“I’ll go by Mrs. LaCroy for our masquerade.”
Lady Shrewsbury nodded; her mouth even offered a smile. Soon her footsteps disappeared.
All was quiet.
I laid out the used tea leaves on a napkin and stacked the cups in the scullery, then rinsed out the pot, the rules for finishing a tea service. Sinking onto the bench, I dropped my face onto the spot the tea had warmed, right next to that communal soup-pot mark. I was grateful for the Widow’s Grace, but I wanted my life restored, all my pieces put back together.
I’d serve this Duke of Repington to serve Lionel, but only to get my son strong enough to sail. Once I retrieved my trust documents, we’d escape England. It was time to live by my heart’s rules. That had to be the smartest thing a widow could do.
CHAPTER 7
A MAN’SBEDCHAMBER
Groggy from a night of little sleep, I stood at the steps of Hamlin Hall. My head conjured up fears of how my son spent the night in a house teeming with guns.
But my heart, that easily misled thing, told me that the man I met last night would protect my baby.
I should tell him the truth and beg for mercy.
Jemina came to my side, blowing into her bare hands. “Such a pretty house in the morning. Everything is so much lighter than at night.” Laughing, she put her palm out, thumbs touching, as if she could measure the changes. “I suppose that is the way.”
Offering the girl a side-eyed glance, I nodded. It was all I could muster with my stomach knotting. I stared at the double doors, the shiny brass handles of Hamlin’s entry. Doubt swirled about me like the cream-colored fringe adorning my shawl. The tendrils of the spun wool slipped through my perspiring fingers.
“I helped the Duke of Repington reach these steps last night. He said he wants a loyal staff. We’re not exactly that. We’re performing another deception.”
Jemina shrugged. “What a man says, Patience, and what he means are often different. That I remember.”
Yes, like vows in front of a minister. I squinted at Jemina.
My friend was scary sometimes.
It was as if she could read minds. Maybe that was the good part of the life she’d forgotten shining through her amnesia. I heard the bad parts in the girl’s whispers at Bedlam. Jemina had suffered greatly.
I took a half step forward, just a little ahead of my friend, to be alone with my former house.
On a cold November morn, Colin brought me here, even helped me up the snow-covered steps. I was a nervous new bride, and he was handsome and tall with deep raven hair. I’d loved him, love on first jest. He’d made me laugh so hard under a Demeraran sunset. A girl mourning her mother needed humor.
But once inside, I saw the man, his struggles, his sad thoughts. He did his best to assert me as mistress, but only here. He never took me beyond the grounds. I was a prisoner to his moods and fears as much as he.
Now I visited Hamlin, hoping to serve.
A nanny couldn’t tell a footman to lower the grand chandelier. Couldn’t ask him to find the fine beeswax candles and light them to pretend she entertained fine guests. I’d have to take orders and continue denying myself, but who was I on these English shores?
A mere widow?
A desperate mother?
More so, a woman guilty over things she should have challenged, should’ve changed.
“I’m ready to go home.”
“You’re not talking about Hamlin Hall are you, Patience?”
Jemina was at my side again, but I couldn’t say aloud that this place was no home, not for me. The rooms I decorated still held bitterness.
The dining room with my menus—never English enough.
The bathing room with milk baths for my complexion—never light enough.
