Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The town of Greytonwick bustled in the warmth of late summer. Streets strung with bunting in preparation for the upcoming garden party. Hawkers cried their wares, the smell of fresh bread mingled with horse and dust, and ladies in pastel gowns hurried from shop to shop with lists and purses.
A week had passed since the village fete.
A week in which Adeline had helped Cordelia trawl Debrett’s for the names of eligible daughters that might be posited as future brides for Winston.
A week in which Adeline had found herself looking for reasons with each not to put their name down on the list. She had shaken her head at her own silliness, reminding herself that jealousy was utterly ridiculous.
Winston was a difficult man prone to temper and moods.
And even if he were the paragon of gentlemen, he would not be within reach for her.
I am the employee of his mother and, temporarily, his employee. Besides, I am also lying about my identity.
The garden party was the next event on the social calendar and required hats, ribbons, gloves, and gowns to be purchased or made.
A shopping trip to this end was now underway.
Adeline kept close to Cordelia, parasol in one hand, Louisa’s shawl in the other, feeling both useful and conspicuous at once.
Cordelia swept ahead in her irreverent way, pointing out window displays, pausing to greet acquaintances, and ignoring every carriage that clattered too close.
Louisa skipped at their side, her excitement bubbling over into laughter.
It felt like a family outing. That thought pierced Adeline more deeply than she wished.
For two years, I have played at being part of a family. Part of Cordelia’s family at Briarwood. Because it is something that I haven’t known for a long time.
The bell over the milliner’s door chimed sweetly as they entered. Inside, the air was thick with lavender sachets and the faintly dusty scent of muslin bolts. Hats lined every wall, some adorned with lace, others with silk flowers so extravagant they seemed plucked straight from a dream.
Louisa gasped and darted to a display, plucking up a bonnet trimmed with butter-yellow ribbons.
“Oh, grandmama! This one looks like sunshine!”
Cordelia chuckled, delighted.
“Try it, my darling. Though perhaps something with a touch less sunshine will do better for the party.”
The milliner bustled over and began fussing with Louisa’s curls, chattering about measurements, colors, fabrics and styles. Cordelia touched Adeline’s arm, drawing her toward a quieter corner where lace and ribbons were displayed.
“Stay with me a moment, my dear,” she murmured.
Adeline followed, already wary of that tone.
Cordelia lowered her voice. “What is your view of Winston?”
The name alone set Adeline’s heart hammering against her ribs. She bent her head quickly, as though the delicate rows of lace required all her concentration. Images intruded, nonetheless. Winston’s dark gaze, the stubborn set of his jaw, and the heated kiss they had shared in his study.
That kiss haunts me more with each passing night. It lingers in my dreams.
Her cheeks warmed. “He is… not an easy man,” she said carefully. “Abrasive when angry, quick to quarrel.”
She glanced warily at Cordelia who was listening intently and giving no clue as to her thoughts.
Cordelia does not respect sycophancy. She will not respond to anything but honesty.
“I do not believe his bite to be as bad as his bark,” Adeline continued. “I have seen him show compassion, and he is clearly devoted to Louisa.”
Cordelia’s eyes shone, a mother’s pride softening her expression.
“Laudable indeed. Most see only his temper, his walls. But you…”
She stopped, looking Adeline over in a way that made the heat in her face spread to her throat. Adeline’s pulse faltered.
She cannot mean…cannot consider me…No, it is impossible.
Adeline’s life with the Burgess family was built on lies, a masquerade bound to eventually collapse.
She could not allow herself even the thought of belonging more deeply.
But the notion of losing this feeling of contented security left her saddened.
The idea of never seeing Winston again left her bereft.
She wondered at the strength of the feeling as she imagined a time when she was no longer employed by Cordelia or Winston, when she would go her own way.
She took a deep breath, schooling her face to stillness, concerned that her emotions were written plainly. Cordelia misread the shadow on her face.
“Oh, forgive me, storm-bird. I speak without thinking, as always. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
Adeline forced a smile, though her throat ached.
“You need not apologize, Your Grace.”
But Cordelia pressed on, blithe and mischievous.
“He cannot brood forever. He needs a woman of patience, of sense. Someone who might soften those hard edges.”
“I agree,” Adeline forced herself to say.
It is my job. I am Her Grace’s Lady-In-Waiting. It is my purpose to carry out her wishes and if they are too difficult, I am free to resign and go…but go where?
It was only natural for a mother to want something like that for her son.
And only natural that her Lady-In-Waiting should help in the achievement of such a goal.
Adeline managed another polite smile, but her hands curled in her skirts, hidden from view.
Despite every thought trying to convince herself, something sharp and cold twisted in her chest.
“We must be vigilant at all our social engagements from now on, beginning with the garden party. We have done our book research. Now we study in real life. If you spot anyone, report her to me at once.”
“Of course,” Adeline said, her voice steady though the words burned. “I will do whatever I can.”
Cordelia nodded, satisfied, and moved away to try on a hat so outrageous that Adeline could not help but laugh when Louisa declared it “a cockerel’s crown.” The milliner gasped in horror, but Cordelia brayed with laughter, and soon all three of them were giggling in the middle of the shop.
For a moment, Adeline let herself bask in it, the warmth, the silliness, the safety.
But the shadow lingered beneath. If her father truly hunted her, all of this could vanish in an instant.
What stood between her and him? A name. Wilkinson instead of Warren.
A flimsy disguise. But enough to condemn her among her new family if they discovered her subterfuge.
That brought her thoughts to Grebe and his threats.
Adeline’s vision was obscured as Louisa placed a hat on her head that was too large by half.
Adeline felt an outrageously large plume of feathers in its crown as she raised her hands to straighten it.
Louisa was laughing, Cordelia smiled indulgently.
Adeline found her spirits lifting with the simple, childish prank.
She removed the offending headwear and examined it.
“I think not, Louisa. Even if the fit was better. It was clearly made for a Queen. A Duchess at the very least.”
“You can be anyone you wish to be,” Louisa said, a tape measure held about her head by the milliner.
“That goes against everything English Society stands for, surely,” Adeline protested.
“Piffle. I agree with my granddaughter. A progressive and even radical opinion, Louisa. Well done,” Cordelia said, lifting her chin as she was approached by the milliner and her measuring tape.
I chose who I wished to be. Adeline Wilkinson. Orphan. Jilted fiancée. But how long will I be allowed to be her?
Steel rang against steel, a sharp note that reverberated down the length of the great hall.
Winston pressed forward, rapier flashing, his stance as steady as the ancient beams that held the vaulted ceiling aloft.
Opposite him, Oswald parried with an easy grace that set Winston’s teeth on edge.
They had sparred together for years, the contests usually ending in parity.
But today, Oswald was carving him to ribbons.
“Again,” Winston growled, lunging.
The Earl of Duskwood danced back, his blade flicking in quicksilver arcs. Winston felt the sting as the flat of Oswald’s rapier tapped his ribs. A hit.
“That makes five,” Oswald said lightly, barely winded, turning away airily.
This room is too hot in the summer. How can I duel when I am drenched in sweat?
Winston leaned his rapier against the wall as he tore off his shirt, tossing it aside.
Conveniently forgotten was the knowledge that he and Oswald always used the Great Hall for their dueling.
It was long and empty with a stone floor that gave good grip.
No, the heat was putting off his sword-work.
That was it. Winston’s chest glistened with sweat, muscles working harder than they ought.
He drew a ragged breath, rolling his shoulders as if force of will alone might restore his rhythm.
Have to focus. Must clear my mind.
Unbidden, he saw Adeline in his mind’s eye. Sitting on the floor of her bedroom, her wounded finger held in his hand, linen pressed to it by his strong fingers. He saw her eyes, her beautiful face. The perfect femininity of her body.
Enough! I am not some weakling to be ruled by my desires!
“Something weighs on your mind,” Oswald observed, circling him. “You’re slower than usual. Distracted. By what, I cannot imagine.”
Suddenly, he grinned. “Or rather, I can, but I’d not be so cruel as to voice it aloud.”
Winston’s temper flared. “Keep your tongue, Duskwood.”
“That is fighting talk,” Oswald said, turning his body to the side, adopting a ready stance. “En garde!”
The next exchange was furious. Winston attacked, but Oswald turned him aside, deflecting each thrust. Sweat stung Winston’s eyes. His breath came faster. He would not yield. He never yielded.
“Shall I hazard a guess?” Oswald said, somewhat red-faced after the fury of Winston’s assault.