Chapter 12 #2
“In Scotland. Miles and miles away from here. It seemed to take days to reach London. I was never so tired. I read my guidebook to prepare me. And then it rained and rained, and Peg and I could not go out. Papa got very grouchy and wouldn’t play and went to his club.
Now the weather is sunny, and Peg and I come every day it is fine. ”
Aurora looked down at the sparkling eyes. Marjorie’s exuberance was catching. She felt her spirits lifting as she listened to the little girl and watched her gesticulating with the stick for her sailboat. Heedless of her own dress, Aurora knelt down by the side of the Pond to get a better look.
A great deal of care and detail had gone into the carving of the ship.
This was no tiny, crude child’s toy. If stood on its prow, the vessel’s length from stem to stern would have been almost three-quarters in length of Marjorie’s height.
It was clear its source had been a fine piece of mahogany, and the craft gleamed from the evidence of many coats of wax and much polishing.
She even had ports for several cannons, and the rigging was done with precision.
The ship possessed several sails, made of sturdy linen, to help her catch the wind.
Miniscule coils of rope were affixed to the deck, and Marjorie demonstrated its working hatch, which was secured with a hook but could be raised to reveal the hollow interior.
A figurehead was affixed to the prow, which had been carved with no shortage of expertise to resemble the individual who now claimed pride of ownership.
“See how well caulked she is? She has never leaked! Papa is very clever,” said Marjorie.
“Yes, he is,” replied Aurora, trying to balance in her mind those fierce dark eyes making something as domestic as this toy.
But then, this was more than a toy. This was a piece of superior artisanship and skill.
And something that, she acknowledged, would usually have been carved for a son rather than a daughter. Curious.
“He was a soldier, not a sailor, and he fought Napoleon very bravely.” Marjorie had not noticed that Aurora’s mind had meandered away in its usual wool gathering; she pulled her focus back to the young girl.
“He made the ship because he said it did not remind him of the battles he was in. He said it made him think of freedom.” It struck Aurora again that it wouldn’t have occurred to Marjorie that toy sailing ships were not usually made by fathers who were members of the Ton; it had also clearly never occurred to the Duke.
Aurora could read the love of the man for his daughter in each tiny detail.
It was unusual, and something she had never imagined an actual duke doing.
It made him a little less of an imposing figure and more, well, more human.
Aurora found her initial impression of the Duke of Selkirk shifting in her mind through her encounter with his child.
Without thinking, she reached out and smoothed the little girl’s hair, tucking a curl behind her ear.
For a moment, Marjorie rested her head against Aurora’s hand.
Then she stepped back and, taking one of her fingers, wet it and stuck it out in the air.
“Uncle Finn—I mean, Uncle Henry taught me to do this to check for which way the wind is blowing. This will tell us where to launch the ship so it can make it across the whole Pond. Would you like to see how fast my sailing ship can go?”
“Yes,” and Aurora clapped and cheered for the jaunty craft as it set off on its progress across the Pond.
The slight breeze filled the ship’s sails and helped propel it forward, aided by an occasional judicious poke with the long stick.
She was glad there was wind today. Otherwise, all the poor boats would be beached or simply pushed around the Pond’s perimeter by their young owners.
The breeze tugged at her bonnet, and she checked to ensure it was still securely tied under her chin.
Lucy had stayed in the background at first and then, as Marjorie’s ship took part in a race with two other sailboats out on the Pond that morning, had happily joined in with the cheering.
Aurora had the sudden sensation her longer-than-allotted time had passed, and she now had to return to Eaton Square; the sun was much higher in the sky than it should be.
She and Marjorie circled the Pond to where the ship was coming into port and leaned together to pull it the short distance back to the shore.
“Marjorie, I must leave you now.”
“Oh, must you?” Disappointment puckered up the child’s face. “Can you not stay for a while as yet?”
“I am sorry, but no. I must prepare for my first London concert this evening. I shall be missed, and they will all be terribly cross with me. But this, this was delightful. Thank you.”
Marjorie momentarily grew very quiet, shrinking into herself, a reaction that touched Aurora to the quick.
She recognized that response. It was what she had done, as a lonely child, and her remembered pain reached out to the little girl in front of her.
She leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“It is not good-bye. Rather, au revoir?”
“Au revoir. That means until next time?”
“Yes, it does. We shall see each other again. However, now, I must go.”
Marjorie threw her arms around Aurora’s neck and pulled her down to her and then released her. “Au revoir, Miss Aurora. Come see me again soon. I hope you enjoy your concert.”
“I am certain I shall. At least, I shall do my best to try and enjoy it. Though I am just as certain it will not be as fun as watching you sail your ship. She is a fine, seaworthy vessel and a craft to be proud of.”
Aurora reluctantly unfolded herself to stand tall and separate once again.
Mindful that she had sadly crumpled this dress (she could already see Hyacinth’s mouth thinning into that narrow line she had learned to dread), she waved goodbye and headed back to the phaeton.
Lucy followed behind, flushed with the excitement of her first outing as a real lady’s maid, and clearly undaunted by the experience.
Altogether a satisfactory outing. Except that it was now over.
And she had stayed too long. There would be a scene.