“Am I to be forever plagued with you?” I suppressed a smile and pasted a wafer over my letter. The sly vixen would find a way to join us. “I’ll make the request for you to join us.”
“Maybe I’ll ga.” She ran the back of her hand over her brow. “If thou asks me.”
I looked over the desk, amazed at her brashness. “It makes little difference to me whether you go or stay. If I must, I’ll borrow Elizabeth’s maid.”
She huffed and resumed packing. “Aye, and it would be a shame for thee. Thou’ll have th’ same style of hair as Miss Lizbeth th’ entire trip.”
I tucked the letter under my arm and stood. It was true. Elizabeth’s style of hair rarely changed, and it wasn’t a particularly flattering style on me either. Unwilling to show Nancy she’d won, I flounced from the room, but after dropping my post in the mail basket by the door, I tapped on Mrs. Windham’s chamber door and begged until she granted me use of Nancy.
I did not know it then, but that day marked the last carefree day I ever spent at Am Meer.
“HURRY, MISS.”
Nancy urged me from dreams cushioned by warm comforters. I groaned, opening my eyes. Once again, during the wee hours, Lady Foxmore’s footman hammered on our door to deliver a note, this time demanding we travel in her ladyship’s carriage.
Nancy shook me. “Make haste. ’Tis barely enough time to dress thee.”
I rubbed my hand over bleary eyes. The clock indicated there wasn’t time for breakfast or to have my hair fashioned in more than a chignon. I scrambled from the toasty covers and shivered.
“Where’s the fire?” I demanded.
“Eh?”
“The fire.” I jabbed the freezing air, pointing to the empty hearth. “The fire!”
She touched a match to the candlewick. “What? Does thou think I can learn th’ tidings and keep thy blaze goin’ an’ all?”
“What tidings?” I plunged my hand into the basin and gasped at the frigid temperature.
“Th’ butcher boy stopped with all the goin’ ons.”
I rubbed the gooseflesh over my arms. “Do you mean to stand there and admit you disregarded duty for servants’ gossip?”
“Aye. What else would I neglect ’em for?” She threw a bundle of undergarments at my feet, then sorted through them. Since my chemise hadn’t been hung before the hearth, it felt damp with cold. To save time, I brushed my own hair, regretting my decision to take this girl. My temper was such, I only caught what she was saying midprattle.
“. . . th’ gent arrived at two o’clock in the morn and forced Lady Foxmore from her bed to attend him. Can thou imagine such a thing?”
I yanked the brush, smarting my scalp. “Who did?”
“Mr. Rooke, th’ other person joining th’ party.”
I gasped. “Someone is joining us? Who?”
Her brow furrowed. “I tole thee. Th’ man th’ servants say is tight-lipped, Mr. Rooke.”
“Nonsense.” I straightened, pulling my hair over one shoulder. “Why would a gentleman speak to servants? Do you have useful information about him? Marital status? Wealth? Something to justify waking me this late?”
Nancy shrugged. “Afore was gossip I listened to, but now what does thou think?”
“Hold your tongue—” I stopped short when she pulled a pale-green dress from the wardrobe. My voice fell to a whisper. “Not that dress. My usual one.”
Her lower lip protruded. “What does thou suppose Lady Foxmore’s reaction will be if thou arrives still in weeds? Who outside this here village knows thee anyway?”
There is no other segment of time quite like the moment we finally enact our prior decisions. It’s like a wedding morn where someone realizes it is a grave mistake. But what is to be done after the trousseau is purchased, the dowry paid, the land transferred, the food prepared, and the gifts bestowed? I teetered upon a similar ledge as Nancy buttoned my dress. Nancy was right. I couldn’t greet Lady Foxmore wearing mourning, nor could I refuse to make this trip. The carriages were packed and ready. Besides, if I failed to follow through, only Scotland awaited me.
“There.” Nancy stepped away. “Look at yoursen.”
I turned and considered my reflection. The green drew out the uncanny color of my eyes. The cut gave my neck a thin, delicate appearance and accented my tiny waist. I’d forgotten how it felt to be young and lovely.
“Are you certain?” I whispered, touching the neckline, but knew nothing would convince me to take off the gown.
“Aye.” Nancy’s eyes glinted.
Lady Foxmore’s stable yard teemed with activity. A large bonfire in the center was a welcome sight amidst the brume rising from the ground. Servants packed carriages while grooms curried horses. Dogs yipped, scampering about.
As our carriage disturbed low-lying branches, orange and crimson leaves were set adrift in the thick, eddying fog. I eyed the brilliant foliage, my soul feeling equally unfixed and unattached.
Mrs. Windham’s puffy eyes squinted in my direction as she reached over and plumped my skirt. After licking her finger, she scrubbed what must have been a shadow, for she frowned.
“For heaven’s sake, Julia, have the mercy to smile. Here Mr. Greenham must be all anxiousness to see your new gowns, yet you look as long-faced as an undertaker. Smile, swish your skirts, laugh, and be merry this morning.”
Elizabeth kept her mouth pinched shut.
“At your earliest convenience you must draw Mr. Greenham to your side. Bill and coo—”
“Mama!”
“Oh, what would you know?” was Mrs. Windham’s nettlesome answer back. “Here you are, eighteen and without so much as one marriage proposal.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed; once again I suspected she was secretly engaged to Henry Auburn. She opened her mouth as if to contradict, but then snapped it shut again.
Our carriage jerked to a halt, but when the door opened we found Lady Foxmore’s tone as vexed as ours. “If this is Chance’s idea of a joke,” she said in a terse voice, “he shall answer to me for this nonsense. One day’s notice, indeed!”
Aided by their manservant, Mrs. Windham alighted and then Elizabeth.
Still safe within the carriage, I heard Mr. Greenham’s deep baritone voice greet them. I steadied myself before gathering a fistful of the pale-green gown, then inclined into the swirling mist.
To my relief, Mr. Greenham appeared as taciturn as I felt. This man wanted no braw companion to cling to his arm. In fact, as I studied him I believed he found the idea of a match between us monstrous.
I gave a breathy laugh of relief, accepting his hand.
Tiny lines puckered over Lady Foxmore’s mouth as she lifted her lorgnette. “Well, she’s not in rags, at least.” Her crow’s-feet deepened as her eyes slid to Mr. Greenham. “But she blushes. You haven’t wooed her without permission, have you?”
I felt fury rise through Mr. Greenham’s body like a growing thunderhead, lifting his shoulders, raising tendons in his neck.
“Do not,” he choked in a half-strangled voice, “do not test my patience one more time this morning. Or so help me, Adelia, I shall not be held accountable.”
“Threatening a lady?” Lady Foxmore tilted her head back. “Good heavens, John, that’s a new low, even for you.”
Though I felt certain her ladyship’s jibe rankled him, he said nothing but placed his hand on my back and directed me toward the fire. His ability to cap his temper amazed me. Had it been my father, he’d not have calmed until the entire house cowered. Even sober, my father kept a cruel gleam in his eyes.
Mr. Greenham placed me at the bonfire, then stalked to the other side and stood opposite.
I stretched my hands over the flames and studied Mr. Greenham anew. Overnight he’d changed again. Yesterday some force of will branded him. Today he eyed the crackling logs, lost in thought. Whether it was his true mood or the way shadows pitched his features, he looked hunted.
“John.” A gentleman materialized. He started to speak b
ut, noticing me, pulled back into the shadows. “Who’s she?”
Mr. Greenham appeared too conquered by his thoughts to rise to the occasion, but finally said, “Miss Elliston, may I introduce Mr. Horace Rooke.”
I inclined slightly, sizing the newcomer. He stood average height, only a thin beard to distinguish him.
“But who is she?” he demanded.
Mr. Greenham’s glare turned feral. “Mind yourself, Rooke. The girl travels under my protection.”
Rooke’s eyes widened with astonishment.
“What is it you want?”
Rooke tore his stare from me, then blinked as if recovering from shock before speaking. “Southeast. One gent, one servant. Horseback. Three minutes.”
Mr. Greenham’s eyelids lowered for a fraction of a second before he gave a slight nod. The gesture must have meant something to Rooke, for he gave me one last confused glance, then trampled off, his woollen cape flapping.
“I-is he your friend?” I asked, marvelling at their singular exchange.
Mr. Greenham frowned. “Chance trusts him to carry letters.”
“Chance?”
Mr. Greenham looked anew at me. For the first time, his mouth relaxed, his eyes smiled as if hearing a jest. “I meant Mr. Macy. The man whose estate we’re visiting.”
I studied him, wondering if he’d purposely avoided my original question. “But is he your friend?”
“Yes.” Mr. Greenham sighed. “Chance is more familiar with my affairs than anyone else. I am anxious for your introduction.”
I crossed my arms, thinking his idea of friendship curious. By that account, every gentleman’s solicitor was his staunchest supporter. But I dismissed the notion and endeavored once more. “No, I meant that Rooke fellow.”
Mr. Greenham shifted his weight, eyeing the gentleman in question. “I’ve not contemplated it. Nor shall I ever.”
His tone held a command to cease talking about Rooke, so I did, and we fell back into silence. His friends, if nothing else, seemed singular.
A sharp whistle was punctuated with Rooke saying, “There.”
Mr. Greenham did an about-turn and peered through the thick shrouds of murk. Eventually, over the nearest hillock, two grey forms appeared on horseback. With dismay, I recognized the gentleman.
As Henry crested the hill, penetrating the gloom, I steeled my emotions, cut off every tender feeling in an attempt to combat the disgrace of having hired her ladyship and agreed to take this journey with her.
Henry sat straight and tall in the saddle, but upon spotting me, he sprinted his steed forward. He’d grown into a man during my absence. Yet his eyes still danced with their old merriness, as if he rather enjoyed our circumstances.
The last time I laid eyes on Henry had been after Edward asked me to be his wife. The next day, as Mama and I travelled home, his steed appeared out of nowhere. Whooping and hollering, Henry spurred his horse alongside us, then pounded his gloved fists on the side of our chaise before burying us in his cloud of dust. I had to swallow my laughter then, knowing he was only showing his excitement at the news, but Mama shut the curtains, stating one day he’d kill someone with his recklessness.
He approached, wearing his Henry grin. Though he seemed about the same height, his shoulders had broadened and filled out.
“Miss Elliston!” He took my hands and leaned in as if to kiss my cheek, but whispered, “Were I Edward, I would beat you very hard for this! Good show, Juls. This will finally get him off his duff if anything will.”
Under different circumstances, I’d have corrected Henry’s misunderstanding. As it was, I was too amazed by his speech to form thoughts.
Grinning, he saluted me with two fingers and stepped backwards.
“Henry?” Lady Foxmore’s voice came from my right, sounding as trembly as she looked. The petite woman stepped into my line of vision. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Merriment crinkled Henry’s every feature as he bowed. “I’ve come to join your party.” He faced Mr. Greenham. “That is, if you’ll have me, sir?”
“For what purpose?” Lady Foxmore demanded. “We both know you have no further need to find a wife, Henry. Even if you find yourself in need, come to Bath and I shall select you a plump, rich girl. Go home! I have no one for you this outing.”
Henry grinned and nodded toward Elizabeth. “What about her?”
“Oh, I’ve had enough.” Lady Foxmore’s head quavered. “John, remove him.”
Mr. Greenham, however, studied Henry with a look that brought back a memory of Sarah leaning against our rough-hewn kitchen door, eyeballing a starving dog, weighing conscience against common sense.
Still wearing his grin, Henry crossed his arms, waiting.
Lady Foxmore seized me with surprising force for such a helpless-looking woman and speared Henry with a glare. “You are as stubborn as your brother, only stupider if you still plan on pursuing a Windham. Of all the nonsense. Absolutely not. John, tell him I forbid him.”
“We’re leaving.” Mr. Greenham turned his back, snapping his fingers toward the stables. A groom emerged with a chestnut stallion.
“What about Henry?” Lady Foxmore called after him as Henry raced to greet Elizabeth.
Mr. Greenham scathed her with his glare as he mounted his horse. With a cluck of his tongue, he reined his steed in the direction of Rooke.
“John!” Lady Foxmore’s wig tilted forward as she yelled, but he did not look behind him. Stabbing pain shot through my arm as she dug her talons deep. I prepared to witness one of her famous tempers, for a streak of perspiration trickled down her face, streaking through her white powder. But she perceived the embarrassed looks upon the faces surrounding us and straightened.
“Fifteen years without a single visitor.” Lady Foxmore prodded me along. “And what do I bring him? A scarecrow of a girl, a magpie of a woman, and—” she narrowed her eyes to where Henry approached Elizabeth—“a mismatched pair of lovebirds. How viciously low our circle has fallen.”
I glanced over my shoulder as she pulled me toward the carriage.
Henry now stood near a shining-eyed Elizabeth. He leaned over her, whispering something that made her look like a white, fluttering butterfly, incapable of holding any more happiness. Envy pierced me and then unspeakable sadness as I considered how their attachment had always seemed dim compared to Edward’s and mine.
“Climb in and take your seat,” Lady Foxmore ordered as a servant placed wooden steps before the carriage.
The carriage rocked as I obeyed. Lady Foxmore followed suit and waved for me to make room for her. “On my troth, I shall not be seated to a Windham next. Move over, child.”
I scooted into the seat she’d indicated as the first flecks of rain spotted the window and Mrs. Windham and Elizabeth broke off speech with Henry to hasten to the carriage. Behind them, I caught a glimpse of Nancy’s white face as she clutched a handful of oil paper that was scarved over her head and beneath her chin. With misgiving, I looked at the roiling sky and hoped she had a decent coat, for doubtless she’d be forced to ride in the basket.
Elizabeth scrambled aboard first. Shadows enhanced her worried expression as she slid across from me. “Henry’s joining us! Can you believe it?”
“The very idea,” Lady Foxmore muttered, “of a Windham using the first name of Lord Auburn’s son. Hold your tongue, Elizabeth, lest you give away far more than you wish to reveal.”
Elizabeth grew scarlet. Before she could gather herself, Mrs. Windham’s bonnet appeared in the door and two hands extended above her anxious face. “Girls, girls, pull me in. The steps have gone missing and the footman appears deaf.”
We reached the Dancing Toad an hour past gloaming. Rain had muddied the roads and hindered our progress. We lost additional time when a servants’ carriage sank in the mire. We arrived bedraggled and famished at the already-bustling inn. Mr. Greenham paid handsomely to see we were attended and given a private sitting room.
While we dined, my
attention stayed riveted on my former cronies. Henry, his cheeks still ruddy and his hair dishevelled from the wind, broke propriety by sneaking his arm around the back of Elizabeth’s chair. Bacchus and one of his nymphs couldn’t have appeared merrier as their laughing whispers competed with the chinks of silverware against porcelain.
I couldn’t hear their banter, but reminders of Edward hung heavy about them. It was in the way Henry’s eyes crinkled as he buried his nose in Elizabeth’s hair to whisper, his crooked smile, his easygoing manner—all Auburn traits, all salt rubbed in wounds.
It grew impossible not to feel my loss. It was there in that dimly lit inn that I first experienced the cost of keeping composure against one’s own best interest and disguising the true desires of one’s heart. Later, I would become an artisan in this role, creating and fulfilling society’s very definition of a lady, in a deadly game which forced me to hide in public, to become the very worst liar—or the very best, I suppose, depending on one’s viewpoint. But this was my first lesson, my first bitter taste.
I watched them silently as the innkeeper’s wife set before us goose roasted with sage and onion, vegetable marrow, and brussels sprouts. I was debating the idea of retiring when Lady Foxmore leaned to my ear and said in a private voice, “You have yet to ask me about our host.”
I dropped Mama’s locket, which I’d been clutching, and faced her. “Ought I?”
She made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. “Good heavens! Here I am, planning to introduce you to the most sought-after man in the country, and you haven’t enough sense to make inquiries. Well, since you seem satisfied with your information, tell me what you’ve heard. I’ll correct the errors.”
I tilted my head to show my confusion.
She gave an exasperated sigh. “What does that woman speak of all day? No! No, do not tell. I have no desire to learn. Just tell me what you know of Macy.”
“Macy? You—you mean Mr. Macy?”
“Yes, Macy,” she said in a quiet voice. She glanced at Mr. Greenham. “Surely you don’t think the height of my ambition is to match you with that puddle of gloom? Have you no more faith in me than that, child?”
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