Anthony wasn't wrong to assume that Olivia had simply imbibed too much to remember anything of any importance--in fact, he was very much right in that regard. Olivia often forgot a lot of things, such as the fact she'd burnt the photo. Her bad habit was an escape from the reality of the world she was currently living in--a reality that would soon change, but she didn't know that. How could she?

The socialite said nothing more, continuing to walk along with or without his accompaniment, until the moment they reached the Carrington household or he chose to take his own route. Regardless of which came first, Olivia would turn to look at him, far more sober than she had been when they'd left the pub. Her eyes were red with the tears she'd spent, her nose crimsoned by the cold air. The woman reached into the folds of her gown, withdrawing a sovereign which she held out to him.

"For putting up with me," the woman said after a few moments, and her tone was remarkably dour. Few put up with her, especially that long, outside of her own family. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she looked past him, in the direction from which they'd come. "Would you like a cup of tea before you head back on your way? I'd hate to put myself under further ill repute because I failed to offer you at least a hot drink before sending you on your way."