The duke’s mother broke it. “Stern words?”
“Very stern,” Gemma said, nodding.
“Myson, the seventh Duke of Winderton, was involved in filling The Garland with chickens?”
Gemma’s hands suddenly felt sweaty. She pressed them to her skirts. “I don’t know how involved,” she lied, and had to add, “However, the place reeks of them.”
“Mr. Thurlowe wasnotinvolved?” The dowager behaved as if she needed clarification.
“I should not have thrown the eggs at him,” Gemma confessed.
The dowager looked to Mrs. Warbler. “I wonder why, Elizabeth, we heard that my son and the doctor were exchanging blows over the matter?”
They had known all along. Hadn’t Gemma been warned? Nothing escaped the matrons.
And then the dowager with fire in her eyes swung her attention to Gemma. “Do you lie to me? I will not tolerate it.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” It was all Gemma could say.
The dowager came to her feet. “I will send servants to help with thescrubbing. Accept my apologies. If my son instigated this, it was without my knowledge.”
Aware of her own culpability, Gemma mumbled out, “I understand that, Your Grace. I would never believe you were involved.”
But the dowager’s attention had already shiftedto her friends. “You may all take care of the rest,” she said. “I have apersonalmatter to attend. I know you, my dear friends, will understand.” With that she left, ignoring the faltering curtsey Gemma offered.
After the door had closed, Gemma looked to the others. “What isthe rest?”
“Mr. Thurlowe,” Mrs. Summerall said, not unkindly.
“What of him? I know I shouldn’t have made a scene.”
Mrs. Warbler took charge. “Gemma, you went with Mr. Thurlowe to confront the duke. We know they came to blows. The whole parish probably does by this time.”
Little more than an hour could have passed. “How did you find out so soon?”
“Gossip like that?” Mrs. Burnham said. “It travels on the wind.”
“We didn’t know exactly what had happened here,” Mrs. Warbler said. “Or why you were throwing eggs or for what reason Mr. Thurlowe went riding off with you. However, once we heard about the fight, we realized that there was more to your angry egg throwing.”
Relief flooded Gemma. They just wanted answers. That was why they had been so stern with her when she’d first walked in. “I’m sorry for the scene—” Gemma apologized again only to be cut off.
“What we want to know is where were you andMr. Thurlowe for the time between the fight and when you arrived back here? Riding his horse, no less.”
Now Gemma understood why people were cautious around the matrons. It dawned on her that just as they had given their blessing to her tea garden, they could withdraw it. Would her dream survive?
Gemma proceeded warily. “Mr. Thurlowe and I discussed his lecture. I’ve agreed to let him have it here.”
Three stony faces stared at her.
She had the urge to elaborate. She fought it.
It was hard.
But they already seemed to sense what she wasn’t saying.
Mrs. Warbler looked at the other two. “I shall manage from here.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Summerall agreed. “You know what must be said.”
