Not that she was likely to do so. The memory of him slipping it on her finger was permanently etched on her brain. Even though it was nothing more than a part of the game they were playing, it was sweet that he’d thought of it. Other men might not have taken such time to put her at ease, assuring her that she felt like someone’s beloved instead of an unwanted spinster.
Today, she’d been so close to him that she’d smelled him in her dreams. Her feet had been touching his, though she’d not been awake to enjoy it. It was probably just as well. If she’d been conscious, she’d have found some way to spoil it.
Silly strumpet, letting a man under your skirts.
They were less than a day’s journey away from home. She could practically see the old man, leaning on his cane and ever ready with a spiteful criticism.
But they were not there yet.
She summoned a smile for the duke as he led her up the stairs to their sitting room and its attached bedrooms, trying to relax. She excused herself as quickly as she could, leaving the duke with Percy and going to her room to refresh herself and hide away until dinner, attempting to gain control of her disordered thoughts.
Thomas was right that it was becoming easier for her to talk to him, though it was not for the reasons he thought. When he insisted on playing at Tom Smith, who could blame her for being charmed? In three years, she’d met no one who could live up to the fantasy she’d created of the perfect lover. But Mr Smithwould do nicely. He looked the part as well. He was courting her, or had courted her in some strange, false past that she did not remember. He had given her a ring and watched over her as she slept. Why wouldn’t she love him, at least a little?
The answer to that was obvious. The minute they had her grandfather’s blessing, Tom Smith would begin to fade away. He might linger for a day or two, so his departure would not seem too abrupt. But in less than a week, there would be nothing left of him but the obituary that Percy had already composed.
The duke would probably see this as a fitting end. But then he saw this trip as some grand adventure with all the dramatic twists and turns of a popular novel. In his mind, he was the hero and she was but an incidental player.
When he talked of Tom Smith, she wondered how much of the plot really involved her rescue. Once Mr Smith had exited the scene, there would be no more story to tell.
For her, it would be the end of a volume and the beginning of the next. One without Tom Smith or Thomas Carew. Even if she saw the duke again, he’d made it clear what he thought of her. If she was not satisfied with his friendship, it would be better not to see him at all. She’d told him of a cottage with a rose garden, but it was even less real than her dream lover. She did not want a peaceful solitude. She wanted a husband who loved her.
There was still a very real possibility that they would fail in their plan and she would suffer the life that she’d been threatened with for years. Tomorrow, she would be delivered to her grandfather like Guinevere hauled to judgement on display for jeering crowds. Or perhaps Anne Boleyn on the way to the block.
Although that was not quite right, was it? They had used a sword on Anne, not an axe. Perhaps a block had not been needed to steady her for the blow.
But the scorn was right, she was sure. She might not be guilty in the same way as Anne and Guinevere. It required a minimum of two interested men to become an adulterer. And the gentlemen of London had not noticed her for the last three years, nor were they paying any attention to her retreat.
But if they heard her story, she was sure they’d mock her. When she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the people shouting. And they all sounded strangely like her grandfather.
Idiot. Fool. Incompetent. Wool-gathering spinster. Do you think any man would actually want you? And to choose Bonham, of all people. You, a duchess?
She glanced in the mirror over the washbasin. The girl reflected there seemed to shrink as she watched. She was no tormented queen in need of rescue. She was nobody in particular and that was not going to change, even if she got the money she was owed.
She turned away and pulled the fichu from the neck of her gown and tossed it aside, so she might look a little nicer at dinner. Its removal did not turn a travelling gown into a dinner dress, any more than dreaming would turn her into a duchess. The sooner she accepted the fact, the better.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, Thomas rose at dawn, relieved to know they would arrive at Skeffington Manor by midday. Better food and softer mattresses waited there, and at least a few days that would not be spent bouncing on the hard seat of Percy’s carriage. He needed a decent night’s sleep. After the long nap in the carriage yesterday, he’d been wide awake at sunset and unable to settle down.
Unable to stop thinking about Louisa. It was not as if she was trying to get under his skin. For as long as he’d known her, she had been polite and distant, and, if he was honest, somewhat cool. He had been the one encouraging her to change. Even with him urging at every turn, she remained cheerful, but largely reserved.
She had seemed strange at dinner, unless that had been his imagination. She’d drunk more wine than usual and it had made her bold. She’d talked more and met his gaze when she addressed him. He’d have thought the behaviour flirtatious from any girl other than Louisa.
There had been nothing forward about her. She just wasn’t as quiet as usual. But she’d smiled less. He didn’t think he’d done anything to upset her, as he had the night before. She’d seemed somber, not angry, like a soldier before a battle.
He’d pondered over it most of the night, though he had to admit that some of his time was spent imagining her asleep inhis arms. He’d come to no conclusion by breakfast, where she’d been silently drinking tea and nibbling toast like someone who regretted that extra glass at dinner.
‘Feeling all right?’ he asked with a neutral smile.
‘These trips home are difficult,’ she replied, her eyes focused on the toast she was buttering. ‘I had forgotten how difficult.’
Perhaps that was all it was. She was apprehensive about the future. ‘You needn’t worry,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Everything will be settled in a day or two and then you will be able to leave and never return.’
She gave him a dark, warning look.
‘If that is what you wish,’ he added, hurriedly.
‘It would be very wrong of me to wish for that,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘Grandfather is the only family we have.’
