Chapter 15 #2
Pip, who had been slumped against the back of the sofa, attempted to rally. “What? No, I’m fine.”
Leaning against Her Grace the First, Oliver yawned and hastily covered his mouth with his hand.
“That’s my cue,” Ben said. He stood and held out his hand to his son. “Come along, my lad. Ladies, Your Grace, gentlemen, thank you for a lovely evening.”
As the others murmured their good nights, Hugh crossed to Pip’s side. “We should probably be going as well.”
Pip climbed to his feet. “Yes, sir.” He bowed to the room at large. “Thank you kindly for the evening.”
“You are very welcome,” the duke assured him. “Feel free to come any time.”
Pip grinned at him. “I might take you up on that.”
Hugh escorted him from the room.
Georgie accompanied them to the door. “Have we wearied Pip overly much?” she asked as Mr. Kinsle helped the boy on with the coat he’d worn to the manor.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Hugh replied. “Thank you, Georgie, for everything.”
She turned slightly and waited.
Was she offering her cheek for his kiss? He’d be mad to walk away. He bent and brushed his lips against the silk of her skin. “Sleep well, my love,” he murmured in her ear.
She was blushing as she waved them farewell.
“She’s a fine lady,” Pip said as they walked down the drive. The duke would likely have lent them his carriage, but Hugh saw no reason to pull the coachman and horses out for the short walk to the village. “But I don’t much like some of the others.”
Hugh frowned. “Was someone unkind to you?”
“Not directly,” Pip admitted. “Only I heard that old codger talking. He says you and me are no good.”
Hugh’s jaw hardened. “Are you referring to Colonel Bancroft?”
“Naw, the other one. Sir Whatsit. Complaining to the colonel he was about you, me, and the duke. According to him, none of us deserves our place.” He kicked at a stone, which went clattering across the road.
“The Bible tells us we’re often given things we don’t deserve,” Hugh allowed.
“That’s God’s grace. I’m sorry neither Sir Winfred nor Colonel Bancroft understand that.
” He stopped and put out a hand to force Pip up as well.
“You and I both faced the world alone. But we’re not alone anymore. We’re family.”
Pip nodded. “That’s right. And family is supposed to stick together, no matter what.”
“No matter what,” Hugh agreed. “Don’t worry about the colonel and Sir Winfred. What they think doesn’t matter. What does your conscience tell you?”
To his surprise, Pip dropped his gaze. “That I’ve been given a lot, and I need to do better.” He peeked up at Hugh. “But I’m trying.”
“So are we all, Pip. So are we all.”
* * *
From after breakfast Thursday until just before dinner was Morrigan’s half-day off that week.
Bailey’s too. She hadn’t had time to chat with him before heading for bed Wednesday, but she’d thought he’d want to stay close to the village after Sally’s news.
So she was surprised when he took her aside as soon as the final dish had been put away that morning.
“How’d you fancy seeing the Channel today?” he asked, grabbing her hands as if he’d pulled her with him right then.
“What about your mum?” Morrigan asked with a frown. “Won’t Sally need help with her?”
Bailey shook his head. “Mum was fine when I went to see her. I hate to say it, Morrigan, but it sometimes seems to me that she claims an illness or weakness just to get my attention. She’s harder on Sally, I know.
But Sally thinks the two of them can get by today.
” He leaned closer. “Today can be just about us.”
Morrigan smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
In the end, however, it wasn’t just the two of them.
Mrs. Carmichael had the half-day off too, so she was enlisted as chaperone, and Mr. Lawrence, their coachman, was given leave to take a wagon and farm horses.
Two of the garden lads and one of the upstairs maids also begged to come.
Mrs. Bettleton packed them all a basket with ham slices, rolls, cheese, and bottles of cider, and they were off.
The wagon rattled down the drive, Mrs. Carmichael up on the bench beside the coachman and the rest of them tucked into the bed. The breeze brushed Morrigan’s cheek even inside her bonnet. As they reached the lane, Mr. Lawrence turned the wagon to the right, away from the village.
Morrigan had never come this way before, so she perked up and looked around. The lane ran straight through greening fields, and she sighted thatched-roof barns in the distance.
Bailey, seated next to her, long legs stretched out, nodded toward the fields. “That’s wheat growing, part of the duke’s Home Farm.”
“That’s where the strawberries come from,” Morrigan realized.
Bailey nodded. “They force the things in houses made of glass, if you can believe that. Won’t be a strawberry growing in Mum’s garden for another month yet.” He leaned back and gazed up at the blue of the sky. It looked so high here, so wide.
One of the garden lads, Timmy, she thought they called him, sniffed the air. “Smell that? We’re getting closer.”
As the wagon started down a hill, Morrigan caught the scent too. Brine and water and a tang that reminded her of London. “The Thames smells that way,” she said. “On its better days.”
Trees closed in on either side then, the branches lacing overhead. The shadows made the air feel colder. She must have shivered, for Bailey put an arm about her shoulders. She gladly took the excuse to lean into him a little.
The creak and sway of the wagon and the warmth of Bailey against her set her eyes to closing. She wasn’t sure whether she truly slept, but it seemed only a moment when exclamations around her made her open her eyes.
The wagon had come out of the trees onto a sward that led down to the shore. At the edge of the grass, jagged grey stones littered the beach, but beyond was only a strip of golden sand. And beyond that…
Silver grey water stretched and stretched and stretched, until it merged with the clouds at the horizon. Ripples, a few with whiter caps, topped it, rolling in toward shore. One of Pip’s gulls circled high overhead.
“There’s so much of it,” Morrigan marveled.
Timmy laughed. “It’s the sea. What’d you expect?”
“Someone with better manners,” Bailey quipped. “I wager you were awed the first time you saw it.”
Timmy had the good sense to duck his head. “I was. But I was only five at the time.”
“When I was five,” Morrigan informed him, “I lived in London. Same as when I was ten and twenty.” She gazed out over the Channel again. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Wait until you touch it,” Bailey said, wiggling his brows. “Smooth as silk.”
“And cold as ice this time of year,” Mrs. Carmichael reminded him as Mr. Lawrence drew up the horses at the edge of the rocks. “I would not advise it, Miss Turner.”
Bailey bent closer. “Guess we’ll just have to come back this summer, when it’s warmer.”
Morrigan beamed at him. A future with Bailey looked closer every moment, as vast and beautiful as the sea.