“Your book describes his death?” the Duchess asked. She stared at him a moment. “How can that be?”
He lifted his shoulders and shook his head. He didn’t know. “I was in Scotland when Lord Darkford was killed,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “Yes. I remember.—Did someone relate a similar tale to you that you used in your book?”
“No! This came out of my imagination entirely. And I did tell her, after she threw the book across the room, that the hero in the book lived, that he wasn’t killed.”
“Lakehurst—” Gwinnie interrupted. “If she thought it was a description of the events of his death,” she said slowly, “does that mean she was there as well, and was the woman tied to an altar?” she asked hesitantly.
“Dear God,” the Duchess whispered. “That poor child. I hope that is not the case, but I fear you may be right, Gwinnie.”
Lakehurst stared at his sister, a sick feeling churning his stomach. He had not thought that through well enough. “I would pray not,” he said softly. He paused. “However, that could account for the terror I saw in her eyes. How could it not?”
“Terror?” the Duchess repeated. “This is not good.”
Lakehurst ran a hand through his hair. “After last night, I had some misguided thought that if she knew who the author was, it would give her peace of mind, she’d know the book wasn’t about her and the Marquess of Darkford.”
“And I agreed with him,” Gwinnie admitted. “Her husband’s relatives think she ought to go into an asylum for a complete rest.”
“An asylum!Bah!” The Duchess snorted inelegantly. “And most likely, they would not allow her ever to come out again. They’d bribe the doctor director of any asylum they’d take her to to say she is too ill for society. At least that is what Ellinbourne said is his concern. The only thing that keeps them from doing that is her relationship to him. I can understand how telling her you were the author, rather than giving her peace, upset her further. Your intentions were good; however, she does not know you well enough to take your identity as the author as a positive statement.”
“Obviously, it wouldn’t be—not if that is what she truly lived through,” he said, disgusted with himself. “That was an arrogance I didn’t know I had.”
His grandmother chuckled at that. “Yes, I can see that would cut you down. Our position in society can insidiously cause us to lose track of our humility. But how did that slip of a woman manage to land you in the water?”
“Slick mud,” he said.
Gwinnie nodded. “We brought an old toy boat from the schoolroom with us for Alex to play with on the Serpentine. It had a long rope attached to it. When Lakehurst stepped backward after she pushed him, his heel got caught in the rope which initially set him off balance and the slippery mud at the edge of the water did the rest,” she explained.
The Duchess shook her head at the mishap. “So the young Marquess did not get his Gunter’s ice.—Did you at least give him the boat?”
Gwinnie shook her head. “There was no time. Everything happened so fast. She picked up her son and marched away with him in her arms.”
The Duchess’s eyes opened wide. “She carried him?”
“Yes, and the nursemaid had to run to catch up with her.”
The Duchess smiled. “I say‘Bravo.’There aren’t many in society who would carry a child in public.”
Lakehurst snorted in disagreement. “Except for our Gwinnie, here.”
“What?” Gwinnie said defensively.
“Today, you picked up Lady Darkford’s son and had him riding on your hip as you discussed the sailing ship with him and where to launch it from.”
Gwinnie made a moue and gave her brother a dark look.
He and the Duchess laughed.
“Lady Darkford did receive a fair share of observation from those around,” Lakehurst said when they’d stopped laughing.
The Duchess nodded, then frowned. “So tell me about the man who followed her as she carried the boy out of the park in front of everyone.”
“We don’t know for sure if he was following, or if it was coincidence,” Lakehurst said.
“Go on.”
“There was a man on another bench watching us.”
