The click from the closing of the door echoed in Mary’s mind. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.
Mary made up with Margaret the instant they caught each other’s eye on the way to their carriages. They were finally heading off to the house party, so the time had come when Mary could no longer avoid Margaret. Not only that, but now more than ever she needed her best friend.
It was with expediency and grace that the two embraced, forgave each other, and readily pronounced they would never fight again.
“My dear friend, are you alright?” Margaret inquired.
“Pish posh. Yes, I’m quite fine. Do not overthink what you see on my face.”
“You know me too well.”
“Yes, and you know me more than half as well as I know myself.” The two women chuckled and hugged again. Contrary to the reserve that beset most of theton, Mary and Margaret had never stood on ceremony.
“Come along girls,” the dowager duchess prompted them. “We have hours of travel before reaching the house party and I want enough time before dinner to freshen up.” With those words, a liveried footman in cerulean and gold assisted the dowager duchess into the carriage being led by two matching grays. The bags had been packed and loaded into the trunk earlier, and a basket had been prepared with cold meats, stilton cheese, bread, and wine for their travels.
The ladies settled in for a long ride. The dowager duchess withdrew her needlepoint from a small basket and began stitching perfect little roses in a gardenscape.
Margaret began chattering about all her comings and goings since their small spat. Apparently there were a few such comings and goings of great importance. She heard Lyle’s name mentioned a couple of times, mostly in regards to planning props.
“And did you know how much he loves your play?” Mary nodded. She couldn’t help wondering how much he liked the play or if it was tied to liking her person more. That was a problem for unpacking later.
For now, Mary had her best friend back. There was not really a question of not having her back, only when and how. But the relief she now felt inspired a smile on her face. She could always count on Margaret to be cheery. Margaret was fearless. She was the one to egg everyone on until they did the something they were always talking about doing. She was the instigator. In the best possible ways.
Mary sighed contentedly. It was never possible to have it all together, but having Margaret back as her support was the first step to conquering the rest.
It was with this clear conscience and camaraderie that the carriage containing the three closest women in Gregory’s life took off down the road and after a couple of hours of travel crashed.
Gregory had made it as far as his study before he allowed himself to unleash. He pounded on his desk and reached for the whiskey. He would go out for a ride, nevermind the whiskey. But first, he would write to the Lansdownes to notify them that he would be making that call he had requested earlier. He needed to secure a docile duchess, one he could easily keep at arm’s length. One that could give him an heir and a spare and then let him be on his way. He had plans to throw himself into Vauxhall. Who knows? Maybe he’d take an actress as a mistress again? Whatever he did, it would be to protect himself from ever feeling the pain of losing someone again.
Gregory had just finished a long ride on the estates and warming down Apollo. He was about to enter his study and write the letter to the Lansdownes when Godfrey rushed him.
Godfrey never rushed anywhere. His words and movements were unhurried and deliberate. In fact, Godfrey also never allowed any shadows of emotion to dawn on his face, but at this moment, Gregory could swear he saw a dark hue of consternation.
“What is it, Godfrey? Spit it out man.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Only it is not so easy to…spit. As you request.” He bowed in deference and as a stall tactic.
“Bloody hell, Godfrey, loosen your tongue.”
“There’s been an accident.”
“Who?”
“All of them, Your Grace.”
Gregory shot out of the study like a bullet from a Baker rifle.
Chapter 15
Gregoryquietlyclosedthedoor to his mother’s room where she lay inside with a bruised hip and leg. Overall the physician, Dr. Giles, said she was healthy and only had a few scrapes and bruises, the most damaging being on her hip. For now she was sleeping, and that suited him and the physician well seeing as how he had prescribed bed rest for a week.
Earlier, Gregory had been tending to his sister, Margaret who was a little worse for wear with a broken arm and twisted ankle. She claimed to be fine, despite requesting him to sneak her a few extra fingers of whiskey. She was also on bed rest, but for at least ten days, or until the physician could reassess the strength in her ankle and arm.
Gregory sat in his study sipping some whiskey waiting for the driver of the carriage to finally make his appearance. As his fingers unawares tattooed a beat against his glass, the driver knocked and entered upon Gregory’s invitation.
“Your grace,” his voice trembled as he bowed and nervously twisted his hat in his hands.
“Roger, what the devil happened out there?” He knew his voice was stern, but dammit he wanted answers.
