“When did you start worrying so much? You know better than anyone how careful I am with these people. Now, let’s taste this cheese.”
Chapter 12
Corporal Harding called on Elizabeth the very day he'd returned from Wexcombe. Being clearly shown she was someone’s priority made her feel giddy and important. As the two of them sat in the exquisitely decorated drawing room that was her mother’s pride and joy, he asked Elizabeth to accompany him for a walk in St. James’s Park the following afternoon.
“Your mother is free to join us, of course,” he said nervously when he saw Elizabeth frown.
“It’s quite all right, Corporal Harding,” Elizabeth hurried to reassure him. “My aunt Isolde will accompany us. She is my chaperone for all outings this season.”
Oliver’s relief was visible on his face. The unspoken reason hung between them for a moment. Elizabeth resented it, although she knew she couldn’t blame him. Her mood darkened.
Has he ever had a mistress?She suddenly wondered, then scolded herself for the inappropriate thought, but was unable to stop entertaining it.He is a man almost a decade older thanI, surely he’s had some… experience? Perhaps in the military. Maybe a French girl?
Despite what Elizabeth knew about herself, the thought didn’t ignite any jealousy in her.
“Excellent,” Oliver said, “I’ll pick you two up at 5 tomorrow.”
Elizabeth barely slept a wink that night. She was being plagued by the memories of her last (and only) visit to St. James’s Park, a visit she never talked about. Her mother knew about it, of course, but the woman was a master at pretending and avoiding the less rosy aspects of their lives.
Where would she be today if her father were still alive? Lizzie had the gnawing feeling she wouldn’t be attending balls and house parties. Lady Burnham had told her about some noblemen who’d acknowledged their base-born children, but those children were usually male, and those men were almost always unmarried.
Did my father love Lady Madeline?She wondered.Would he have hidden me away forever to avoid hurting her feelings? Or was he in some way indebted to her, in terms of funds perhaps?Then, a most horrifying thought struck Elizabeth.Was the late duke ashamed that he had procreated with a woman so far beneath his station?
That was the thing with deceased fathers: one would never get the answers to all the questions that one had. Some time before dawn, she finally rose from bed, giving up the pretence of sleep altogether, and went to the kitchen, where she made herself some chamomile brew.
“You’re up early, Lady Elizabeth,” the young maid, Susan, exclaimed in surprise.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Let me help you with that,” she offered, walking towards the kettle.
“No need, Susan, thank you. You can go about your usual tasks, I’ll take my brew upstairs and try to rest for a bit.”
“Very well, milady.”
Elizabeth was tempted (not for the first time) to instruct the young woman not to address her that way, but she was aware that it was all part of the new life she’d accepted by becoming Nicholas’s sister, no matter how dishonest and disingenuous it felt.
Just a few years ago, she could have been working at the salon with Susan, sitting side by side, complaining about rude and demanding customers. Today, she felt the young woman’s obvious relief when she left the kitchen.
Elizabeth managed to fall asleep for a few hours and was in a much better mood when she woke up. She had breakfast with her mother as usual, then wrote some letters before washing up and getting ready for her walk.
Mary pinned her hair up in a way that would allow her to don her new bonnet, whose exquisite garnet ribbon was sure to liven up her buff-coloured cloak. Despite how pleasant March had been, April had surprised them all by reverting to winter.
Even Aunt Isolde had no choice but to nod in approval when she saw her walk down the stairs.
“You even remembered your gloves this time.”
Elizabeth hadn’t. Mary had.
“Not entirely hopeless, then, am I?” Elizabeth teased her aunt.
“Time will tell,” Isolde answered, utterly serious.
Corporal Harding arrived at the promised hour in a rented carriage. As much as it pained Elizabeth to see him waste his money on it, even she knew better than to make him feel inadequate by offering to use her private carriage instead.
The three of them merrily chatted on their drive to the Park, exchanging news and pleasantries, and complaining about how dirty the air in London was.
“I’ve never appreciated Wexcombe more!” Harding exclaimed. “Returning to London after a fortnight in the country feels like a punishment. Only such terrific company makes it worthwhile.”
