Chapter 18

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"I don't see why a maid should take a husband when she's bold enough to fight her own battles." Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd 


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Chapter Eighteen

Olivia had been home for two days when she awoke on the morning of the twenty-fifth. She had surprised her family, and had immediately been conscripted into helping with their charitable plans.

While Olivia would have much preferred to sit by a fire and pour her heart out to her aunt, taking baskets to families in their village who might not have been having a very merry Christmas was a lovely distraction.

It was still quite early. There was no light peeking in through the drapes and she could not yet hear the maids about the house. Olivia lit her lamp and walked over to her dressing table.

Olivia sat down in front of the mirror and proceeded to brush out her hair. It was knotty from sleeping, suggesting she had tossed and turned quite a bit. As she looked at herself, she could see that she was tired. There were shadows underneath her eyes, and she looked older.

Was this the punishment for jealousy? "Why am I like this?" Olivia asked herself forlornly. Why couldn't she be happy for Kit? Why couldn't she be content with her lot in life? Why was she cursed with such wicked envy?

Olivia thought back to how she was at eleven years old. Kit had found her stealing books from her father's library in order to stock the school room. She was so determined to educate the masses that she resorted to theft. But that was enough. She was helping and it was enough.

Why did it not feel like enough now?

Olivia was doing good on a much larger scale. Kit was more than likely to be elected soon! What good could he accomplish within the halls of Westminster!

And that was where she supposed the jealousy came from. Kit was the one making the achievements that Olivia had always wanted to. She was going to be left out, cast aside, dismissed and talked down to, just because she was a girl.

Olivia buried her head in her hands cursing herself. "Wicked, wicked girl."

"Now, now, that is an unkind word."

Olivia jumped. She had not heard her aunt enter her bedroom. Lorna was dressed only in her nightclothes, her red hair still fixed in rags, and she was carrying her lamp in her hands. Lorna set the lamp down on the dressing table and sat down next to Olivia on the bench seat. She placed a comforting hand on the small of Olivia's back.

"What is the matter, Olivia? You have looked distressed since you arrived."

"I am a terrible person, Aunt Lorna." Olivia promptly let out a loud sob as she revealed that truth.

Lorna hushed her. "That is simply not true," she refuted.

Olivia sniffed. "It is," she persisted. "I am wicked and envious and this horrid feeling has taken up residence in my stomach."

Lorna rubbed Olivia's back. "I don't believe you. Pray, tell me why."

Olivia let out another loud, unladylike sob. Her eyes welled up and she took a minute to compose herself. "All my life, people have told me no. My mother, my father, the law!" she stammered emotionally. "You can't do that, Olivia ... you cannot change things, Olivia ... you are just a girl, Olivia!" Olivia imitated. "I have tried so hard to enact change, to make life just a little bit better for those who are less fortunate than I."

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