There was something in his tone that touched a place inside her. Rachel met his steady gaze, then quickly glanced away before he saw the havoc wreaked on her soul. Was he making another jest?
She couldn’t afford to care or indulge herself in emotions that would lead to no end. Keep the relationship on an impersonal level. That was the best way to deal with matters. To put a bit of distance between them had value. A day apart would be best for both of them. Suitors were coming to call, and she’d promised to visit Lord Banfield and Humphrey. How they had championed her the night when Lord and Lady Ward, and then, Sir Bonneville had accosted her. She looked forward to visiting them. There had been a long history between the Duke and her cousin, Jacob that touched her heart.
A day apart would be best for both of them.
Rachel bit her lip. How she hated to disappoint him when he’d been so gallant, but disappoint him she must, and the sooner she spoke the better. With certainty, she was putting too much worry into the situation. Of course, Anthony would be very understanding. “I cannot work in the laboratory tomorrow.”
“And why not?”
Her idea was not going to be as easy as she thought. “I have callers visiting tomorrow and I have accepted an invitation with the Duke of Banfield and Humphrey.” No need to tell him it was an open invitation.
“You also promised Thomas Banks and the rest of the world something I cannot possibly deliver without a lab assistant. And now you are accepting a company of fools, and cavorting around the countryside.” His voice was cold, flat, furious and heard across the room. Revelers craned their necks. If only she could fade into the background.
Anthony proved difficult. “You’re invited, too,” she proposed in way of a peace offering. “You need to get out more, engage with others.”
“You have Aunt Margaret for that.” The muscles in his neck corded and his callous tone set the hairs on the back of her neck on end, plain refusing to entertain that her opinion might be valid. “How you like to agree to challenges without thinking them through, and then masking your inhibitions with social seeking. Is this your backward Colonial upbringing?”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.“You are stubborn, dogmatic, simple-minded and unable to seeI won’t be available the next day, the day after that, and the week after that.”
Aunt Margaret sidled up in a whoosh of her skirts, her ear horn bobbing. “I need to go home before I get a headache.”
Rachel took Aunt Margaret’s arm. Her mother had suffered terrible megrims for hours at a time. “We need to get her home as soon as possible,” she commanded Anthony.
Anthony ordered their wraps and coats, bid regrets to their host that they would not be able to attend the soiree. Rachel settled Anthony’s aunt into the burgundy velvet squabs of the Rutland coach. Beneath the lantern light, Aunt Margaret appeared hale and healthy, her grey eyes twinkling.
Rachel spoke into the wide end of the ear horn. “I will have Cook make you a special concoction.”
“I am saved a headache from Imogene Brougham’s singing. The girl has the brain of a toad.” Aunt Margaret snorted, her grey eyes shot through with shrewd bright lights of amusement. “Don’t let Imogene deter you.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. Had Aunt Margaret given her leave on her feelings toward Anthony or was she imagining things? Right now, he was at the top of her lunatic list. The insensitive, hypercritical, tyrant. He was worse than Imogene Brougham and had insulted Rachel to the first degree. Before she could form a reply, Anthony climbed in, slammed the door and stared at her in sullen silence. Aunt Margaret slumped on her shoulder, asleep.
Chapter Nine
Regardless of the fire roaring in the fireplace of one of the luxurious salons of Belvoir Castle, Rachel pulled her silk shawl about her shoulders to ward off a chill. She turned a dazzling smile to the two gentlemen who had come to call. Despite her bright smile, her mood dipped as she looked through the doorway and out into the hall, hoping Anthony would walk by, even though she knew he’d be in his laboratory. Rachel shivered, wishing she didn’t need to separate herself from Anthony. Not only was it for the best, but it was required.
So, why was she so close to tears?
Aunt Margaret chatted with the two gentlemen while Rachel tried to convince herself that her aching disappointment was merely because of Anthony’s disagreeable and insulting outburst, but her lonely dejection sprang from something much deeper. She missed him. To see his smile, to be able to work with him again in his laboratory… No. His rudeness was an affront to her New England upbringing and he needed a lesson.
“Miss Thorne, has the unhappy and deluded multitude against His Majesty’s forces in the Colonies become sensible of their error?”
She ground her teeth. Sir Alford referred to King George and his cohorts attempt to dismember the Colonies.
Sir Alford thumped his tea cup down on the saucer. “For if all Colonial women are as beautiful as you, we need to conquer the rabble posthaste?”
“The King must make those cloddish rebels suffer the inevitable of England’s formidable army,” laughed Sir Pembroke.
Rachel’s hands clenched over the arms of her chair when Anthony chose to enter the room. She ignored him, incensed by these aristocrats, far removed from what sufferings her countrymen had gone through in the name of freedom. Should she remind them that the rebels were winning? Did she tell them her brother Ethan and formerly, her cousin Jacob robbed the merchant ships along the coasts of England while they slept snug in their beds?
She leaned forward, pretended alarm laced in her voice. “What do you think will happen with the alliance of France and the Colonies, prompted by the British surrender of Saratoga? The French make no secret of providing weapons, munitions and supplies to the patriots. New England is lost to the rebels, including my hometown of Boston. General Clinton’s forces have withdrawn from Philadelphia to New York. Is it a matter of time before the British remove from New York? Are the Colonies to be lost?” She held her wrist to her forehead, striking a dramatic pose, and sneaking a glance at her rapt audience. The fools.
Anthony leaned on the mantle and smirked. Aunt Margaret smiled. The other two men sat aghast.
“You must not return to that rabble. The sufferings of those loyal to the Crown, I can only imagine. The King will stop this rebellion.” Sir Alford protested, and then turned and frowned at Anthony. “Lord Anthony, so nice of you to join us. Miss Thorne was diverting us with her fears of the rebels.”
“She should know firsthand.” He smiled a cheerful, self-satisfied smile that put her teeth on edge. “Did she tell you how many ships are produced in Boston?”
Rachel choked on her tea. How dare he reveal her allegiance. “Did I mention that on the ship over here, I observed how cannons were loaded through gun ports and fired with exact precision?”
