Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Whether it was like being caught up in a whirlwind, or falling down into a chaotic dream, it seemed the matter of a moment before Aurora Hardcastle came fully back to herself, blinking and bundled into the Wentworths’ carriage on her way to her parents’ home.
The world slid once again into focus, but her shoulders remained up next to her ears.
She was not ready to relax yet. They had three days to endure before they arrived.
Three whole days. Packed into a carriage with a glacial Missie.
The party’s large size came as a surprise to Aurora.
But Lady Wentworth was clearly in charge of the entire operation, so she decided the best way forward was to make a quiet retreat.
How bad could it possibly be, she asked herself, juggling her nerves and her eagerness to return home?
She soon discovered the answer: an eternity of awfulness.
The horses kept up a good pace as they left the city and headed northward.
The day was warm, and the carriage well insulated, so the windows were down in the hope of encouraging a breeze.
Aurora was seated on one side (she had graciously consented to ride backward; frankly, she was so excited to be going home, she did not care), with Marjorie tucked up beside her.
They faced Missie, whose mask was so tightly held it looked as if it might shatter at any moment.
Lastly, the carriage’s full complement included a drowsy Lady Wentworth.
That esteemed party was wearing an enormous bonnet adorned with three-fourths of a large bird’s worth of feathers, obviously relieved at least one half of her duties was nearly done, while hopeful that the second was well on its way to being secured.
For not only were Lord Wentworth and Aurora’s intended, the Duke of Selkirk, on horseback accompanying the carriage, but the Duke of Galloway was also riding along with them.
Despite the comfort of having Marjorie seated beside her, Aurora had trouble suppressing a most decided feeling of envy of the men’s relative freedom.
The only sounds inside the carriage were an occasional gusty exhale from Missie, the eventual ladylike snores of Lady Wentworth (How can she sleep on these roads, even if this is a well-sprung vehicle, wondered Aurora), and the soft breathing of Marjorie at her side.
Missie’s silence was so forbidding that, as the ride continued, the little girl scrunched herself up smaller and smaller in a vain attempt to render herself invisible.
Missie, for her part, pointedly ignored Marjorie, with an obvious rejection the child could not help but notice.
That morning, when Missie had realized the Duke of Selkirk’s daughter would not only be accompanying them on the ride but joining them in their carriage, her displeasure was clear.
Her raised eyebrows telegraphed that she judged the young girl should be travelling with the servants in a secondary equipage.
Though she was careful the Duke himself did not see her reaction.
Aurora was left with the distinct impression that if Marjorie had found a way to fit herself into a pocket of her light travelling coat and not, simply, under her arm, she would have done so.
Feeling like a captive en route to freedom, or the guillotine, she could not decide which, Aurora looked out the window, not really seeing the passing countryside.
Would she miss the city which was rapidly receding behind them?
Truth to tell—no, not really. The one painful moment was saying goodbye to Lucy.
The young girl had become teary, as had she.
She had considered long and hard about bringing Lucy with her, but she knew the housemaid still had her family in London and was therefore reluctant to drag her away from them.
But Aurora had ascertained Lucy was able to read and write and left her direction with her so Lucy could reach her at any time, should she need a reference or, simply, to let Aurora know where she was and that she was well.
It was not the thing, she knew, but Lucy had been the truest friend she had found in the bustle and noise of her time in London.
Perhaps, once things were settled, Aurora could arrange to bring Lucy to wherever she found herself.
She was therefore able, for the moment, to tuck Lucy away while she concentrated on the task in front of her. Or tasks. Or thoughts. Which were many.
She glanced at Missie. Her erstwhile friend was deliberately staring out the opposite window, pointedly ignoring her.
Marjorie nuzzled in a little closer to Aurora’s side.
She quietly hugged the little girl, smiling down at the upturned face.
Content for the moment, Marjorie closed her eyes, leaving Aurora once again to her deliberations.
All right, time to face them. Item the first: Missie was upset about Selkirk being chosen for Aurora.
In fact, she was furious. On the one hand, it made sense: Aurora’s long-time friend was competitive, and what she wanted she usually got.
She had said so. And she was not getting this.
Which she had admitted as well. But was Missie truly in love with Alec?
Careful, Aurora, she chided herself, they were not yet on a first name basis.
Do not try to run before you have learned to walk, her father taught her when she was small.
Safer to call him the Duke of Selkirk and keep her own feelings out of it.
Though that immediately failed, and she tumbled back into the next thought: was Alec in love with Missie?
She slammed the possibility down, but it crouched in her brain like an evil toad.
Item the second: Missie was ruthlessly practical.
Aurora had seen that for herself, time and again.
Missie well knew Selkirk’s financial situation meant he was not the man for her.
Besides, she had another terribly eligible and extremely wealthy duke paying court to her.
She should be entirely pleased. Crowing over it to Aurora, in fact.
Her beau was not quite as dashing in looks.
Yet he was most definitely a Nonesuch, a Pink of the Ton in terms of his appearance, manner, and dress, and he was infinitely the better catch.
In addition, Missie’s duke, Galloway, was—item the third—not encumbered by a dead wife and a small child. Two facts which Missie had made clear were items to be placed firmly in a suitor’s demerits column.
It was more than a muddle. It was a confusing and painful mess. And each mile made it a heavier one.
The silence grew in the carriage. Aurora could hear the murmur and occasional laughter of male voices outside, the rumble and creaking of the vehicle they were in, the horses’ hooves on the hard packed road and, distantly behind them, the sound of another carriage.
Ah, yes. The aforementioned smaller coach followed them at a slower pace, containing Peg, Archibald, and, to that particular party’s infinite dismay, Hyacinth.
Along with the bulk of the luggage. This was the Duke of Selkirk’s older and shabbier conveyance, which was why he had not used it at all while in London.
Its driver must have put on some speed to cut the distance between them.
Or, no, they were slowing down slightly to rest the horses?
Oh, I give up. Missie. The strategy of carriage drivers.
She did not care. She only wanted to get home.
Nearly three days of this. How will I make it through? She longed for the pair of trousers in her small valise. If only she could put them on, jump on the back of a horse herself, and gallop away from all of this. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.
“How fare you, my imp?” The abrupt sound of a baritone male voice startled Aurora out of her reverie. She looked in the voice’s direction and saw the Duke of Selkirk’s face, peering in the open window at his daughter. Marjorie had emerged from under Aurora’s arm and was smiling up at her father.
“I am well, Papa.”
“And how are you behaving? Are you causing any trouble to her ladyship, Miss Wentworth, or Miss Hardcastle?”
Marjorie looked up at Aurora for confirmation. That gave her a moment to catch her breath and smile down at the Duke’s daughter. She regained her self-possession enough to give Marjorie a wink.
Marjorie smiled back and attempted a wink in return. She turned again to her father. “Tolerably well, Papa. All ship-shape and Bristol fashion.”
“I should hope so,” he replied. He doffed his hat to Aurora and to Missie, each in turn. “Miss Hardcastle. Miss Wentworth.” Lady Wentworth had slept through the entire exchange, so Alec pulled away from the window and returned to his conversation with the men.
Aurora gave a sigh, though she wasn’t sure if it was relief or regret.
Alec’s focus was entirely on his daughter, it seemed.
Well, that was as it should be, was it not?
He was to be Aurora’s husband. There would be plenty of time for attention as they got to know each other.
This was not a romance, after all. It was all logical, sensible.
She received a title; he obtained a fortune.
And a mother for Marjorie, too. With a little reassured sigh of her own, Marjorie inserted herself back under Aurora’s arm.
Missie continued to pointedly ignore both Aurora and Marjorie, seemingly fascinated by the view visible from her side of the carriage.
Alec’s physical presence, looming in the window, had stirred the careful détente which had been achieved, and any order into which Aurora had organized her thoughts splintered in a million different directions.
Again. As they were wont to do when he was near.
She did not attempt to guess what was going through Missie’s mind.
As the carriage inexorably trundled its way to her home and her parents, Aurora recalled the short note, addressed to her and written in Alec’s own hand, which she had received the morning after his proposal. She had read and re-read it so often over the last handful of days, she had it memorized.
Dear Miss Hardcastle,
As we discussed, my daughter, Marjorie, has been notified of the prospect of having you form a close and personal relationship with her.
She is most delighted and wished me to convey that delight.
In point of fact, her response was quite exuberant.
Several cushions on the sofa experienced the joys of flight, but none, I am happy to report, sustained a substantial injury upon landing.
I look forward to finalizing our plans for the drive north.
Your obedient servant,
Selkirk
She didn’t like to think herself an especially sentimental person, but said note was safely tucked inside her reticule and carried next to her person at this very moment.
As was the said daughter. Who was not looking particularly exuberant at this moment but, yes, contented would be one way to describe her.
Aurora smiled, settled back, and closed her eyes. Perhaps all would be right in the end, settling itself nicely. However, she did not entirely believe herself.