“Yes,” Charles replied.
“The box is open. Go ahead and look through it. These were Mother’s rings. Perhaps there might be something suitable.”
Sitting in front of the closed red leather box, Charles waited a moment to open it. He wondered if he might recognize any pieces. If he did, would he remember where he saw them? So much of his early life, his early childhood, was deja vu.
Arthur handed him a glass half full of whiskey. He took a good swallow, set it to his right, and placing both hands on the box, he opened it. Inside were at least two dozen rings of various shapes, stones, and metal. Why would anyone need this many rings? He corrected himself silently. Women liked to collect, especially jewelry. Their mother was no different.
He began to pick up various rings and look closely at them, not needing any help with the pieces. Arthur tried to supply what he knew about a piece; if it was a favorite of their mother’s or she rarely wore it.
Picking up a striking emerald ring, he began to look it over closely. The emerald was a good size emerald cut with three diamonds on each side of it. He put it aside and continued to look. It seemed rubies were their mother’s favorite stone apart from diamonds.
“Are any of these part of a set?” he asked his brother.
“No.”
He ran across two more emerald rings. Taking them out of the box, he studied them closer. Neither was as nice as the first one, so he returned them to the red leather box. He found twosapphire rings. They were nice but they were still not as nice as the emerald. Emerald was most definitely Cathryn’s stone.
“You like this one?” Arthur asked, pointing to the emerald sitting to the side.
Charles arched a brow and nodded. “Emerald is the color that looks best on her.”
“It’s a beautiful choice.”
“Do you think she’ll like it?” Charles asked.
“Yes. I can’t imagine any woman not liking it.”
“Good, then I made the right choice.”
Shutting the box, he moved it forward toward Arthur who was sitting behind the desk. Then he picked up his glass and finished the whiskey in the glass beside him.
“Are you going to take Cathryn with you to Oxford when you go to speak?”
“I haven’t decided but probably not. She’d have to spend most of the time on her own.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Arthur said.
“Yes, I had. In great detail.”
“If you decide you want company, let me know. I’ll see if I can’t rearrange my day if needed.”
“You’re too kind, but trust me, I’ve been on my own for years even though I was confined to Wight. I know how to adapt to my surroundings.”
“I don’t want you thinking you have to be alone when you don’t have to be. That part of your life is in the past,” Arthur said.
It might be in the past, but it would always be a part of him. Because of the solitude, he found it hard to make friends or even be around a lot of people. Back then, and even today, people thought he was mad to one degree or another. And maybe they were right. Maybe he was a little mad.
Chapter Thirteen
By the timethey entered the theater, Charles thought the majority of London was in this one building. Inside, it was a sea of people like he’d never seen in one place all at once. He’d been to the theater a couple of times on Wight, but the patrons were a lot less than here. He felt it hard to breathe and reminded himself to relax.
The family box wasn’t what he’d been expecting. It was well located in relation to the stage and was easy to see all that was going on beneath them. The evening was his and Cathryn’s first public appearance as husband and wife. They sat to Arthur and Daphne’s right, the two women sitting beside each other.
Immediately, he felt a thousand eyes staring up at the box, all vying for even the slightest glimpse of the newlyweds, though Charles knew better. Some wanted to see the duke’s brother who’d been hidden away all these years. The mad spare.
They would be disappointed that he didn’t fit the image they had in their mind’s eye. As he peered down at the stage, he felt Cathryn’s reassuring hand on his. It was odd to him that something as simple as her touch soothed the beast within him.
Lights began to go down and people scurried to their seats. The peerage, though, took their time. Scurrying would be like mice, and they were anything but. For them, an evening at the theater was to be seen and to add to one’s list of growing acquaintances. To be seen in the company of only the best the ton had to offer.
