William looked up at Judith, who looked at Mark, who looked at Rose, who nodded. Mark turned back to Judith. “Rose and Olivia had planned to eat dinner in the nursery. William may join them, if it is permissible.”
“It is.”
Olivia bounced up on her toes, and all semblance of polite civility vanished as she grabbed for William’s hand, tugging him toward the door. “Come on! I’ll race you!”
With one startled look back at Judith, William broke into a run. “I’ll win!”
As their thundering footsteps raced up the stairs, an awkward silence settled on the room. With a nod to Mark, Rose followed the children.
Judith watched her go, an odd worrying nagging at the back of her thoughts. She could not quite place it, but something about Rose Ashley felt strangely familiar.
Phyllida sniffed, jerking Judith’s attention back to the room. “Well, that was... unexpected.”
Judith felt her face heat again. “My son has not been around many other children. Just his brother, who is ten and already a bit full of himself.”
Phyllida nodded. “As all ten-year-old boys tend to be. Unfortunately, most of them never grow out of it.”
Sarah gave a short laugh, and Matthew a growl. “We are right here, Mother.”
“If the cap fits . . .”
Sarah caught Judith’s eye, and they both laughed, causing the men to look highly affronted. Fortunately, Howe appeared to indicate dinner was ready to be served.
Mark offered Judith his arm, which she gladly accepted, her fingers curling around his elbow. As they walked toward the home’s small dining room, he leaned closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Back to normal. It never lasts too long. But I do appreciate all you did. Thank you. Do you need me to return the vial?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Does this happen every month?”
Judith looked away, her cheeks warming again.
“My apologies. My mother will tell you I have never been very good at knowing what is and is not appropriate topics of conversation.”
“Then I suspect you have seen many a young lady grow red in the face.”
He chuckled. “More than you can imagine.” After a pause, he whispered. “Are you wearing it?”
She tightened her fingers on his arm.
“I will take that as a yes.” His voice dropped even lower. “No matter what you hear tonight, keep one thing in mind.”
She peered up at him. “Which is?”
“First choice.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday, 17 August 1814
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Half-past ten in the evening
Mark carried asleeping William to the Sculthorpe carriage, laying him across one seat and covering him with a soft coverlet borrowed from the nursery. Both children had played hard, falling asleep on Olivia’s bed well before the adults finished their dinner and retreated back to the parlor with port.
Except for William’s presence, the evening had progressed much as Mark had expected, with a delicious meal and what felt like hundreds of probing, detailed questions about his plans for Olivia and Rose, as well as details from Judith on how the tactics for the Blackwell ball progressed. He had dodged as many questions as he could, Judith peering at him with expressions of curiosity as she stepped into several gaps, often turning the conversation back to the ball. The three ladies she coached seemed taken with the scheme, and Sarah—whose first husband had been an arrogant, abusive man, much like Atkinson—offered suggestions on how to lure him deeper into the charade.
Only when they were settled with the port did his connection with Judith enter the conversation, with his mother pointing out they had already traipsed into the territory of scandal, with the wager and his acknowledgment of Olivia. If the plot against Atkinson failed, Italy might be a good option for exile. Orperhaps Greece, where their aunt lived and Daphne currently visited.
