The Secret Pearl(72)

So she was his ladybird after all. And his grace must be smitten indeed if he was about to pry into the poor girl’s past. She was living under a false name, was she?

But then, one could hardly blame his grace when the duchess was doing nothing to hide her preference for Lord Thomas.


THE MORNING WAS WET. There was not even the chance of a brief stroll outside after her music practice, Fleur found with regret. And no chance that there would be another riding lesson for Lady Pamela.

But the regret she felt over that fact was tempered by memories of her ride the morning before and the way it had developed. And memories of the night before and of the terror that had led her to make a most embarrassing assumption. And the memory of his arms about her and his heart beating against her ear and the smell of his cologne.

She was glad after all that it was raining.

As she watched Lady Pamela print rows of letters and later told her a story from history while they both embroidered, she began to hope that perhaps his grace would not come to the schoolroom that morning. And she listened for him, every sound startling her.

They were examining the globe again when he came. But instead of taking a seat in one corner as he usually did after kissing his daughter and bidding them both a good morning, he stayed on his feet and handed Fleur a letter.

“It came this morning,” he said, “together with one for me in the same hand. You have my permission, Miss Hamilton, to accept the invitation. And I do believe Houghton is waiting belowstairs in his office for you. Have you forgotten your errand for this morning?”

Fleur had not. But she had thought it very likely that he had forgotten, and had not liked to mention the matter to Mr. Houghton at breakfast.

“I will have a carriage brought around for you in half an hour’s time,” he said. “Pamela, you and I will play with Tiny for a while until it is time for me to join some of the gentlemen. This afternoon you may come with Mama and me to the rectory. Some of our guests wish to see the church. You may play with the children while we do so.”

“Ye-es.” Lady Pamela jumped up and down on the spot.

“Come along, then,” he said, reaching out a hand for hers. “Good day to you, Miss Hamilton.”

Mr. Chamberlain was inviting her to join him and his sister and Sir Cecil Hayward for dinner and a visit to the theater in Wollaston that evening. A traveling company of players was to appear there.

She folded the paper and lifted it to her mouth. And she felt an enormous regret for the life that might have been hers at Willoughby. She had work that she was beginning to find quite pleasant, enough social life to keep her active and interested, and the friendship of an attractive gentleman to make her feel like a woman.

She could never have taken that relationship beyond friendship, of course. She had known that and accepted it. She had not asked for much—merely life as it had been for the first two weeks after her arrival.

If only the Duke of Ridgeway had stayed away from home. And if only Matthew had not tracked her there.

The carriage was to be waiting for her in half an hour’s time, his grace had said. She hurried to her room to get ready and to pen an acceptance of her invitation.

Peter Houghton gave her a letter to present at Wollaston so that the bills for her riding clothes could be sent to the house. He also paid her her first month’s salary, though she had not been there for quite a month, explaining that he was to leave within the hour for the christening of his cousin’s son and might not be back for a week or more.

Fleur enjoyed the next few hours. After her experiences of just a couple of months ago, it was a delightful feeling to be dressed respectably, to ride in a smart carriage, to be treated with deference because the carriage bore the crest of the Duke of Ridgeway, to have a little money to spend on silk stockings, which strictly speaking she did not need, to choose rich velvet fabric for a riding habit and soft leather for boots.

And returning to Willoughby Hall felt like coming home again, she thought later, despite the rain and the heavy clouds. The carriage rumbled over the bridge and she turned her eyes to the house and felt a great churning of love for it. And a great sadness that it would not be her home for much longer.

She smiled at the coachman as he helped her down from the carriage, and would have hurried through the doors to the servants’ quarters beneath the horseshoe steps if someone had not hailed her by name. Matthew was hurrying from the direction of the stables.

“I came upstairs after luncheon to visit you,” he said as the carriage drew away again. “The child’s nurse told me you had gone into Wollaston. Alone, Isabella? Why did you not let me know? I would have come with you.”