Chapter 23 #2
When she next saw him, which version of her duke would it be? And how could she go on, day after day, trying to navigate Missie’s hardening attitude towards her?
Yes, she was completely at sea when it came to Alec Raeburn, Duke of Selkirk. Completely at sea and unable to swim. She also was coming to fear Missie might push her head under the water and keep it there.
* * *
Two days after her Hampton Court outing, Aurora had claimed a slight cold and begged off Lord and Lady Cumnor’s ball.
You are afraid, she had chided herself, of facing him again.
Afraid of which Alec Raeburn she would meet that night.
She knew she had taken the coward’s way out.
Well, so be it. At least for this one occasion.
Which was how she found herself waking up to the sound of Lucy efficiently scraping out the grate and quietly placing the coals in the hearth so that she could start a fire to break the early morning chill.
“Good morning, Lucy,” and Aurora sat up in bed and stretched luxuriously.
Lucy jumped. “Good morning, miss. I hope I did not wake you.”
“No, no, you did not. I had a slight cold last night. Nothing of consequence. I feel wonderfully healthy this morning. If you would bring me a cup of tea—and no need to light the fire. It is warm enough today. I do not need one.”
“Yes, miss.” Lucy smiled at her and quickly headed out the door and down to the kitchen. She was back relatively quickly with a cup of tea, though this time without a tray. “I know how you like it, miss, and I thought you would appreciate not having the tray in your way.”
“Wonderful, Lucy.” She accepted the cup and saucer in her hands and took a quick sip. “Oh, Lucy, I have been having the most delightful time. At least, I think so. Most days?” She sighed. “How I still miss home.”
“Will your parents be coming, miss?”
“They have written me that they are delayed,” and here Aurora reached for the latest letter from home, which she kept next to her bed.
“Papa is poorly, and Mama does not think he is well enough to travel. It is about time for the strawberries to ripen. You cannot exactly go berry picking in London.”
“No, miss,” and Lucy’s heart-shaped face looked regretful at the prospect of being far away from the easy reach of strawberries to pick.
“I especially miss my father.” Aurora couldn’t stop herself from saying that out loud.
“London, what I am doing here. The Season. It is so very different. I know that he is in trade, but … have you ever been inside a cloth manufactory, Lucy?” Saying those words out loud brought their reality into this painted and delicate world she was currently inhabiting.
And they didn’t fit. And neither did she. She felt like such an imposter.
“No, miss. I have heard of them, miss. A cousin went up north to look for work in one of those places. But not me, miss. I stay close to home.”
“I do understand, Lucy. I wish I could stay close to home as well.” Aurora took a moment and then continued, “They can be fearsome places, manufactories. They can be dark and noisy. The equipment can be dangerous. But they do not have to be. No, there is always a choice.” Her mind drifted off into memories of home.
She came to herself and saw Lucy still standing there, waiting for what she was going to say.
Aurora wasn’t sure. And then she knew: she very much wanted to see Marjorie again.
She had wanted to bring the topic of Marjorie up with the Duke multiple times, but it had never seemed like the moment.
Or the right thing to do. One did not discuss sailing ships and small children at balls or concerts or other outings.
Perhaps if they had not been interrupted at Hampton Court and had been able to continue their conversation?
Well, there was nothing she could do about it now.
Soon. She would talk with him about Marjorie soon.
Seeing Marjorie would tell her, perhaps, which Duke of Selkirk was the real one.
Seeing Marjorie, perhaps, would be—relaxing.
Comfortable. A relief. Because, apart from anything else, Marjorie was most definitely real.
She might serve as a tonic for all of this: the Season, the Ton, her confusing duke, her homesickness. All of it.
“And I am wool gathering again. A habit I cannot seem to break.” She paused and took a deep breath.
“Now, for today. I have been feeling very guilty, Lucy. I have not been to the park to see Marjorie in the past three weeks. Our first event today is an afternoon picnic, so it is safe for me to make a quick trip there and back. No one is out of their rooms before noon anymore, it seems, so I will not be missed. Please find me something that will survive the wear and tear of boating,” at which she—and then Lucy—laughed, “and then let Mrs. Philipps know that I shall require your company.”
“Yes, miss.” Lucy’s face filled with delight.
It seemed only a matter of a moment before the phaeton was in front, and Aurora and Lucy got on board for the drive to Kensington Gardens.
They were early this morning, which suited Aurora just fine.
She wanted a chance to breathe some free and open air, smell the flowers, and stretch her limbs.
She wished she could actually run down the pathways herself.
But one thing the past few weeks had taught her was restraint, and she only let her exuberance show by walking so rapidly, Lucy had to follow at a trot to keep up.
Finally, however, it was nearing half ten, so they made their way to the boat pond.
Marjorie was already there, disconsolately poking at her boat with a long stick while Peg attempted to coax her into a good humor. Her face, when she caught sight of Aurora, broke into a huge smile. Aurora stopped and saluted.
“Lieutenant Hardcastle reporting for duty, captain.”
“Aye, aye, Miss—I mean, Hardcastle. Secure the ship.”
Peg and Lucy went over to ready the toy ship while Aurora and Marjorie proceeded to discuss what direction the wind was blowing, which evolved into an earnest analysis involving the mathematics of wind speed and direction, and the frequent wettings of index fingers and extending them into the breeze for more accurate calculations.