Excerpt of A Season of Hope by Christi Caldwell

A thundering boom echoed through the house. It bounced off the plaster and carried through the empty halls.

Olivia’s ears perked up. Father was in another of his tempers.

A maid went tearing down the hall, past Olivia, all but stumbling over her skirts in an effort to hide from the master’s wrath.

Hmm. After Father’s meeting with Lord Ellsworth, Olivia had assumed he would be all but waltzing around the house, humming Christmas ditties. Not that father waltzed. Or hummed. Or did anything remotely silly.

Unless…she paused mid-stride, a smile played on her lips. Unless the earl had rejected Father’s proposed arrangement. Hope stirred to life in her breast and she rushed to the Blue Salon.

She closed the door with gentle precision and hurried over to the hearth situated at the left side of the room. Much like she had as a small child, Olivia placed her ear alongside the plaster.

Silence met her efforts. She angled her head a bit.

Still nothing.

Olivia furrowed her brow.

“I don’t care if God himself summoned her! She is not going! By god, I’ve just accepted the earl’s offer for her hand. I’ll not have Danby interfering.”

Olivia jumped at the unexpected outburst. Her eyes slid closed in despair.

So she was to wed the Earl of Ellsworth. Her stomach flipped and she had to swallow back a wave of nausea.

Her mother’s muted reply was lost to the plaster wall.

“She is my daughter and I’m working out the arrangements with…” The name was garbled but Olivia knew well with whom he was working out arrangements.

“A fortnight? You want me to let her go for the fortnight.”

“He is alone for the Christmastide season. Let her go for the time he asks.

She will return and then you can…”

Fortunately Mother’s words trailed off.

Regardless, Olivia knew what would happen upon her return. She turned and borrowed support from the wall. A giggle bubbled up from her chest until her shoulders shook. It mattered not that she’d be forced to wed the earl. For now, all that mattered was that Olivia had been granted a reprieve.

The door opened and Olivia jumped. “Mother,” she greeted as her mother closed the door behind her.

“I imagined I’d find you here.” Her mother’s glance slid away, off to a point beyond Olivia’s shoulder.

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek, a frisson of unease raced along her spine. She smoothed her fingers along the edges of her ice blue skirts.

“I gather you heard all that?”

There was no point in lying, so Olivia said nothing.

Mother glided across the room. She paused in front of Olivia and held out an envelope. “Here.” She all but thrust the note into Olivia’s hands.

Olivia took it, this missive that represented freedom, and turned it over in her hands. She studied the broken seal.

Oh, Grandfather. Her eyes slid closed on a benediction that was his name. Danby.

The Duke of Danby, to be exact.

The ton revered him. The family feared him. Not many saw him.

Except when he summoned you. When you were called, you went. Father had said it mattered not if God himself had called for her, even as he’d surely known that one did not defy the duke.

“Read it,” Mother urged.

Olivia pulled out the note.

Tewkesbury, you fool. Send me my granddaughter. Not the married one. Post Script And Tewkesbury, send her immediately. ~Danby

A smile pulled at her lips.

“Do be sure to wipe that pleased grin from your face when you see your father.”

Olivia tried for a solemn nod but ruined it with a giggle.

“What does His Grace want?”

Her mother lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “To see you? Company at Christmas? To torture your father? It could really be any of those things.”

Yes, one never knew with Danby.

She fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and weep with relief. A smile formed on her lips. Since the earl’s departure, yesterday morn, Olivia had held her breath in dreaded anticipation of her father’s call. She’d known that her future had been decided and she’d just waited for word on it from her cold, heartless father. Oh, at three and twenty she knew she could resist an arrangement with the earl. Yet, Olivia was not so very foolish as to believe she could remain unwed forever.

She’d only just begun to accept that it didn’t matter who she married. It mattered not the age of her future bridegroom, the amount of teeth in his mouth, the wealth he possessed. No one could ever be Marcus and so she would resign herself to a life with Lord Ellsworth.

An acceptance of her fate, however could come after Christmastide. Olivia was determined to allow herself joy at this holiday season.

“You know, dear,” her mother began, gently, “this will not change what is to come in a fortnight. You know you’ll return and Father will see you wed to the earl.”

Olivia managed a nod. “I do. I know.”

But, all she knew for now was that there was a reprieve. It fueled Olivia’s hope.

Anything could happen at the holidays.