“Very well.”
Joly moved away to tidy the dressing table, and Rebecca sat on a chair near the bed. “Tonight we were introduced to the chef, a Monsieur Marhic, who seems as amiable as he is skilled.” Here she sent Nicole Joly a telling glance and had the satisfaction of seeing the woman blush.
What else?Rebecca asked herself. She was reticent to divulge that she had sat with the Wilford brothers, sure Lady Fitzhoward would either disapprove or read more into the invitation than it merited. Instead, she described her conversation with the beautiful Miss Newport. And since the woman had offered the information herself, Rebecca hoped it was not wrong to repeat. “She mentioned she is an actress and singer.”
“Ah,” Lady Fitzhoward mused. “I thought she looked familiar. I wonder if I saw her perform at a theatre in Cheltenham?”
“Perhaps. Beyond that, the only other occurrence worth mentioning was that two women approached Mr. Oliver to praise his book and he offered to write his autograph inside.”
Lady Fitzhoward scoffed. “His autograph? Who does the man think he is, Sir Walter Scott?
“That reminds me.” Lady Fitzhoward picked up a broadsheet from the side table. “Did you see the notice in today’s newspaper about Ambrose Oliver staying here?”
“Yes. And I overheard Mr. Oliver’s publisher expressing his displeasure about it to Mr. Mayhew.”
“Wonder what he’s squawking about,” Lady Fitzhoward replied. “Both men ought to be glad for any publicity.” She tapped the broadsheet for emphasis. “The dining room shall be busy tomorrow. Mark my words.”
Satisfied her employer would not be so tart-tongued if she were seriously ill, Rebecca went upstairs to her own room. From her window, she saw the sky was already dark, but she was not yet sleepy. She wrapped a shawl around herself, opened her balcony door, and stepped out. The night air felt cool and refreshing after the stifling warmth of Lady Fitzhoward’s suite.
For a moment she closed her eyes to savor it, then gazed up, admiring the stars and the sliver of new moon.
Hearing a click to her left, she looked over. The balcony closest to hers was empty, but a man stepped out onto one farther down. He stood there in evening clothes, also looking at the night sky. Others might not have recognized him in the darkness, but that posture, that profile, that presence were all too familiar to Rebecca. She would recognize Frederick anywhere.
Years ago, as a smitten adolescent, she had admired him and foolishly believed he admired her too—that he was content to wait for her to come of age. He had always been unfailingly kind and attentive. Ready to listen to her youthful chatter or console her various disappointments with single-minded focus, while her parents were sometimes impatient and quickly wearied of her tales of village injustices. When her mother died, Frederick had climbed up and sat beside her on the garden wall as she sobbed, offering his handkerchief and his presence and his silent comfort.
Later, he’d given her a pony, or at least the use of one, and taught her to ride.
She well remembered the rush of joy and gratitude she had felt, and could still hear the sound of her young voice in all its girlish exultation.
———
“Thank you for letting me ride Ladybird, Frederick. She’s fine!” The beautiful creature was a Connemara pony, a small horse ridden by adults and children alike.
He’d smiled indulgently. “I am glad you like her. She gets far too little exercise now that Tommy has gone to school.”
They had ridden together almost once a week after that, when the weather allowed. And how she had looked forward to it.
But then one day when she went to Wickworth at their usual meeting time, Frederick was too busy to ride.
“Sorry, Miss Rebecca, I have other engagements today.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
He grimaced. “I am afraid not. We have house guests, you see.”
“Oh, who?”
“Miss Seward and her parents. I don’t think you know them.”
Disappointment deflated her hopeful heart. “I see.”
He chucked her under the chin. “Another time?”
“Yes, of course.” And she had smiled in anticipation, never guessing that it was the beginning of the end. That she was soon to lose her special place in Frederick’s life....
———
With a resigned sigh, Rebecca slipped back inside her hotel room. Soon after, Mary knocked and helped her undress, and then Rebecca climbed into bed.
