Richard marshaled his scattered thoughts. “Um, Lady Harriet, begging your indulgence, but do you think inviting the duchess without, um, consulting Sidmouth is the best way to proceed here?”
The scathing look she shot toward them made him shut his mouth so hard, his teeth clicked. All he could do was raise his hand in a sign of peace and assent. Apparently, the marchioness would not be swayed. From the look on Thorne’s face, he was trying hard not to laugh at Richard’s feeble attempt to redirect Harriet’s will.
“Come, Nicholas,” she said, and swept out the cottage door. Poor Nicholas turned his head to flash a brief look of apology before Richard’s newly repaired door slammed shut. Thomas Footman followed through the still shaking door at a more sedate pace with Fleur and Max trailing behind.
“Thank God you reinforced the hinges.” Thorne let out the laughter he’d been holding inside.
Richard and Captain Thornehad spent most of the day giving their uniforms a thorough brushing, polishing boots to a glorious shine, and making use of the copper tub Harriet had had a team of footmen drag up the hill with some assistance from Bert the donkey.
When Richard opened the shaving kit he’d been gifted, he had assumed he’d need to sharpen the blade, but realized someone had been keeping all of the gear maintained to high precision. It was if the original owner had merely walked away for a few minutes, meaning to return. At first, he hesitated to use the late marquess’s ivory-handled straight razor and elaborate shaving brush, but then realized both Harriet and Nicholas wanted him to make the tools of the man’s everyday life live on, if only in his hands. The small mirror in the lid of the leather-covered box was perfect. Usually, he could only guess at the closeness of his shave.
Richard had sent a note to Captain Bellingham on theHMS Black Condorin Falmouth harbor. He’d invited him to join them at the “Othello” production. He hoped two other Royal Navy men in full kit and gear might help him stand against whatever explosive situation Harriet might have set in motion by inviting Sidmouth’s duchess without so much as a by-your-leave to the duke.
“Are you ready?” Captain Thorne carried his hat at his side for the wind-buffeted walk down the hill.
“How do I look?” This was the first time Richard would have to appear in public in the company of Lady Blandford, and he didn’t want to muck it up.
“You look like a bad case of ‘scarlet fever’ about to descend on the unsuspecting ladies of Falmouth.”
He glowered at Thorne which set the old captain off into such gales of laughter that he commenced coughing and had to be slapped on the back.
When they approached the lodge,Richard eyed Lady Blandford’s carriage with the horses harnessed and waiting in the drive. Apparently, her groom had managed to get the broken axle fixed in time.
Suddenly, he felt like an awkward boy. He didn’t know whether he should knock on the front door to the lodge to seek Lady Harriet. In reality, they were merely meeting for the purpose of going to the theatre to meet the actor, Algernon. He could not, under any circumstance, make this event look like he was with the marchioness. While he shuffled about red-faced in the drive, Captain Thorne gave him an impatient cluck and solved the dilemma with a brisk rap of the brass knocker.
Carrick opened the door immediately and invited them into the foyer to await Lady Blandford and her son.
Richard could not bring himself to sit and instead paced, from one side of the foyer to the other.
“You’re going to wear out your boots before she even joins us.” Thorne shook his silvered head. “I thought Marines were practiced at being cool under fire.”
The deadly look Richard fired his way quieted his old friend, but did not erase the smirk from his face.
And then she was there. Nicholas was the focus of her attention as she wetted a finger to smooth down his stubborn cowlick. She was all silk and lavender, rustling around her long legs while she bent low over her son who obviously yearned to escape her fussing. The minute she stood to take her long, velvet cape from Carrick, Nicholas raced toward Richard whose arms opened without consulting his brain and hugged the boy against him. He guessed her son had no qualms about making him part of their tight little family circle. That settled his indecision on how to remain aloof from the two of them to avoid gossip. He couldn’t stay away from the two people who had come to mean so much to him.
When he looked up, her eyes were full of everything she hadn’t said. He knew in that moment exactly how she felt. The thought of leaving them to sail half a world away gutted him.
“Lieutenant Bourne, Lieutenant Bourne,” Nicholas sing-songed. “D-did you use my father’s shaving kit?”
Richard knelt to the boy’s eye level. “Yes, I did, and this is the smoothest shave I’ve ever had.” At the curious look in the child’s eyes, he took one of his hands and placed it against his cheek. “See? This is how a close shave feels.”
Nicholas’s eyes grew round, and he sucked in a breath as if he wanted to say more, but his mother walked to his side and took a firm grip on his other hand. “Enough with rude questions for now. Don’t forget who you are.”
Richard stood quickly at attention. “She’s right, Lord Blandford. Tonight we have to behave as gentlemen while escorting your mother.”
Carrick opened the door, and they walked out to the drive to wait for Sidmouth to arrive with his extra carriage. A loud commotion emanated from the road to Bocollyn House. Too loud for a single carriage.
They all craned their necks, trying to discover the source of crashing horses’ hooves and shouts of drivers. As if summoned by their curiosity, two carriages thundered into the oval driveway, each with one solitary passenger.
The first conveyance stopped short, and Sidmouth alighted. On the driver’s seat of the dashing, covered cabriolet was a slight, dark, voluptuous woman who leaned out and beckoned to Lady Blandford while her Tiger held the horse.
Richard had a bad feeling about this. Sidmouth’s duchess apparently would join them at the theatre, but she’d be arriving in her own conveyance. He feared this evening might not end well.
Harriet tookin the view of her cousin’s elaborate coach with the family crest on the doors. The magnificent set of four highly strung horses required two coachmen to handle them. And then there was the duchess. She’d arrived with a flourish, driving her own cabriolet. Harriet could not imagine how the good folk of Falmouth would talk about the scandalous scene they’d all make at the theatre.
She leaned down and kissed Nicholas soundly on the top of his unruly thatch of hair before she straightened and gave Richard a look. She marveled at how already, words were unnecessary between them. Richard took the boy’s hand, and he and Captain Thorne headed to the lonely duke’s conveyance.
Harriet’s long legs would have made easy work of climbing up onto the seat next to Her Grace, the Duchess of Sidmouth, but Carrick sped over from where he’d been observing the odd procession next to Mrs. Lanigan. “Have a care, milady,” he murmured low, and she realized he was warning about more than just catching her skirts or falling off the cabriolet’s high seat.
