“What do you mean, ‘share love’?” she challenged. “Did they love each other? No, no they did not.”
“But you managed to get the hang of it, in spite of all that?” he asked gently. “A right marriage to Tribble? Even though you’d never been shown.”
“That’s one of the many wonderful things about love, isn’t it?” Timothea sighed. “It’s instinctual. It is waiting, latent, inside all of us, like a seed. You needn’t be shown. It helps, perhaps, but love can erupt inside you, a wellspring, even if you’ve never heard of it before in your life.”
Ian frowned. He’d never considered the notion of romantic love—not now or ever. He was too measured and considered for anything so amorphous and mythical. Only Timothea could take a rational conversation and turn it into seeds and eruptions.
“Returning to the topic of Mother and Father,” he said, trying again. “So they were never ‘in love,’ whatever that may mean. But do you think they were ever...happy?”
“Oh for God’s sake, Ian,” Timothea said, reaching for the carriage door. “I never knew them to be anything but miserable; but what bearing does this have on you? None. Endeavor to belessintent on thinking things to death and more intent on embracing the magic right in front of you. For once.”
“What?” he asked, frowning. “How does one ‘embrace magic’?”
But she was turning away, climbing the steps of the carriage with bare feet, sticks and feathers swaying from her unbound hair.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Drewsmina Trelayne’s Rule of Style and Comportment #13: Never pass up the opportunity for a royal introduction. If properly managed, the introduction may translate into any number of personal advancements, including (but not limited to), castle tours, royal appointments, or marriage to a prince. I have seen it happen.
Imogene complained throughout the next day’s long carriage ride to Kew Palace.
Her dress made her look like a twelve-year-old.
The pins in her hair were giving her a headache and her hat obscured her vision.
Ivy was sitting too close. Ivy blocked the window. Ivy’s dress madeherlook like a twelve-year-old.
She had no wish to meet Prince Adolphus and she’d already made the acquaintance of Princess Cynde.
If the royal visit intruded on her afternoon tennis lesson, she could not be held accountable.
Drew smiled serenely, disavowing each complaint, despite the very great honor it was, truly, for any young woman to be invited to a royal palace to meet a prince and princess. If Imogene came off, in the privacy of the cramped carriage,petulant and entitled, well . . . Imogenewasa bit petulant, and her entitlement had been a long time coming. Drew need only observe Lady Tribble’s detached, uncertain style of parenting to be reminded that the girls had been through so much.
The baroness had stunned them all by gliding into breakfast in a garment that could almost be considered a proper dress and announcing she would be joining for the call to Kew. They were in the carriage now, the five of them, lively, colorful silks nestled together like sweets in a box. Drew had worn a purplish-blue gown and lavender hat; Ivy, blue; Lady Tribble, dove-gray; Imogene, apricot with ebony trim. Lachlan wore a chocolate-covered overcoat, ochre waistcoat, and blinding white cravat. It was a far cry from the muddy boots and highwayman’s greatcoat he’d worn for their first encounter at Kew. Drew had taken it upon herself to have a word with Pruitt, his long-ignored and under-used valet.
Riding along, listening to Imogene’s complaints, Drew had hoped Lady Tribble might gently correct the girl, but it was a vain hope. Later, Drew would tell Lachlan that theformerImogene, the one she’d met only a fortnight ago,wouldn’thave complained about dresses or crowding or tennis lessons, because theformerImogene sat in silence, projecting an owlish sort of judgment on the world. Meanwhile, the Imogene of today had a voice, and why shouldn’t she use it? Her litany of abuses were, happily, mundane. They were the average grievances of a sixteen-year-old, nothing like the highly irregular complaints she’d made about T.O.E.
Thiswas progress. How much better to hear about a missed tennis lesson than that Reverend Sagg had not allowed them toread.
In the end, the real source of the complaining had been the girl’s obvious nerves. She and her new maid had devoted more than an hour to her hair, she’d changed gownstwice, and now she fidgeted with her reticule, squinted at her faint reflection in the carriage window, jabbed her sister, and looked to the window again.
Unless Drew was mistaken,allof the Starry women were nervous, even the baroness. Twice Lady Tribble claimed she felt unwell or “had a terrible premonition” and asked to be expelled from the carriage on the side of the road. This suggestion had been visibly upsetting to Ivy, who clung to her mother’s arm.
Lachlan had said, absolutely not. Ifhehad to suffer through a royal audience, theyallwould suffer through it.
Lachlan had, Drew knew, wanted to come least of all. As far she could tell, he’d been out of the house nearly all night. All of them had retired early, hoping to look fresh for the royal visit. Less than an hour later, he’d knocked on the adjoining door to Drew’s room, fully dressed, down to his gloves and hat, and informed her that he had another errand and he was going out.
Unlike the previous night, when she’d expected no knock, this night, she’d allowed herself to hope. Imogene had not come, thank goodness, and she’d managed to dress herself in a proper night rail, although the least opaque and leastwoolenof her collection, and no dressing gown.
What she hadnotbeen waiting for, in fact what made her throat go tight and her eyes sting, was his announcement that he’d be going out, possibly all night.
Meanwhile, he’d taken one look at her, hair down, bare ankles, and feet poking from beneath the hem of her night rail, and rolled from the doorjamb, crowded her into the room, and kissed her. As before, his kisses led to her being hoisted in his arms; his arms led to the bed; and all of it working together took them to ecstasy.
He’d made love to her more slowly this time, tenderly, whispering her name. Even so, there was no mention of his feelings for her. Thankfully this time, she also managed to say nothing.
She’d wanted to say it. The words knocked insistently onthe inside of her mouth, but she dared not introduceI love youinto the scenario again.
Although, what did it really matter because, afterward, he’d left her. Another “errand.” He’d proclaimed nothing, and allowed for no intimate sort of lingering, holding each other in bed, he’d made no explanation. He simply kissed her a final time, dressed, and was gone.
