“I…” I was saved from further interrogation by Xander’s return and subsequent dragging of his sister into his greatcoat before he stuffed her into the carriage.
“Well, this has been quite the morning,” Kit said to no one in particular.
It really had been.
And why did these women insist on traipsing into our office in all manner of ridiculous dress?
Twenty-Seven
DALTON PLACE, LONDON - JUNE 16, 1816
CELINE
Apparently the momentof panic was instinctive. That one where I woke alone and shut my eyes against the burning sunlight to a vision of a blood-soaked hell. It came first, before last night’s conversation about William returning to work in the morning fought its way through.
His scent, lingering on the cool fabric of his pillow helped stem the tide of terror when I buried my face in it. I could breathe properly here, inhaling the woody, herbal, and citrusy aroma with a hint of parchment and ink.
A brief glance at the clock told me what I already knew. Far too late to still be abed. Particularly with my morning’s destination in mind—the one I hadn’t told William about.
I ate quickly and dressed with precisely as much care as usual, no more and no less, before setting off on foot. My destination was not far, and the day was fine enough. I arrived more quickly than I would have liked at the house a few blocks from my own.
I hesitated longer than I would care to admit outside the white house with the cheerful yellow set of doors. Baskets of flowers hung from the iron fence, and the door bore a wreath. All new additions in the last few years. Signs of new ownership.
Finally, I knocked and was led into a recently refreshed sitting room bathed in shades of blues and purples. Overstocked bookshelves lined two entire walls, and several tomes sat on side tables throughout the room. Every furnishing bore a hand-embroidered cushion, save the gaming table in the far corner by the unlit fireplace.
I was inspecting a truly exquisite piece of embroidery when I heard the rustle of skirts behind me. I turned and found not the person I requested but his wife, Lady Juliet Wayland.
“Good morning, Lady Rycliffe.” Her tone was pleasant as always, betraying no ill will, despite our unusual circumstances.
“Oh, good morning, Lady Juliet. How do you do?”
“Juliet, please. I am quite well. I understand you wished to meet with my husband. He has gone to manage something or other at the club, but I expect him back shortly. Can I bring you a cup of tea while you wait?”
“If it’s no trouble, that would be wonderful. Or I can return at another time if that would better suit.”
“Of course not. Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be back in a moment.” I dropped onto the nearby settee. The fabric was luscious and hinted at rather than announced the wealth of the couple that occupied the modest home.
It was apparent now, seeing how Juliet spent the vast wealth available to her, just how poorly she and Xander would have suited. She would have shrunk under the oppressive force of Her Grace as her mother-in-law. And Xander’s fine taste, though more subdued than his mother’s, would not have allowed for the homey atmosphere she had cultivated.
She returned shortly and settled beside me. A maid set a tea tray before us and fussed with the offerings. It was overflowing with various treats from Hudson’s.
For an overlong moment Juliet and I stared at each other, each hoping for the other to provide a topic to be seized.
“Rumor has it that congratulations are in order.”
She flushed in response. “Yes, thank you. Michael and I are very pleased.”
“When is your confinement?”
“It is still early days now. Four months, perhaps five? I hope you do not mind if I have ginger tea; it’s the only thing that seems to soothe.” Now that I knew to look, her usually rosy cheeks bore a sallow tinge.
“Of course not.”
“Kate made this entire process look so easy. Anna as well. I am having a slightly more difficult time with it all.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“Do not let them convince you it is a simple matter. They’re dreadful liars.”
