A woman, a little younger than Lady Shrewsbury, came halfway down a plain set of stairs. Blond, shorter than me, about Jemina’s height, Lady Bodonel threw back her head and blotted her cheeks with a handkerchief.
“Busick, you’ve come to see your mama but with no notice. Well, it’s a visit.”
He looked up to the plastered ceiling. “Mother, I don’t mean to interrupt your evening. It’s obvious you’re stealing away in the middle of the night.”
“No, silly. In the morning.”
She came all the way down the stairs. Her sheer peach-colored robe and matching mobcap were quite fine, each trimmed with satin ribbon along the hems. “You did pick a good day to see me before my scheduled travel.”
“So that’s where you get the tendency for schedules, Your Grace?”
He glared at me. “Bite your tongue, Patience.”
“Son, what’s wrong with you? You’re on a cane.”
He lifted the cane and hocked it in the crook of his folded arm. “A little injury, nothing to stop your travels.”
I took Lionel from the basket. I had him settled a little in my arms, but it wouldn’t last. “Lady Bodonel, may I have the use of a parlor?”
The woman wrinkled her nose, and then stepped closer. “You brought a little piece and a baby here? Are you coming from a masquerade?”
“You don’t recognize her, Mother?”
She went to a drawer on the console and pulled out something that looked like theater glasses. Moving about me, she examined me up and down, head to boots, like a foreign woman in menswear with theater paint smearing her cheeks wasn’t an everyday thing.
My chuckles came. Laughter was all I had.
This woman would pretend she’d never met me, that she hadn’t sipped tea on my silver at Hamlin.
I didn’t care about this slight, but I did care about Repington.
The small smile he had for Lionel on the steps had been taken away. He thought I’d lied to him.
Demerara, Demerara. Demerara. The incantation needed to take me away. One of these portmanteaus needed to turn into a boat and sail me across the sea. I gave up on Agassou. No protection would come for me.
Lionel started crying. His hungry wail was too much.
“Is it allowed to use a parlor for the baby? He needs to be tended to.”
She clapped her hands and a man in an indigo livery came forward. “Take her to the close one.”
“Mother, why are you pretending not to know Mrs. Jordan, my cousin Colin’s widow?”
Lady Bodonel took out her theater glasses and stared at me again.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Jordan, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
I looked at Repington.
But the duke wasn’t looking at me at all, and as many times I had defied him, I’d never seen his cheeks this red in anger.
Slamming his cane with a thud, he stepped in front of me. “Why haven’t you visited Colin’s widow? Why didn’t you attend her when she was grieving? You’re an expert on such.”
“Well, son, I was told that she didn’t like people. That’s what Markham said.”
“And you believed him?”
“I was busy.” She came closer. “Odd, tall creature, Mrs. Jordan.”
