Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
London smelled different than Bearmoor.
Alice noticed it the moment the carriage turned onto Park Lane: coal dust and horse dung and the faint mineral tang of the Thames, layered beneath the perfume of cut flowers from the sellers who lined the pavement.
She had grown accustomed to clean moorland air, and the city felt close and heavy around her.
The boys had taken the return badly. Freddie had declared London boring before the carriage crossed into Mayfair, and Charlie had pressed his forehead to the glass and watched the countryside vanish without speaking.
Three days into their return, Alice sat in the morning room reading an invitation on cream card stock.
“The Countess of Pembroke requests the pleasure of our presence,” she announced. She turned the card over. “A garden party, next Thursday.”
Kenneth looked up from his correspondence. “Accept it.”
“Truly?”
“We are in London. We must be seen.”
The door swung open. Freddie entered first, Charlie close behind.
“A party?” Freddie planted himself between his father and the desk. “Can we come, Papa? We have been trapped in this house since we arrived. There is nothing to do. Please!”
Charlie stood near the door, his eyes fixed on his father’s face.
Kenneth set down his pen. He looked at Freddie, then at Charlie, then at Alice. She raised her eyebrows.
“If you run amok,” he said, “we leave immediately.”
Freddie’s shout of triumph echoed off the ceiling. Charlie’s mouth curved upward, small and satisfied.
Thursday brought a sky so blue it looked painted. The Countess of Pembroke’s garden occupied two acres behind a Kensington townhouse and had been transformed for the occasion into a pleasure ground.
Lanterns hung from the linden trees despite the afternoon sun. A string quartet played beneath a striped awning. Guests moved across the lawn in clusters of silk and linen, their voices carrying over the clipped hedges and gravel paths.
Alice and Kenneth were announced at the garden gate, along with the boys. Alice felt the shift at once: heads turned, conversations faltered and resumed at lower volume, and the quality of attention she had learned to recognize settled over the nearest guests like a change in weather.
“They’re staring,” Charlie said. He stood close to Alice, his shoulder nearly touching her hip. “Why are they staring?”
“Because Papa is a duke,” Freddie said, striding forward. “And dukes are interesting. Come on.”
Charlie did not move. Alice looked down at him. His face was composed, but his fingers curled around the seam of his jacket, twisting the fabric.
“They are curious,” Alice murmured. “Curious is not the same as unkind.”
Charlie considered this.
She placed her hand briefly on his shoulder. “Stay close to me until you feel ready.”
Kenneth walked ahead, his height and bearing cutting a path through the crowd.
“Bearmoor,” a voice called across the lawn, deep and unhurried.
A tall man approached, his blue eyes twinkling. A dark-haired woman walked beside him, her arm linked with his.
“Silverford.” Kenneth’s voice warmed by half a degree.
The two Dukes clasped hands, and Alice saw Kenneth’s posture ease fractionally, the same loosening she had observed around Jonathan.
Silverford turned to her and bowed. “Duchess. I don’t believe we have met. Dominic Barrow, the Duke of Silverford. This is my wife, Annabelle.”
The Duchess of Silverford had bright, intelligent eyes and a smile that reached them. She was younger than Alice had expected, and she greeted Alice by pressing both her hands between her own.
“It is an honor to meet you,” she said. “The ton cannot stop talking about the woman who has tamed the twins.”
A boy appeared from behind Dominic.
“This is James,” Annabelle added. “Dominic’s nephew. He has been dreading this afternoon.”
The boy merely smiled and moved a bit closer to her.
Freddie stepped forward and inspected him. “Can you climb?”
James blinked. “What?”
“Trees. Can you climb them?”
“I… haven’t tried.”
“There’s a massive oak past the fountain. Race you.”
Freddie was gone before anyone could intervene. James looked at Annabelle, received a nod, and followed at a more measured pace.
Charlie remained at Alice’s side. He was watching the retreating figures, caught between longing and caution.
“Go on,” Alice encouraged.
“They didn’t ask me.”
“Freddie believed you would follow. He always does.”
Charlie looked up at her. His brown eyes held a question he would not voice, and she recognized it because she had carried it through every ballroom and drawing room during her first three Seasons. Would she be welcome? Would anyone notice if she arrived, or care if she didn’t?
“You are faster than Freddie,” she said. “You told me so yourself.”
Charlie straightened. He smoothed the front of his jacket, a gesture so like his father that she nearly laughed, and walked toward the oak.
He did not run, but his pace quickened as he crossed the lawn, and by the time he reached the other boys, Freddie had grabbed his arm and was pointing upward into the branches.
Annabelle stepped beside Alice. “He is a quiet one, isn’t he?”
Alice nodded. “He sees everything. He takes longer to trust what he sees.”
“James is the same. Dominic worries about him. I tell him that quiet children are simply paying closer attention than the rest of us.”
The two women shared a knowing smile before Dominic led Annabelle off, leaving Alice and Kenneth alone.
Kenneth rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at her. “Well, thank you. For encouraging Charles to join the boys.”
She looked up at him. “You’re welcome.”
“I…” He glanced around, then cleared his throat.
“Alice!” The voice cut through the garden hum, bright and familiar.
Alice turned. Lucy crossed the lawn at a pace that bordered on improper, her yellow dress billowing behind her, her face split by a wide grin.
Kenneth stepped back. “I should find Jonathan. He mentioned he would attend.” He nodded to Alice and moved toward a cluster of men near the refreshment tent, his broad back disappearing into the crowd.
Lucy seized both her hands. “I was beginning to think the Duke had locked you in a turret.”
Alice laughed. The sound surprised her, rusty and real, and Lucy’s grip tightened as though she could hold it in place.
“No turrets. Though the castle does have one that Freddie has claimed as his fortress.”
Lucy pulled her toward a stone bench beneath a pergola draped in climbing roses. They sat, and Lucy turned to face her, tucking one leg beneath her skirts in a fashion her mother would have found scandalous.
“Tell me everything. Is he as terrifying as they say he is?”
Alice shook her head. “He is not terrifying.”
“The Gazette described him as ‘formidable to the point of intimidation.’ Their words, not mine.” Alice frowned at that, and Lucy’s expression shifted. She studied Alice’s face, her eyes narrowing to bright slits. “You are fond of him.”
“He is my husband.”
“That is not an answer.” Lucy leaned closer. “You are very fond of him. I can see it. Your cheeks turn pink when you mention him.”
“They do not.”
“They are pink now.”
Alice pressed her palms against her face. Lucy was right. She could feel the heat beneath her fingers, traitorous blood rising to betray every word she had not spoken.
“He is not what I expected,” she said carefully.
“He is stubborn, distant, and he treats his daily schedule as though abandoning it would cause the collapse of the monarchy. He eats dinner in his study. He speaks to his sons as though they are junior officers awaiting deployment.” She lowered her hands.
“But he also defended me at a dinner party in front of fifteen people. He hired an investigator to find Rachel when my own father abandoned the search. He carried both boys to bed after the village fair because they fell asleep in the carriage, and he would not let the footman do it.”
Lucy said nothing. She watched Alice’s face and waited.
“I am in trouble, Lucy.”
“You are in love.”
“I did not say that.”
“You described a man who eats dinner alone and carries sleeping children, and you looked as though a lamp had been lit behind your eyes.” Lucy took her hand. “That is love, Alice. Or its nearest and most dangerous cousin.”
Alice stared at the gravel path. A bee droned between the roses above them. She could hear Freddie’s voice from the oak tree, faint but unmistakable, directing operations.
“We… We kissed. Twice. The first time, he just pulled away and left. And the second time… he called it a mistake,” she said quietly. “It was after the dinner party. He kissed me, and then he told me it was a mistake.”
Lucy’s fingers tightened around hers. “Men say foolish things when they are frightened.”
“Kenneth is not frightened of anything.”
“Every man is frightened of the thing he wants most. The ones who seem fearless are simply better liars.”
A shadow fell across the bench. A young man in a blue coat stood before them, fair-haired and slightly flushed, his hat held at his side in a grip that suggested he had rehearsed this approach several times and found the execution more taxing than the preparation.
“Your Grace. Miss Walsh.” He bowed. “Lord Fenwick. We were introduced at the Ashworth musicale last month. I wondered… That is, if you are not otherwise engaged, the Countess has a collection of Cattleya orchids in the conservatory… Quite rare. I understand you have an interest in botany, and I thought perhaps you might enjoy…” he trailed off, his color deepening.
Lucy glanced at Alice. The question was silent and unmistakable.
“Go,” Alice whispered. “I am perfectly content.”
“You are certain?” Lucy whispered back.
“Lord Fenwick is offering you orchids. I am offering you a stone bench. The choice is hardly a difficult one.”
Lucy smiled. She rose, smoothed her skirts, and took Lord Fenwick’s arm. “I shall find you later,” she said over her shoulder.
Alice watched them cross the lawn, Lucy already asking a question about root systems that made the young man’s face brighten.