Instead of diligently inspecting the planting of the new herbs, Mrs. Williams was seated on the garden bench, her face in her hands.
Sarah halted, shocked beyond measure. She’d never before seen the inimitable Mrs. Williams cry. She didn’tknow whether to continue onward or slip back into the kitchen. Finally, her need to talk to Alano was greater than her reticence about disturbing Mrs. Williams, and she stepped forward.
“My dear Mrs. Williams, are you all right?”
The other woman dropped her hands and hastily retrieved a handkerchief from her apron pocket. She wiped her face dry, while nodding, all the while looking away from Sarah. A few minutes later, she’d gathered her composure.
“I’m fine, Lady Sarah,” she said, standing and facing her. “Is there something you wanted?”
“My mother wouldn’t want for you to grieve overmuch, Mrs. Williams.”
The look of surprise on the other woman’s face was response enough.
“But you aren’t grieving for my mother, are you?” she said.
Mrs. Williams blotted her eyes with the handkerchief and pointedly ignored the question. “Is there something I can do for you, Lady Sarah?”
“Do you know where Mr. McDonough is? One of your helpers thought you might know.”
The statues in the garden couldn’t be any more frozen than Mrs. Williams’s face.
“He has returned to London.”
“With Mr. Eston?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Lady Sarah. All I do know is that Mr. McDonough is no longer in residence at Chavensworth.”
And Mrs. Williams missed him a very great deal, a supposition that could be entirely incorrect, but Sarah didn’t think so.
“I have his address in London,” Mrs. Williams said, “if you would like to correspond with him.”
“I would appreciate having the address,” Sarah said, not asking how the other woman came to have it, suspecting that the question would result in one of two reactions: a cold stare or Mrs. Williams’s tears. Neither one was welcome.
“I shall bring it to you.”
Sarah nodded her agreement and left the kitchen garden. What was she supposed to do now? Pretend that Douglas was not gone? Ignore his absence? Evince no curiosity? Remain patient, keeping a vigil for his return? That might be easier if she knew where he’d gone.
A high, screeching wind howled through the branches of the trees, audible even through the walls of Chavensworth. Her shoulders rose as if to protect her neck from the sudden, unseasonable cold.
At the double doors to the Duke’s Suite she hesitated, then continued on to her own chamber. Her pristine childhood room, and the bed where Douglas had slept the night before last.
She carefully and slowly unfastened her dress, her corset, and her undergarments. She told herself that she was as tired as Florie. And her nakedness? A matter of defiance, or simply a way to remind herself of her husband. Despite the fact that it was barely noon, Sarah drew the curtains shut and crawled into bed, smelling the scent of him, and wishing him there.
He was damned if he was going to make diamonds for a man who was holding him prisoner. All the same, he’d given Simons a list of the equipment and solutionshe needed, and Simons, like the good little toady he was, asked him some questions about where he could obtain the various materials.
“Figure it out yourself,” Douglas said.
“We have taken the precaution of putting your coachman in a safe place,” Simons said. “I would hate for anything to happen to him, Mr. Eston.”
“Just how badly do you need a position, Simons?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“When does becoming a perfect servant pale in comparison to being a halfway-decent human being? Do you not ever have any problems with your conscience?”
“Where can I obtain these materials, Mr. Eston?”
Douglas told him and watched as Simons shut and locked the door behind him. He’d been outmaneuvered, but not for long.
