“As only someone married four times can attest.” Drew held the door wider.
“How cruel you are,” her mother whispered, stepping through the door. “Ungrateful child—from the very start. And not pretty enough to hold the attention of a man like Lachlan for long. I’d not train up the nieces too quickly, if I were you. Once they’re gone—”
Drew closed the door.
The sound of the oak sliding into place—more than aclick, less than aslam—echoed in the empty hall.
Slowly, achingly, Drew backed against the solid wood of the massive door. She raised her hands, trembling now with anger and sadness and upset, to her cheeks. She stared at the grand staircase, seeing nothing, and tried to catch her breath, attempting to keep the tears at bay. She wondered, idly, how she mightlockthis door, just to make certain her mother would not somehow slither back in.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed. Drew was reminded of the girls, their lessons, the day. There was no place for pity or outrage in her work here with the girls; herlifehere with Lachlan.
And what a very good life it was; so much better than she’d expected life could be. Even if they were never more than a friendly couple forced to marry because of an indiscretion.
She must never wallow, she reminded herself. She could indulge in hopefulness and fanciful dreams only if she also acknowledged how very unlikely these would be. She should cleave to gratefulness and satisfaction instead. Even if he never again came to her bed. Even if he came to her bed again but never loved her. It needn’t “crumble” as her mother warned. She was a jester—she made fun—not a fortune-teller. Not a believer.
From nowhere, Greenly appeared, treading down the hall with a potted fern.
“I should like to go out, Greenly,” she said, stepping away from the door. “Can I trouble you to summon the girls? Tell them to dress for the park and inquire after Lady Tribble. She may wish to join us.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” the butler said, reversing his direction.
“Tell them a quarter hour and have the carriage brought around, if you please. I’ll call down to the kitchen for a picnic basket. Has the duke gone out?”
“I cannot say, Your Grace. Shall I seek him out?”
“No, no,” she said. “Pray do not hound him. We’ll carry on with our day, as may he.”
And carry on, she must—shewould. Her girlhood strategy of raging and railing only made her feel worse, but she needn’t restrict herself to the house. Her mother’s perfume would linger in the air like smoke. Her jabs would reverberate in the rafters. If only Lady Tribble and her herbalist could trod every room, thrushing out her very essence.
Meanwhile Drew would escape for an afternoon, allow the raw feelings and resentment to pull apart, to become so thin, they snapped into pieces and floated away.
Equally important: avoid the duke until she felt more like herself—her newer, more evolved self—and less like... less like she always felt after an encounter with her mother.
She must apologize to him, of course. At some point, she would apologize for her mother’s rudeness in its great many forms. Only, not right away. She needed time.
There was a very strong chance that the duke did not care about her mother; that a four-times-married viscountess with appalling manners might have no impact on him except as an amusement. He might not have even noticed.
There was also the chance that he noticed a great deal, and now hereconsideredDrewsmina, both as an advisor to his nieces and as a wife. Families were a reflection of their members, and she and Betina came from the same lot.
Would he now be appalled by her?
Drew couldn’t say—she did notwantto say—but she would need more time to think on the damage her mother may have caused.
Afterthat, she would see him. After.
And anyway, the girls deserved a break from their week of lessons and tutors and the rushed wedding. They could tromp about the pond while Drew took refuge in one of her favorite birding spots. She could sit quietly and observe a life beyond her own. Absorb the beauty of smooth, stillwater in autumn and the simplicity (or in some cases, complexity) of the creatures who dwelt there. If only for an afternoon.
“Your mother did not seem so very terrible to me,” Imogene said, half an hour later in the carriage to Hampstead. Imogene sat beside her on the rear-facing carriage seat, and Lady Tribble and Ivy sat opposite, an open botany book on their laps. Drew had apologized to the baroness for any rudeness she may have suffered at the hands of her mother, but Lady Tribble had waved away the notion.
“Honestly, I thought she was the woman who had come to replace the drapes,” said Lady Tribble. “I cannot be bothered to learn the names and affiliations of everyone who troops through the house. Now that the girls read lessons, we must have twenty visitors a week.”
“Not quite twenty, my lady,” amended Drew.
“I knew her instantly,” said Imogene to Drew. “She looked at you like a baby looks at a crank toy. Like, with just one more crank, you might gopop.”
“It would delight her to see me or any of us detonate on her watch,” said Drew. “If you came away without feeling like a lit fuse, well then I’ve done my job, haven’t I?”
Imogene fell silent. Drew busied herself tightening her gloves, but she could feel the girl staring at her profile.
