“How did you know you were in love with Mr. Kirkwood?” she asked, feeling vaguely ill.
Freddy’s expression softened. “It was not one act or one word. It was sudden, a rush, all at once. A deep, complex gale of emotion and the understanding that I loved him more than I had ever fathomed possible. And when I realized how I felt for him, I also could not recall a time when I had not loved him. I know that sounds strange, but I feel as if he were my fate. Perhaps you think me foolish—indeed, I would not blame you if you did—but I cannot help but to feel he was always the one who would win my heart. We had to travel our separate roads to find each other, but once we met on the same road…”
Her words trailed off and she smiled, her eyes going glassy.
“Once you met on the same road, you knew,” Leonora finished for her friend, who had begun sniffing in an effort to stifle the tears threatening to break free. “And now perhaps I must send for the hartshorn for you. Or at the very least, a handkerchief.”
“Oh, my darling friend!” Freddy emitted a decidedly unladylike sound that was one-part laugh, one-part sob, and one-part snort. “It is my emotions, torn asunder, ever since I have found myself in this delicate condition. I tell you, I am either a watering pot or casting up my accounts or near delirious with longing for Mr. Kirkwood.”
Leonora laughed, her heart bursting with joy for her friend. Such love, such contentedness. She could only pray she would find the same with Searle. That his ice would melt enough beneath the blazing persistence of her sun.
“I hope to one day aspire to such a condition, dearest Freddy,” she said in a voice gone thick with emotion of her own.
Freddy’s brows rose, and she scooted to the edge of her seat, clasping her hands together. “Perhaps you need not aspire?”
She flushed. “It is too soon to tell.”
“Did you seduce the marquess, then?” Freddy asked, eyes going wide.
She winced. “I am afraid I made an abysmal effort at doing so, but somehow, our marriage was finally…consummated.”
“And?” Freddy asked, waggling her brows in an animated manner that did not fail to draw a giggle from Leonora.
“And…you were correct about the pleasures to be had in such an endeavor,” she said stiffly, aware her cheeks were once more aflame. Perhaps beet-red would be her permanent complexion from this moment forward.
“Wonderful.” Freddy beamed at her. “This means I shall not be forced to box Searle’s ears on your behalf.”
Leonora laughed again, partially at the thought of her feisty friend attempting to box her stoic husband’s ears, and partially because she knew it was no sally. “Pray leave his ears untouched. The marquess is a complicated man, but the last sennight has been rather a revelation to me. Where I once feared he would forever remain a mystery, I do have hope. He has walls built around his heart, it is certain, but I now feel as if I may be capable of scaling them.”
“To the devil with scaling them, darling,” Leonora said with a grin. “Burst right through them. Tear them down, stone by stone.”
“One way or another, I am determined to find my way beyond them,” she said. “And when I do…”
Once more, she allowed her words to fall away.
For she had realized in the breath before she would have spoken the remainder of the sentence that she had been about to say…And when I do, I will see that he surrenders his heart to me just as surely as I have already ceded my heart to him.
“And when you do,” Freddy persisted, being Freddy and wanting more, a full confession if she could have it.
But just then, they were interrupted by a knock at the salon door and an announcement from the butler that the Duchess of Whitley and Lady Sarah Bolingbroke wished to call upon Mrs. Kirkwood.
“I am at home,” Freddy announced, turning back to Leonora when the butler had disappeared. “Do not think I shall not expect to hear more, though if you do not give it freely, I shall not force you. The Duchess of Whitley and Lady Sarah should prove just the distraction you’re seeking.”
Her lips tightened at the recollection of Searle whirling about the dancefloor with the incomparable Lady Sarah. “How is Lady Sarah a familiar of yours now, Freddy?”
“She is friends with the Duchess of Whitley, and I have spoken with her at length at several events now. The Whitley ball, the Yardley musicale, and Wrotham’s ball. She is a very talented poet. Duncan is going to publish a volume of her work at my recommendation. You will love her, darling, I promise.”
Leonora pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Freddy. Just as long as she never again dances with my husband, I shall never have a problem with her, I vow.”
Freddy gave her a knowing look. “I understand your feelings of possessiveness all too well, my dear. I feel precisely the same way about Duncan. But do trust me on this score. Lady Sarah’s sole interest is in bringing justice to the gentleman responsible for her sister’s death. Her volume of poetry will create a tremendous stir.”
Leonora recalled Lady Amelia Bolingbroke, who had been presented at court when Leonora had. Lady Amelia had been every bit as beautiful as Lady Sarah, but hers had been a dark beauty where Lady Sarah’s was golden.
“Are you saying Lady Amelia was murdered?” Leonora asked, a shiver going through her at the notion. She did not recall precisely what the gossip had been at the time of Lady Amelia’s death—something to do with an abrupt illness of the lungs, she thought—but there had never been one whisper of something as nefarious as murder.
“Not precisely,” Freddy said enigmatically. “I have promised Lady Sarah my confidence, but all will become known soon enough, with the publication of her poems.”
Though Freddy looked as if she had been about to say more, the arrival of the duchess and Lady Sarah precluded further conversation on the subject. How very mysterious it all was. As the two new additions settled themselves in the gold salon, Leonora found herself easily charmed by Lady Sarah and glad for the distraction of some female companionship.
