What couldn’t be isolated so easily was the wretched feeling that a bottomless void yawned at her feet and would consume her.
She’d survived it once.
Perhaps she would survive it again.
Chapter 26
Kettle of Fish: When a person has perplexed his affairs in general, or any particular business, he is said to have made a fine kettle of fish of it.
A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
Francis Grose
The Cotswolds
Two Days Later
The carriage veered a sharp right, and Mariana’s eyes startled open. She averted her gaze from Hortense, fast asleep on the seat across from her, and toward the view of an undulant green hillside racing alongside the carriage as it careened down Little Spruisty Folly’s long, straight drive.
The familiarity of the scene released a measure of the tension that had been twisting her insides into knots for two days now. This patch of earth never failed to have that effect on her, even though this visit hadn’t been part of the day’s plan.
Just this morning, after a breakneck journey by land and by sea, Mariana had arrived in London with Hortense in tow. She’d immediately called upon the children’s schools: first, the Westminster School to apprise Geoffrey of her return and deliver the box of French bon-bons. Then she was off to see Lavinia at the Progressive School for Young Ladies and the Education of Their Minds, where she was greeted at the front doorstep by Mrs. Bloomquist.
A minor rat problem—as if there was any such thing as aminorrat problem—had been discovered, and the students sent home a few days ago. The rat catchers and their terriers would have the run of the building for the duration of the week. Mariana thanked Mrs. Bloomquist for her dedication to the cause before making her way to the Duke of Arundel’s mansion where Olivia had occupied a wing since her marriage.
Once there, she discovered that Olivia had decided to take advantage of the surprise holiday and whisk their daughters away to the Folly for an impromptu visit. Geoffrey had chosen to remain at Westminster and try out his bribe on the unsuspecting cook.
“Well, I’m off to the countryside, it would appear,” Mariana had informed Hortense, unable to hide her annoyance at the inconvenience of it all. “You are free to stay behind in London, if you like.”
“I was instructed not to leave your side until I receive explicit notice that all the loose ends of the French business are tied up.”
Mariana wouldn’t ask from whom this directive originated.
“Besides,” Hortense continued, “I wouldn’t mind seeing more of the country of my birth.”
Mariana experienced a jolt of shock at the girl’s revelation and immediately upbraided herself for it. Nothing should shock her anymore.
Now gazing out the window, she allowed some of the weight from the last few days to slide off her. She was arriving at the golden hour of dusk when the countryside, from gently rolling hills to the crowns of stately horse-chestnuts, burnished bronze in the warm glow of the setting sun. This was the most beautiful hour at the Folly, aside from dawn, of course. Where dawn bloomed with a dewy, yet crisp, clarity, dusk stole in with a still seductive softness irresistible to her.
Soothed by the subtle rocking motion of the carriage, she allowed her eyes to glaze over and her mind to drift back to the previous morning. She’d been on the road as soon as dawn had allowed enough light for travel, the previous night’s sustaining, and protective, anger having left her numb, yet determined.
Once in Calais, she’d wasted no time locating Captain Nylander. True to his word, he was willing to make a quick detour and transport her back to England before making his way to more exotic locales.
Nylander.She’d been right not to involve him in her marriage woes. On the surface—his powerful, sun-kissed, tempting surface—he was exactly the sort of man a woman would use to forget another man.
But a closer study revealed vulnerability cloaked within his impenetrable reserve that most surely missed. She intuited that he’d been used by a good number of women in his life, and she wouldn’t add herself to their number. He would want more of her than her body, and she couldn’t offer him that. And why not?
Her eyes fluttered shut before flying open. Closed eyes only emboldened the memory of her and Nick’s last time together. How had she allowed herself to fall in love with her husband . . . again? And now the inevitable emptiness was beginning to expand within her . . . again.
Nick’s words would return to her in counterpoint: she was in his blood . . . he loved her. She could almost convince herself that the words were enough. But they weren’t.
Nick was a man who bent circumstances and people to his whim and will. She refused to be bent any further. One more fold, and she would surely break.
Her fingertips brushed across her sternum where her beloved locket once lay. Now it was gone, forever. In all honesty, it was better this way. The locket had been yet another excuse to hold onto a past that held no future—a phantom lacking all substance. And yet some phantoms had felt so substantial, so real . . . The Woolly Mammoth. She mustn’t allow herself to consider the Woolly Mammoth.
Nothing with Nick was real. The man told lies for a living. Take Percy, for example. Percy was alive. She wished she wasn’t riding out to the Folly armed with that particular knowledge.
Stay dead.
