“Never fear, Carrick. I’ll be fine. I daresay this evening is going to be the most fun I’ve had in years.” With that, Her Grace nodded to her tiger and flicked the reins once he regained his seat. They raced off, easily rounding Sidmouth’s ponderous coach still taking on passengers.
Just before they whirled away, Harriet spied Carrick and Mrs. Lanigan standing side-by-side in the wide, double doorway of the lodge. They said nothing to each other, but the looks they exchanged were worth at least a thousand words.
Richard stolea glance across the top of Nicholas’s head at Captain Thorne. He seemed wholly at ease, and eager to see what happened next, as if the performance had already begun before they’d even reached the Falmouth theatre.
Sidmouth, on the other hand, looked like a festering thundercloud come down to earth, as if lightning might flash out of his ears at any moment. Nicholas, leaning at his side and chattering like a small monkey, was thoroughly enjoying the outing, oblivious to the drama swirling around the adults.
“Uncle Sid—who was that pretty lady Mama left with?”
“That was Her Grace, the Duchess of Sidmouth.”
Nicholas dropped his mouth open. “Why—?”
Thorne interrupted the boy before he could fill the silence inside the cavernous carriage with more prickly questions. “Have you told your uncle about all the scenes Nana has helped you memorize?”
Sidmouth leaned forward and gave Nicholas a light tap on his knee with his walking cane. “I know your mother is proud of how you recite Sonnet 18. Show me what you’ve learned.”
Without further prompting, the boy began, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” He spoke slowly and clearly, gliding over the letters that usually gave him pause.
At the end when he finished with “So long lives this, and this gives life to thee,” Sidmouth’s eyes widened. “Shades of Saint George-you’ve been at this for barely two weeks. Bourne, you’ve worked miracles.”
“I had lots of help, but most of all, it was Nicholas who put in the work. He’s practiced for hours every day.”
“When one of us was busy with something at the cottage, he’d practice on Bert.” Thorne laughed and squeezed Nicholas tight.
14
Lady Jane Wyndham, Duchess of Sidmouth, had bright spots of color at her cheeks, and her body tensed with exhilaration at driving the cabriolet at top speed down the winding road toward Falmouth.
Harriet gripped the seat and had second thoughts about favoring Sidmouth’s wife’s conveyance over his. However, she was sure her cousin had done something horrible to the poor woman for her to be behaving this way. And so she gritted her teeth and waited to either collide with another carriage or arrive early to the theatre. Perhaps Her Grace would confide in her whatever grievance she had with the duke.
She had to re-evaluate her assessment of Sidmouth’s wife. Lady Jane expertly guided the horses down Falmouth’s steep incline of Market Street to the harbor-front hotel, Pearce’s. She urged the pair on to a side street to await their companions. Her tiger jumped down from the high rear seat where he’d probably been hanging on in fear of his life. He took control of the perfectly matched pair while they settled in for a cose before the men arrived.
Although Falmouth was a small coastal town, the packet mail service ferried passengers to and from the far parts of the world. In fact, foreign embassies kept offices there. Their dramatic entrance probably would not attract undue attention.
Damnation.Her assumption had been wrong. The fine carriage letting off passengers near the theatre carried the arms of the Blandford family on the doors. That would be Lady Elizabeth Bettany, Dowager Marchioness of Blandford. She hoped her former mother-in-law would be ensconced in her box well before she made her entrance with her volatile group composed of two Royal Navy men, one grumpy duke, and the current eight-year-old Marquess of Blandford. She mouthed a quick prayer to ensure a smooth evening, though doubting at the same time such luck would be her lot.
All she needed was Nana to complete the chaotic ensemble. Thank Hera, she’d left her grandmother sleeping peacefully after a cup of tea with a smidgen of laudanum. She’d been in and out of lucidity for the last week, and tired easily. They’d decided not to bring her along on the excursion to the theatre. Nicholas had promised to give her a full accounting of the outing.
She turned sideways in the cabriolet’s high seat to face the duchess. “Now, before the men arrive, please tell me what is troubling you. Whatever Sidmouth has done to make you avoid him, there must be some way we can make him see sense and apologize.”
Lady Jane returned her smile and said nothing for a few minutes. Harriet could see why her absence from his house, his bed, was killing him. The warmth of her gaze held nothing back.
Finally she spoke. “This…this separation is not entirely Sidmouth’s fault. My guardian arranged our marriage, because Sidmouth is one of the few men in England who was not after my inheritance.”
“I’m so sorry. And you loved another?”
“No. I grew up learning my father’s mining business and working with him. When he died unexpectedly, I had never thought of what kind of life I’d choose otherwise.”
“But surely you met Sidmouth before your marriage?”
“Of course. He is a very kind man, but a little stilted in his relationships. I don’t think he really understood who I am, and that is my fault for not insisting we spend more time together before the wedding.”
Harriet considered her next question carefully. “If this is none of my business, please accept my apology in advance, but what on earth happened in Venice to cause you to flee back to Bocollyn without Sidmouth?” Harriet adjusted her turban which she’d secured for the carriage ride with multiple scarves wrapped around her head. Her hair was probably beyond help.
“Lady Harriet, I feel very close to you and would not ask this of you otherwise.”
“Please. Anything, if I can help.”
