“Has he said so?”
“No, but this woman is different. She’s biding her time so carefully, being nice to him and me while she measures the curtains. She’s my age, but I know she will be the mistress of this house. There will be no place for me. I won’t be happy losing my father.”
Ester sat by her side. “What if Miss Stevens makes him happy, too? What if being with her makes him feel young and alive?”
“He’s not. He’s my father. The duke should be at home drinking hot milk for his gout.”
“Frederica, that’s not fair. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Her friend played a few more chords, her long, elegant fingers traipsing the ivory keys. “Of course, it does. So why don’t you go after what your heart wants. Bex is at the Serpentine. I could take you.”
Ester bounced up, pacing in her worn slippers across the expensive gray silk tapestry running the floor. “He should not have gone. Why can’t he be home and let me listen to him snore?”
Frederica hit an off note. “What?”
Stopping mid-step, Ester folded her arms about her. “It’s silly, but that’s how I knew my father had made it home safe when we lived above the warehouse. His snores vibrating the walls let me know he’d come home. We were still a family. I don’t even know why I’m here. I should be at Nineteen Fournier begging to be forgiven. I should admit my parents were right to shelter me and right to choose someone for me. I’ve made horrid choices.”
“If Bex isn’t at your side, you at least know he’s fighting for an important cause, not out carousing. We are lucky to be born in London, Ester. Your mother’s people are enslaved in Jamaica. I often wonder how she’s here and free.”
Those wonders should’ve been Ester’s, but she’d taken for granted so many things about her Mama and never broached the subject, too often thinking the woman delicate. Her mother was a lioness. Would she ever forgive Ester? “Mama was born in Jamaica, but her mother was kidnapped from Africa and transported on a slave ship. I think an earlier run of that horrible ship theZhonda. She may have even had relatives that died on that ship’s last run.”
Her friend folded her arms but barely covered her trembling. “TheZhondakilled so many. That trial, I believe my father followed it so carefully, he kept the clippings. I found some documents while rifling through his papers, trying to find birthday presents.”
“Neither of us is allowed to rummage through our father’s things ever. Too many horrible secrets.”
“Yes. I don’t know if it does anything to know how big of a hypocrite the duke could be. He was an investor in the insurance company the captain of theZhondatried to defraud by killing his enslaved cargo. What if my mother could be related to one of the enslaved men who died? But I couldn’t ask him, Ester. Just realize how lucky we are and how hopeless life is for those that look like us but are not born in England.”
“We are lucky, Frederica. I didn’t value what we have. I admire the fight in Bex, but I want him safe, too. I don’t want the fight for abolition to cost his life. What if he’s killed and nothing changes? Then what?”
Frederica lifted from the pianoforte and wrapped her in a big embrace. “It’s the fight that he wants, but he also wants you. You love him, right?”
Ester did—more than she thought possible. That was why she was so furious he would risk his life, their happiness,andleave without telling her.
A sharp knock announced Templeton’s return to the room. He entered bearing a large tray. In the middle was a setting of tea and a silver hairbrush. He set it down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Your items, Miss Burghley.”
Frederica came to him, the short emerald train of her gown swishing at her low heels. She picked up the hairbrush and waved it like a wand. “Templeton, draw the carriage around. We have an emergency.”
The man looked at them beneath his spectacles. “It’s late, ma’am. Are you sure?”
“Yes, Templeton, I am. Please hurry.”
He made a stiff bow, maybe an inch with his chin, and then he backed from the room.
“The man isn’t happy. He’s no Clancy. Frederica, are you sure you want to be mistress here?”
Her friend picked up the brush and started undoing and unpinning Ester’s poor braid. “Templeton will do what I ask. That is why the duke pays him so well. He’s a gruff servant, but this is my home. This is all I know.” She sighed. The notes weren’t light. They were dull, and hollow, and Ester’s heart broke for her, but she was in no position to prove that happy endings were possible, not with Bex in danger.
With another few twists, Frederica had Ester’s hair in order. She wouldn’t look disgraceful chasing after her husband.
“Ester, we’ll be on our way so you can claim your husband and take him home.”
“If he’ll come home. But how will he make amends? He distracted me so he could go do this. It was deceitful. I can’t stand lies.”
“Did he tell you he was not going, but went anyway?”
“No, Bex didn’t say he wasn’t going. He just made me believe he would stay with me.” He gave her the treasure of a hot bath, with clean water and fresh soap. The perfect gift—an illusion like her dream of a wonderful marriage. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
“Ester, if that were true, you’d have gone home to the Croomes. You’re in love with a man, one who knows his own mind. You can’t control that, any more than I can control my father. If Bex wants you, he’ll come home, but let’s show him the way.”
