“When you were married, did you and your husband, um, have an understanding in the bedroom?”
Harriet’s mind whirled. She was afraid to answer but dared not ignore whatever truth Sidmouth’s wife sought. “To be honest, not at first. We practically grew up together on neighboring estates. He and Sidmouth were close friends, and your husband was like a brother to me. I was only eighteen when Charles and I married, because his regiment was called up, and he, that is we, were afraid something would happen to him…” She had a hard time choking back tears.
“I got pregnant right away, fortunately, because he was soon in the thick of the war on the Peninsula, and then died at Waterloo when Nicholas was three.” Harriet took a deep breath, surprised that she’d gotten through the story of her marriage without breaking down. “It’s your turn. Tell me what troubles you.”
The duchess had enormous, expressive brown eyes. They widened in the late afternoon light beneath her feathered hat. “My parents led a very unconventional life. My mother was an artist whose group of friends experimented with, um, the sensual arts. I was included in their circle, and that became part of my education as well.”
Harriet stared for a long time, and then said, “Whatever is troubling you, you have to tell Sidmouth. He’s not as thick and unfeeling as you may believe. If he had no notion of your wants and needs before your wedding, perhaps he was surprised, or even shocked, and in the way of all men, is afraid to admit he is not as all-knowing as he thought.
“Give yourselves some time to get to know each other better. Perhaps that’s the best way to start. But think about this. He is a very proud man whose tenants look up to him. He’s probably dying inside realizing everyone knows his duchess prefers to live beneath a separate roof, and travel in a separate conveyance.”
Before the duchess had a chance to respond, Harriet lost all remnants of concentration. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied something that made the bottom of her stomach plummet like the first time she’d jumped into the ocean from the rocks down by the cove.
A tall apparition in a long, flowing white dress glided by on the opposite side of the street in the direction of the theatre. Her velvet cape nearly swept the cobblestones, but the hood could not totally hide her lush, silver-russet tresses. Nana.
Richard’s jawached from trying to keep up a cheerful patter of conversation with Captain Thorne and Nicholas in an attempt to cover the awful silence of the Duke of Sidmouth hunched over on his seat across from the three of them.
Nicholas had tried several times to engage his uncle with questions about the botanical gardens at Bocollyn he’d been reconstructing in memory of his mother. The boy had even switched seats at one point in an effort to cheer him up, but nothing had worked.
At some level, Richard mused, the young Lord Blandford was more mature than his uncle. Richard had no idea what a man could do to a woman to make her turn on him within a month of two of marriage. He shook his head and tried another gambit. “Have you ever seen ‘Othello’ staged before, Your Grace?”
Sidmouth stared back at him from bleary, reddened eyes. Richard gulped in panic. Was the man going to break down in front of them? He considered distracting Nicholas. What a helluva way to act in front of his young ward.
Richard leaned forward and spoke low. “Milord, are you ill? Is there something we can do to help? Shall we stop the carriage, maybe get you some fresh air?”
The duke shook his head hard, ignoring the effect on his thick hair, not unlike the unruly mop on his young cousin. “Women. I thought I understood them. I thought I knew how to take care of them, protect them, love them…” He trailed off, unable to complete his thought.
The sudden sight of the outskirts of Falmouth and the spires of the town’s churches made Richard heave a sigh of relief. “We’re almost there. I suppose Her Grace and Lady Blandford are already there.”
“Do you think…?” The duke’s tone spewed sarcasm.
Richard vowed to avoid bringing up the women again.
“You know, if memory serves me, I believe Desdemona in ‘Othello’ was one of Nana’s favorite roles when she was the talk of London.”
“Too bad she was too out of sorts this week to come along,” Thorne said.
Richard suddenly rapped on the roof of the carriage for the driver to stop and elicited an angry look from Sidmouth. “Forgive me, but there’s an emergency brewing out there.” He stabbed his thumb in the direction of the steep street heading down toward the harbor, and the theatre. As soon as the heavy carriage rolled to a stop, his boots hit the cobblestones and he raced off down the dirt path near the street.
Sidmouth rapped on the roof again and they lumbered on toward the theatre. He gave Thorne a wry glance. “That’s what happens when you get invited to see a play with a Marine. Must have seen someone needed saving.”
As if hit by a sudden bolt of lightning, Sidmouth’s face took on the look of a man who’s seen an apparition. He rapped on the roof again, and when the carriage jolted to a stop for the third time, he was off and running after Richard.
Nicholas looked at Thorne. “Can I rap on the roof this time?”
The captain laughed. “Of course, Lord Blandford. You’re in charge of this ship now.”
Harriet considered her options.No matter what any of them did now, they would be declared eccentric, or mad, and that would be the kindest gossip to circulate about their family.
She’d remembered, too late, how fond Nana had been of recollecting her stints as Desdemona in “Othello.” And there she was, across from the hotel, flowing along the street as if in the old days in London. Harriet contemplated intercepting her grandmother when a dark and dashing Royal Marine came into view marching in double-time, about a block behind the elderly actress. He was gaining on her, but Harriet suspected Nana had known he was there all along. Harriet decided she’d just sit back and watch the show.
Next to her, Her Grace sucked in a sharp breath. “Who is that gorgeous man in uniform?”
A sharp stab of something ancient and possessive hit Harriet in the vicinity of her breastbone. When had he come to belong to her? She shook her head hard. “He’s the Royal Marine who saved my grandmother from one of her impromptu performances in a tavern a little more than a week ago. He returned her to the lodge only to have one of my mastiffs take him down with a head injury in the drive when they arrived.”
“That man means something to you, doesn’t he?”
“Is it that obvious?” Harriet buried her head in her hands before straightening again. “We might as well join the crowd and give them an extra performance before the play.”
