Finally, she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. For the first time in her life, she’d acted recklessly. She’d grabbed life by the horns—and been flung aside.
“He doesn’t owe me anything.” Then, because it had to be said, “Please don’t meddle, Em. It’ll only make matters awkward if he and I cross paths in the future.”
“Fine. You’re better off without him, if you ask me,” her sister declared. “Tremont always struck me as a bit of a cold fish.”
If only his kiss had been cold, then she might have forgotten him more easily. But in those few precious moments before he’d rejected her, his lips had set fire to her blood, awakening dormant yearnings. Desires that now infused her dreams, made her toss restlessly in her bed...
“And speaking of fish, he’s not the only one in the sea. Instead of moping, you ought to make the most of the remaining Season. Meet potential suitors. You’ve been so preoccupied with that blasted Tremont that you haven’t noticed anyone else.”
Actually, Thea had noticed the handful of gentlemen who’d shown her attention… who might have even courted her, had she encouraged them. They were all substantially older than she was, widowers with heirs securely in place. Men who could afford to take on a fragile wife to be a companion in their dotage or an ornament in their drawing room. Men who would peck her on the cheek, pat her head, and send her off to her separate bedchamber.
Men who didn’t understand her at all.
Yet the one man who did—who’d seemed to see to the vital, pulsing heart of her desires—didn’t want her. For weeks, the reasons for Tremont’s rejection kept her mind spinning like a top. Was it because her constitution seemed too weak? Was she too old? Not pretty enough? Perhaps it had been her kiss—too brazen or too inexperienced?
Or maybe he’d never reciprocated her feelings at all. Maybe he’d seen her only as a platonic companion. Maybe his heart still belonged to Lady Sylvia, his departed wife whom everyone said had been a paragon of virtue…
Stop it, Thea told herself firmly. The answer lay as out of reach as a mirage. Which meant she must cease obsessing over it or she would be driven to Bedlam.
“If I meet anyone of interest, you will be the first to know.” She gave her sister a pleading look. “Now can we please drop the subject?”
Emma huffed out a breath. “I only pester because I care, you know.”
“I know.” Drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, Thea forced a smile. “We’d better catch up to the girls.” By the camel house, two bold dandies were bowing before Rosie. “They’re getting more attention than the menagerie.”
“That’s Quality for you,” Emma said, sighing. “They’re here to watch each other not the animals.”
A lady sporting a full plumage of peacock feathers in her hat strolled by.
Thea murmured, “How can you tell the difference?”
Her sister laughed, dispelling any lingering tension.
The next hour passed quickly given the distractions of the various displays. They met up with Strathaven and Violet, the latter chomping at the bit to see the kangaroos. The other girls wanted to go too; feeling the familiar fatigue creep over her like fog over the Thames, Thea scanned the bustling environs for a bench and proposed to wait there.
“I’ll stay with you,” Emma said.
“No, go and enjoy yourself. I’d like a few moments of quiet. Truly I would.”
Emma looked ready to argue, but Strathaven put an arm around her waist. “Don’t fuss, love. Let Dorothea enjoy a respite from the mayhem. We won’t be gone long.”
Thea gave her brother-in-law a grateful look.
With a wink, he led Emma and the others away.
Thea made her way to the seat. But a pair of ladies beat her to it, forcing her to look for another. She spied one in the distance; away from the main walk, the bench was set by a sparkling pond, partially hidden by a cluster of trees. Lured by the promise of solitude, she headed over.
A few minutes later, she sat in the enveloping shade. The leaf-scented coolness was a balm to her senses, and she smiled at the frolics of the water fowl honking and flapping their wings, splashing diamonds across the water’s surface. Just as she began to relax, a boy’s voice cut through the calm.
“Please, Mademoiselle Fournier, I cannot keep up.”
“You do not wish to miss the feeding of the bears, do you?” The female voice bore a crisp French accent. “You must hurry, or we will miss it.”
Shading her eyes, Thea spotted the pair: a small, tawny-haired boy, simply and expensively dressed, led by the arm by a woman whose drab gown and bonnet pronounced her as his governess. They were on the other side of the pond, heading toward the trees along the perimeter of the gardens.
The child dug in his heels. “I do not think that this is the way to the bears. And what about Papa? He said he would be right back—”
“Your papa will find us. You must listen to me. Allons-y.”
The governess yanked impatiently at her charge’s arm, and the boy whimpered, “Stop, please, you’re hurting me!”
Thea found herself on her feet, dashing over. “Pardon,” she said between breaths, “what is going on?”
The governess’ head whipped in her direction. The woman was in her twenties, exceptionally pretty, with even features and a slim figure. Her dark shrewd eyes roved over Thea, and her expression smoothed like a sheet over a bed.
“Nothing to concern you, mademoiselle,” she said.
“Your treatment of this child concerns me.” Thea turned to the boy, whose blue-grey eyes took up much of his thin face. Freckles stood out against the paleness of his skin. Gentling her voice, she said, “Are you all right, dear?”
“Y-yes, miss.”
The boy’s quivering reply indicated that he wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.
“Are you being taken against your will?” she said.
“I am his governess,” the Frenchwoman snapped. “You are interfering in business that does not concern you. Come, Frederick, we must go.”
Thea tensed as the boy resisted, pulling against the other’s grip.
“I want Papa,” he said, his lower lip trembling. “He told us to wait whilst he went to purchase tickets for the camel rides.”
“We are leaving now.” The governess twisted his arm, and he cried out.
“Stop hurting him!” With a desperate lunge, Thea grabbed onto the governess’ arm, managing to shake the other’s grip off the boy. She pushed the child behind her, shielding him as best she could.
Desperation lit the Frenchwoman’s eyes. She shoved her hand into the side of her skirts, removing a glinting object. Stunned, Thea found herself staring at the barrel of a small pistol.
“Give him to me,” the governess said.
Thea could feel the child shaking behind her skirts—or was it her own limbs quivering?
“You’ll have to shoot me first.” She hated how winded she sounded, the shortness of her breath. Keep calm, breathe slowly … “If that pistol goes off, everyone will hear,” she managed. “You won’t get away.”
The woman leveled her weapon. “This is your last warning—”
“Frederick!” The masculine roar came from a distance. “Where are you?”
“Papa!” the boy shouted. “Over here!”
Thea kept her gaze on the governess. Panic flared in the other’s dark eyes, her knuckles bone-white against the gun. Thea braced, her heart thudding in her ears—
The governess turned and raced toward the trees. Dazed, Thea stared after the retreating figure. Something white fluttered from the dark skirts, landing on the grass, but the woman took no notice. She continued running, reaching the copse at the perimeter of the gardens and vanishing into the dense brush.
Thea took the few steps over to the fallen object. Bent to pick it up. It was an ordinary white handkerchief, the initials “M. F.” embroidered prominently at the center.
“Frederick! Are you all right?”
At the familiar deep male voice, Thea jerked around. Her disordered breath hitched further. Tremont? For an instant, their gazes locked; she saw her own shock reflected in those tempestuous grey depths.
Then he looked back to the boy. Was that… his son?
“I’m fine, Papa,” Frederick said in a trembling voice.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” The marquess’ features set into foreboding lines. “I told you to stay put. Where’s Mademoiselle Fournier?”
“She wanted m-me to see the bears. I didn’t want to.” Frederick’s eyes welled.
Coming to her senses, Thea blurted, “It wasn’t his fault. The governess was trying to abduct him. She had a pistol.”
“What?” Tremont’s voice turned dangerously hushed.
“She ran off in that direction.” Thea pointed toward the trees—and realized she still held the governess’ handkerchief. “She dropped this.”
He took it from her, his jaw tightening. His muscles bunched beneath the blue superfine of his jacket. “Stay here with Frederick,” he said tersely. “I’ll take a look—”
“Papa, I don’t feel well…”