Her son’s answer took her aback. She had no idea her overbearing, controlling cousin Sidmouth had spoken to the boy about his father’s death. Comforting a small boy was not at all the kind of behavior she was accustomed to seeing from the duke. He’d insisted once they’d come to live with him at Bocollyn that Nicholas call him “Uncle,” but as far as she’d known, that had been the extent of his caring. Although he’d conceded that using his Christian name, Cornelius, would be too much to expect from a small boy. And so Nicholas had settled on “Uncle Sid.”
Had she perhaps underestimated the possibility her cousin might have a soft heart inside all that gruffness?
Richard straighteneda stack of wood to make room for the next round of chopping and raised his brows in skepticism at Thorne’s havey-cavey plan. He’d just suggested a way to keep the old duchess from sneaking off to taverns to indulge her flights of fancy with the bard. He’d argued they should engage the services of an itinerant American actor currently touring theatres in Cornwall. However, the more he talked, the more Richard began to see the sense.
“Algernon is going to reprise his role of the Moor on Friday at the Falmouth Theatre. If we can see him after the play, maybe we could convince him to help Harriet build a small stage at the hunting lodge. If he could present theatricals there for her grandmother to re-live her days of glory, then maybe she wouldn’t keep running away and getting into trouble. And it wouldn’t hurt him to have a permanent place in the west country to stage theatricals.”
Richard nodded. “Have you discussed this idea with Lady Blandford?”
Thorne glanced away and down at Richard’s growing wood pile.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” He took another lethal swing with the axe and split the thick chunk of wood on top of the stump. “You can suit yourself, but I’d rather not face a fiery-haired woman who’s a dab hand with a weapon of destruction and tell her I want to turn her home into a public venue.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, then, whatever you meant, who’s going to tell her?”
“You seem to have become, umm, close to the lady.” Thorne ventured, and then blanched at the deadly look Richard threw his way.
“I’m sure, in all your shipboard experience, you’ve seen the damage a boarding axe can do to a man’s face.”
“Just listen for a minute before you hack me in two.” Thorne raised his hand in a show of peace. “Not only would a small theatre at the lodge give her Nana a reason to stay home instead of running off all the time, but what about Nicholas?”
Richard stopped chopping and moved closer to Thorne. “What about Nicholas?”
“Why, a venue where he and Nana could perform, surrounded by friends and family…wouldn’t that situation give him a way to gain more confidence in his speech?”
Richard stroked the stubble on his chin and considered the possibilities. God, he hoped he hadn’t reddened Milady Amazon’s face with his stubborn beard that so resisted being subdued, its shadow re-appeared within hours of his morning shave. He dragged his thoughts back to the problem at hand.
“Why don’t we talk to this actor first before I broach the subject with the lady? I don’t want her to tear me limb from limb for no good reason.”
Harriet’s heartsank like a rock after it skips across a pond. The jingling of horses’ trappings, the crunch against gravel of wheels under a heavy load, and the general racing of servants toward the gravel driveway could mean only one thing. Sidmouth had returned from his honeymoon early. Very early.
Maybe that meant his new wife was already increasing with the heir. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t ready to see him again.
Why he would come first to the lodge from the ship before settling into his townhouse in London was not that much of a mystery. He’d probably heard from Viscount Grantham, the man he’d made clear to her should be her next husband. Harriet didn’t care. She’d avoided her cousin’s candidate like the plague. He was many years her senior, and constantly whined about one health problem after another. His current martyrdom centered around never ending bouts of gout.
She debated one tiny moment as to whether she should hide away in her bed, complaining of a megrim to avoid an argument. Then she shook her head hard and lifted her chin.No.She was the Dowager Countess of Blandford. She would crack her own whip.
She moved down the long passageway with dread. She could no longer postpone the inevitable. She still had no idea what she’d tell him about her decision to marry the viscount, because her heart and head had suddenly fallen into fisticuffs.
As it happened, Sidmouth met her halfway between her quarters and the main part of the lodge. “What’s this I hear about Nana making a nuisance of herself in town again?”
Since she’d expected worse, she let out a long sigh of relief, but too soon.
“And for the love of God, where are you hiding this rough Marine everyone’s been talking about?” Sidmouth had come into the lodge so quickly, he still carried the quirt he used when driving his carriage. He slapped it absently against his Hessians.
“Who told you that nonsense?” she muttered.
“No one can keep a secret for long in Falmouth, or the Bocollyn estate, come to that.”
When Harriet finally found the courage to look up into her tall cousin’s eyes, his reaction was worse than she’d expected.
He was quiet for a full four or five seconds before booming out, “God’s teeth and save us all, woman. You’re in love with this dangler in a red uniform. Where is he? I’ll have his commission. I’ll…”
She interrupted his tirade with a force of will she didn’t know she had. “That is quite enough, Sidmouth. He’s not here. He’s staying with my old friend, Captain Thorne, at Rose Cottage. They were comrades-in-arms at Algiers.”
A mischievous smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ignoring my suspicions. You haven’t denied you’re in love with him.”
