I have seen play out with other, more experienced aristocrats than either of us.”
“Okay…” Olivia swallows, evidently nervous. She fiddles with the edge of her gown.
“There were more people at tonight’s Ball than just the suitors. Aristocrats. Council members. Mediapersons. They have been watching you – all of you. Your every move, your every action, your every word. If you – as hostess – place two members of court at the very back of the room…you know there will be questions. If you – as a suitor – display a show of proximity to your other competitors, it will work against you, Olivia, not in your favour.”
Olivia is chewing her lip, as she always does when she is in doubt. Good. He has managed to make inroads here…all he has to do is avoid risking Olivia’s ire by making his interest in Esther less than obvious.
“Bold plays like that never go well with this crowd. Never. You know how it is here. Kiss whoever you want, sleep with whoever you want, how many ever you want. But do it where no one can see you. The moment you bring that out in public…you know what will follow. You know how the media reacts when nobles act too familiar.”
Olivia’s nose scrunches up in disgust at the hypocrisy, but he knows she agrees.
“You want to win this, don’t you?”
She nods yes.
“Then listen to me, and listen well. You will need to pick your battles wisely from now on. Play your cards right. Strategize. Public displays like this can lose you valuable supporters, and you will need them now more than ever.”
“Supporters?” Olivia whispers, her eyes unnaturally bright, “Supporters? Who do you think I joined this blasted competition for?”
“Olivia…”
“You think I CARE about anyone else, Liam? You think I joined this social season for anyone else? Is that all you think I – I -…” her words come out in a jumbled, incoherent mess, almost slurred from heightened emotion, enough that Liam can barely make out what she is trying to say.
Something about “anyone else”. Something about the social season. Not enough to figure out what she means.
Too late. Before he can ask her what he is supposed to decipher from this cryptic mass of words, Olivia covers her mouth with one hand and half-stumbles, half-runs away, forcefully pushing him aside with the other.
Liam lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding all this while. This wasn’t how he envisioned this conversation to go.
He can only hope Olivia will be willing to talk to him after this. He can only hope he can make things up to Esther, get her to forget this horrible night. He goes back in.
Hours later, having prepared the hot tub in his room with rose petals and vanilla-scented candles, he waits in hope that Esther will find time for him. She’d blushed and smiled when he suggested this to her, but there is no way of knowing if that’s a yes. He waits an hour. An hour and fifteen minutes. An hour and a half.
Just as he wonders if he should blow out the candles, he receives a text on his phone.
I’m sorry about tonight.
Liam shakes his head, sighing. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt Olivia. I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. The reply appears almost immediately.
Please don’t ask me that, Liam. Anything but that.
That is…pretty much what he would’ve expected Olivia to say.
Just…promise me you won’t do that again, alright?
Almost seconds after he has sent this message, Liam hears a knock on the door. He opens to the sight of Esther, still in her sparkling turquoise ballgown, her face flushed from the cold, her smile warm.
He grins back. “I take it no one saw you.”
“Stealthier than a cat on the prowl.” She wiggles her fingers, winking at him. McCoy DC cShe takes the hand he has offered him, and Liam pulls her inside, hoping Esther will like his little surprise.
It will be hours before he returns to his phone. Before he sees the message Olivia has left for him.
I promise.
–