Oliver’s eyes widened in horror. “Cor! What happened to your arm, my lady?”
Rebecca glanced down at the unsightly scarring, located above her wrist on the inside. It covered a good portion of her forearm and had gotten infected at the time. She never forgot how lucky she was that Papa hadn’t allowed the surgeon to take the hacksaw to her arm. She rarely had cause to think of that day so long ago. “I saved a friend from a monster.” Due to the break in her wrist she’d sustained at the same time, she’d acquired an uncanny predilection of foul weather since the disaster.
“Did you kill him? I hope you killed him.” Oliver said.
“No. But I knocked him silly.” She led them up the stairs to the first level. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished, my lady,” Oliver answered for the two of them.
A niggling suspicion was taking hold, but Rebecca squelched her questions and addressed the butler. “A tray for two hungry boys, Lars. Any messages?”
“Just one, my lady. From Lady Huntley.”
“Gabriella?” Rebecca snatched her friend’s missive from her butler. She’d recently married though Rebecca hadn’t been able to attend. In any event, Rebecca had thought her still on her honeymoon. “Have a bath drawn for the boys,” she said absently.
“A bath?” Oliver’s voice was a high-pitched squeal.
“If I’m to ride in a carriage with you all the way to Somerset, I insist on a bath. Am I quite clear on this?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly.
She looked at Owen, who stared back, his blue eyes watchful, nary a word passing his lips, but nodding all the same. That was something anyway.
“Come along, then. Food first.” She decided the library would hold more fascination for two young boys rather than her father’s stuffy, formal drawing room.
“Blimey,” Oliver said when they walked in.
Bookcases from floor to ceiling covered every wall, and circular stairs went to a second level to yet more books. Rebecca adored books. The heavy curtains were drawn where the French windows opened to the lush gardens, letting in the afternoon sunlight.
Grinning at Oliver’s surprise, she took a seat. “Spectacular, isn’t it? Feel free to peruse about. You’re not going to hurt anything.” She glanced down, reminded by the note she still held and broke the seal.
My dearest Rebecca,
I thought you might come for a visit. I miss our midnight chats and it’s been years. There’s much to share. Please say you’ll come. I’m in Dorchester, and I refuse to take no for an answer. I shall see you soon.
Impatiently awaiting, Gabriella.
Rebecca turned the missive over. The note was cryptic at best. Years, indeed. Their last midnight chat was seven years ago. The night before their joint come-out ball. It had been only six months prior that the two of them were whisked away from Miss Greensley’s School of Comportment for Young Ladies of Quality. And why the devil was Gabriella in Dorchester? Huntley’s, an earl of supposed great standing, lands were located north in Doncaster—Rebecca re-read the note—definitely south,notnorth, leaving Rebecca more than curious.
Frankly, she didn’t trust any of the nobility when it came to its “upstanding” members.
Dorchester was located south of Somerset, so a visit to her friend should work out nicely after delivering the boys. From there she would return to Exford, her own home, rather than London. She moved to the escritoire and penned a quick note to Gabriella and another to her father, letting him know of her change in plans. Papa would hardly notice her absence besides.
The door opened and the housekeeper entered with a tray.
The boys pounced.
~~~
Duke of Ryleigh, Grosvenor Square
Sebastian Lynnwood, the Duke of Ryleigh for almost two years now, was tired. Anyone who read a list of his titles that also included the Marquis of Dorset, Viscount Woodsford, and a military rank of Admiral of the Fleet in the Royal Navy would hardly disagree. He was rather proud of that last one as he’d earned it rather than been born to it. Though, he was pragmatic enough to recognize his need for control and structure. Such traits played a key role in why he’d taken so well to the military lifestyle. He abhorred chaos.
Sebastian picked up the note from his sister, Gabriella, the recent Countess of Huntley and read.
Dearest Seb.
I’m in Dorchester and I’ve invited my friend Lady Rebecca Thatcher to visit. You remember her? You refused to marry her after kissing her in the garden during my come-out ball? Incidentally, Seb, I no longer wish to be Countess of Huntley. He is not the husband I thought him to be. Don’t worry in the least about me. I shall be fine.
