The Proletarian of Mayfair

Chapter Five

"A smile, whether it be demure or euphoric, can make all the difference."
The Romantic Writings of O.P.B.S.

After more hours asleep than she had known in many years, Olivia longed to be out of Hastings House. It was quiet in the large house, yet her steps were as soft as a mouse. She opened the door and took in the peace of the outdoors.

The cool breeze that drifted through Mayfair hit her cheeks as softly as the rays of the morning sun. It did not hold the smells of home; those were gathered as it passed through London. However, the fragrance of daffodils and bluebells was enough to draw her into the empty streets.

Not a soul was awake aside from her. She enjoyed the idea of being awake whilst the rest of the world was not. It would likely be a few hours before Mayfair joined her. Olivia knew that, in Bloomsbury, her entire family would be awake and hard at work. Most people would be. She could hear the faint echoes of carriage wheels on cobblestone and coal fires being stoked to life.

It did not make her long for home. In fact, all it did was remind her how alone she felt in that world.

In a simple dress that did not require a corset—one of a few she requested be made—Olivia walked through the streets of Mayfair. She found a bench in a park by a lake that seemed to be calling her name. It took her a moment, as she wished to absorb the tranquility of the world just before it woke up.

"I would think it would be unacceptable for a young lady to go unaccompanied in Mayfair." Olivia heard from a man who clearly did not know much about her. Not many did; the few that had the unfortunate chance to run into her at a poor time knew how dangerous she could be.

Olivia did not turn around; whoever this man was did not understand that young ladies were fiercer than they looked and she did not need to know who he was. "I would think that I know my own limits, sir."

"My apologies. I did not wish to assume you could not take care of yourself." She could hear how his tone had shifted.

She admired it; something about him pulled her in like a magnet, and she could not quite put a finger on it. Olivia knew he was the man she saw the very first day she arrived in Mayfair, and did not mind meeting him face to face. He held himself with confidence and a bit of youthful mischievousness. She knew he was on the young side of the spectrum, but her parents were only a couple of years apart.

"I feel that this world does not understand that women are capable of so much more than painting and embroidery. I do know how, but a woman cannot be reduced to such petty, surface talents." Olivia knew the moment she spoke the words, she could be construed as a sullied woman. "I apologize if—"

The man cut her off before she could finish. "I completely agree. A match should be made based on shared values and compatible personalities." She did not know what he witnessed as she did not even know his name. However, it did give her hope because she shared the exact same vision.

"Then, I will apologize for not introducing myself. My name is Olivia Bridgerton-Sharpe," Olivia said and extended a hand towards him.

He took it, and introduced himself. "I am Benjamin Twombley, Earl of Gloucester."

She knew what that meant. The week of tutoring from Daphne and Caroline taught her plenty about the families of the ton. There were the Finches, who had a couple of sons, but she had heard they were more... dim. Caroline used the word clodpoll, which caused Aunt Daphne to berate her. The Crane boy was quite a looker, according to them both. A man by the name of Berbrooke was heavily disliked after what Lord Berbrooke did to Aunt Daphne.

The Twombleys, as she learned, were a family that she could not cross under any circumstance. Lady Twombley used to be the despicable Cressida Cowper and she had not changed one bit after marrying a man she never loved.