Ariana normally woke early, but the next day Ethel had to rouse her before the dressmakers arrived in half an hour. Ariana washed, dressed, and ate her breakfast, unable to stop reviewing last night’s scene.
Was there anything she could have done?
Was there anything she could do today to help Kynaston in some way? She wasn’t fool enough to take him on for life, but she would help him if she could—restore the damaged treasure. But some ruins, like those of old Boxstall Priory, were beyond human effort. She must stick to the possible—her marriage. She went off to do her duty to fashion.
Her mother came to observe and advise, and Ariana said, “You should get some new gowns, Mama.”
“Oh, no. What I have is perfectly suitable, especially for a widow of advanced years.”
“Advanced years? You’re only just past fifty.”
“Old enough not to have to fuss over my clothing, dear, for which I am very grateful. Now, if you have no need of me, I have an engagement to visit an old friend, Lady Bumford. We will probably happily forget that we’re in our dotage.”
Ariana smiled and gave her mother her blessing, pleased to see such light spirits. Her mother didn’t have the temperament to be gloomy, but she’d never truly recovered from her husband’s death. Living quietly at Boxstall these past years had perhaps not been the best thing for her, but it had been part of Ariana’s cowardly hiding away. Whatever had happened, that must cease.
When the dressmakers left, Ariana decided to read another newspaper. She’d missed doing so yesterday out of sheer cowardice, avoiding any possibility of encountering Kynaston again in the library. Given what she’d witnessed last night, she might have been wise, but she wouldn’t pander to him anymore. She went to the library and walked in, braced for unpleasantness.
The room was uninhabited—blessedly so, she assured herself—and in perfect order. No boots lying on the rug before the fire. No brandy, nor even the smell of it.
It felt strangely empty, but Ariana put that folly out of her mind and picked up theTimes. The two chairs set before the fire looked much more comfortable than the one in her bedroom, so she’d read in here. She sat down in one—but not the one Kynaston had been in the first day. That forced her to accept that his presence lingered anyway.
He’d been limp with drink here two days ago, but there’d been a trace of humor in him. Last night he’dbeen grim. Had he been in a gaming hell? Gaming was folly at all times, but drunken gaming was a sure road to ruin. Had he lost everything that remained to be lost?
Had he shot himself?
Nonsense. A shot would have been heard and the house would be in an uproar.
Poison, then.
Cut his own throat.
“Stop it.”
Her voice startled her back into sense. Kynaston was sleeping off his debauch, and she was going to read the newspaper, blessedly undisturbed.
She was engrossed in an article about South America when the door opened behind her. Quickly she rose and turned, heart pounding with expectation—to see only Ethel.
“Lady Cawle wants to see you in her boudoir.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Are you expecting some disaster?” Ethel asked, brows raised. “I’m simply passing on a message from her maid.”
Ariana calmed her mind as she replaced the newspaper on the table and then set off for Lady Cawle’s boudoir, but she couldn’t stop the worry. Had Kynaston achieved some terrible disaster? If he’d managed to stake and lose the family seat, Lady Cawle might push for the marriage to rescue him.
Ariana entered a white-and-gold boudoir to find her mother also there, but no great air of emergency. Lady Cawle was reclining on a chaise, dressed in a loose silk robe, and some hothouse lilies released a light perfume.
Feeling foolish, Ariana sat down, determined to be sensible.
“We have been discussing your progress thus far,” Lady Cawle said. “What is your state of mind now?”
“Churston is pompous and boring.”
“Blacknorton?”
“Too hairy.”
“Whatdoyou find attractive?” Lady Cawle asked.
