Jemina stirred her concoction, then clanged the glass pitcher with a wooden spoon, “But if anything happens to the duke, Markham is next in line to be guardian. Then he’d again control Lionel’s fortune.”
I looked at Jemina, the way she held the spoon and her cups, pinkie extended, she either had a societal background or was a teacher of etiquette like a true governess. My friend and her scary insight fit well with Hamlin and its secrets.
My heart pounded when Repington slipped a little on a turn. I wasn’t numb when it came to him. I was a slow rolling boil, a lobster pot trying hard to not foam over.
The duke took another jump. I pretended to drink the lemonade and glanced at him between lower lashes. How does one dissuade a man from folly? Nagging, letters . . . subtle requests. Begging. Submission.
None of that worked with Colin.
Nothing broke the grips of his depression or his belief that Markham was always right, that he needed to be loyal to the cretin.
My stomach couldn’t hold more knots, any more than I could hold my tongue. “This has to end. I should tell the duke the truth and all that Markham has been about. The duke needs to take more care.”
“Be at ease. Repington likes risk, but he’s no fool.” The countess reclaimed her chair. “He’s relaxed his forces, but he hasn’t reduced them to nothing. The man likes to show off, but he’s settling into life here at Hamlin. The truth now would be inconvenient. We need proof of Markham wanting you gone. Men are guardians. Mothers, particularly ones who’ve fostered deception, have little say.”
“This mother needs to say more. We need to be done with this masquerade.”
“I think you’re right.” Jemina said between sips of her lemonade, wetness circling her upper lip like a mustache. “And he won’t dismiss you. Who would he stare at if you weren’t here?”
“Maybe he’d pay more attention to that horse if I were gone.”
I snuggled my son as if he’d slip away. No more duke’s or countess’s rules but mine. I needed my trust documents. Lionel was healthy enough for a boat trip.
“Lady Shrewsbury, we need more cloth and linens. Can you convince the duke to allow us to go to Town? Perhaps there’s something Jemina and I could discover while we’re there. My husband stayed in London often.”
I blew kisses to my son and made a face that made him squeal. “Wouldn’t you like to go to Town?”
“I’ll see what can be done,” Lady Shrewsbury said, “but I doubt he’ll let you take Lionel. You sadly underestimate the power of an instant father, especially a man determined to prove something.”
“What is there to prove? He has the power. He’s Lionel’s legal guardian.”
“Busick Strathmore’s father, Lord Bodonel, was sickly. Then he broke his neck in a horsing accident.”
“What?”
“Yes. He was an invalid for years. Everyone’s fighting something.” Lady Shrewsbury grasped my hand. “There’s nothing to fret about. The duke is healthy. He can handle a horse. Can’t you see how he’s enjoying this? With Markham still poised to strike, he’ll not risk Lionel being out of his sight.”
“I don’t know.”
The countess released a little huff as if she knew she were imploring a stubborn daughter. “Patience, see this through. You’ll have custody. You must learn to trust.”
“I trust you, Jemina, and my own strength. Is that enough to win?”
The countess picked up her glass of lemonade. She drank it, her mouth drawing up to a pucker. “A woman has to stake her claim and fight for what she’s due. You’re a fighter, Patience. You will win, my dear. Your prayers to be safe with your son will manifest. We must continue to be diligent. The Widow’s Grace will prevail.”
I put Lionel’s cheek, soft and sweet, next to mine. I may have even nodded in agreement, but my heart was in the drawing room getting my documents.
“My nephew is approaching peers at the Court of Chancery for advice. All have said that things may go easier with evidence of Markham’s duplicity. It could outweigh you being committed.”
Mayandcouldwere not the same aswill.
Lord Gantry came up the stairs, his footfalls rushing. “Lady Shrewsbury, Mrs. St. Maur, Mrs. LaCroy.” With a quick dip, he bowed his head, then stopped in front of the countess. He rolled his beaver-domed hat in his hands as if his nerves had gotten to him. “May I speak with you, ma’am? The duke says you’re good at finding people, and I’ve decided this is what I must do.”
“Me, finding people?” She fanned and offered him demure eyes, demure red-goddess-controlling eyes. “I have a few connections. Who are you looking for, sir?”
“May I speak to you alone, Lady Shrewsbury?”
“Yes, let’s take a walk. Mrs. LaCroy and Mrs. St. Maur can occupy themselves as we take a turn.” She took his arm, her long crimson pelisse trimmed in Vandyke lace flounced above her sleek short boots. “The scarlet and yellow pimpernel flowers have burst through the snow. It looks hopeful, battling against the grips of winter. A perfect place to exchange confidences.”
