The two began talking or bickering. I cared not. I was grateful that their arguing might ignore my shyness, the dire feeling which sometimes stole my words.
Nonetheless, I returned the scope to my eye. I had to catch another glimpse of the woman on the other side of the river.
Was this twirling woman the same woman in the Kenwood portrait?
* * *
Patting my horse’s mane, I couldn’t settle or wait. I started toward the bridge.
“Can’t hold your seat, Sebastian? Are you more sotted than me?”
I was, but not from beauty, not ale. “Just thinking of Kenwood again. Fine property. Nice music room. Made for twirling—I mean dancing.”
“Thinking of the painting again? You need a real woman. Come with us, Torrance.” Livingston sounded pained, almost normal. “Delay this dash across the bridge until tomorrow. It’s too much of a gamble at sunset. That neighborhood—”
“Gambling? I don’t do that anymore, but I’ll reward whoever among my new friends makes it to the other side first.”
“No, Your Grace, I might fall but Sebastian’s always light in the pockets.” Livingston leaned a little too much to the left and I reluctantly saved him.
“Torrance, he’s too unsteady.” I shoved the tube into my coat. “I need to make sure he gets home safely.”
“What is that?”
“Your Grace, it’s a pocket scope,” Livingston said, slipping backward in his seat. “Young Sebastian uses it to identify birds—the ones in the sky and the beauties in petticoats strolling leisurely in the parks or gardens about London. The way his cheeks reddened, he’s spotted one ’cross the river. What bird, sir?”
“A greenfinch, Livingston.” I grinned a little, thinking of the woman walking on the other side of the Thames fluttering her arms in an emerald coat.
The duke sighed, then shook his head. “Perhaps, it would be better to do this alone.”
Livingston nodded. “Goodbye!Do svidaniya!”
The earl started away from the bridge, wobbling the whole way. “I’d better accompany him. I wish—”
“I understand, Sebastian. If I settle in Mayfair, you must visit. I will be in need of a piano room, one grander than Kenwood’s.”
“You’ve been to the estate?”
“Several times. My father and Mansfield were friends. I too have stared at the same portrait.”
The woman across the river—had the single Torrance found a match to the prettiest woman to pose for the artist?
Suddenly, I felt jealous.
“Go catch your friend. He looks as if he’ll hit a house.”
Torrance doffed his hat and started toward the bridge.
The leaning Livingston waved. “Watch the river, my tzar.”
The earl had drooped to the side. He’d fall and hurt himself. Livingston was a fool, but my friend. I rode after the earl, wishing I’d made it to the other side of the Thames.
Chapter 2
GEORGINAWILCOX—RUNAWAY, RUNAWAY
Ihated feeling helpless and voiceless.
My older sister wouldn’t listen. She thought I couldn’t handle death and sent me with the younger Wilcoxes to the kitchen to make sugared biscuits. I might be a good baker, but when did biscuits change anything?
