35. Duty Calls （er, Writes）

35

Duty Calls (er, Writes)

“Mr. Arbuckle! Mr. Arbuckle!” The young lad’s cry reached Silas before he could find his feet, much less his way, after the last few seconds.

Before reaching the full shade of the colonnade, he turned, recognizing the lad who brought the mail. The postmaster’s son, always willing to deliver on behalf of his father, hopeful for any additional custom that might come his way.

The youth skipped to a breathless stop before diving into the shade with the others. Reeling from the hard scrabble of the last moments, Silas followed.

Lungs panting, the lad grinned. “Lucky I saw you, eh? On my way back after deliveries. ’Ave a post for you. Not the one you been expecting, I don’t think. But no one answered either place.”

Either place. Gah. The lad had knocked on Marigold Cottage after not finding him at the residence Viola rented where he’d been the last two weeks? Silas feared his silence—and potential sins—were about to come crashing down about his ears.

Wasn’t quite sure what he thought about that. Wasn’t sure what he thought about anything nor anyone. Not after the last few minutes.

Aphrodite? The dear girl he loved like a daughter, with the near reprobate Warrick? She had come home for the holidays, after all? Had been here —and with him ? The complaintive lordling Silas considered naught but an annoyance—despite Viola’s claims to the contrary.

Why would Silas hold any soft feelings toward the crank of a conceited lord?

Oh, mayhap because your “niece” might be marrying the fellow?

His brains jumbled at the thought. Jumped about and jangled in his garret. Gave him a right aggravating headaching.

Overhearing the boy, Viola stepped to his side and reached for her reticule, to pay for the letter. He stayed her with a hand to her wrist.

“I have it.” She might command more money at her disposal than he could ever dream of, but he could pay for a blighted letter. One he both anticipated and dreaded. But when the letter was delivered into his safekeeping after the exchange of a coin, it was not addressed to him, but to Lord Warrick, of the Ah-bom-in-abel Tyrant’s Abode , followed by his direction. And definitely not in the hand of an adult.

Instead of being insulted, Silas chuckled. Could not manage to keep the quirk off his face as he silently handed the letter over.

Though he was gratified at the flush that reddened the seated man’s cheeks upon seeing how his lack of respect had rubbed off on the impressible youth, the look of alarm as Warrick began reading the missive halted any satisfaction Silas might have savored. “What is it?” he asked with true concern. “Is your family well?”

Are you? the healer in him wanted to inquire, after hearing the voices raised in the pump-room, mocking at first and then in anger. After hearing the decisive pronouncement—regarding his niece’s future—and seeing his patient dive toward the floor and take Lord Verdell down with him? Despite the unprecipitated nature of his insides, he could not help but yearn to take Warrick aside, talk to him, measure his strength and monitor any injury his precipitous actions might have caused.

But none of that was to be. For instead of answering him, Warrick turned to Aphrodite, who, up until then, had remained at his shoulder, like an avenging angel, alternatively frowning at Silas and sending what he could only describe as looks of adoration toward Warrick. “The girls. Sophia. Julia. I need to go to them,” Warrick said abruptly, giving no hint as to the letter’s contents. “Now. Will you come with me? I know I should not ask, but?—”

“Of course I will.”

And while Silas sputtered about the absurdity of such action—Warrick taking off with his niece (Unmarried! Totally inappropriate!)—Viola silenced any further complaints by standing on her toes to whisper, “We shall all go. Straighten everything out in due time.”

The carriage ride north proved…interesting. As various pairs traveled together, with and without a dog delighted with all the new things to sniff, in two equipages: the travel carriage that Warrick had borrowed from Lord Redford and the fine conveyance Lady Redford called her own.

“Miss Primrose. Aphrodite.”

The words Lady Redford spoke to her from the opposite side of the carriage possessed a warmth Aphrodite had not anticipated once it was agreed she and the older woman would travel together in her elegant carriage, leaving Richard with Uncle in the other.

Though she had no doubts how that conversation must be progressing (badly) she had significant ones about how the next few miles might go…

“Yes, my lady,” said with all the deference due someone this intimidating woman’s position warranted. Aye, that was her name, and it wasn’t the least bit gauche and doltish and awkward in the extreme to agree thus.

Once the words were out, though, Lady Redford frowned and, to Aphrodite’s dismay, reached across the carriage and took up Aphrodite’s fretting fingers—gloves certainly hadn’t disguised her agitation—and gave a gentle smile. “Aphrodite, please. I cannot fathom how awhirl your thoughts must be, but as we shall be, for all intents and purposes, family , in the coming months, I would bid you to dispense with any formality. You may address me as Lady Redford , but you do not need to. I will very comfortably answer to Viola, if you wish and can bring yourself to address me thus.”

“Vi-o-la?” Scratched out as though ’twas Aphrodite—and her horrid lack of musical talent—that scraped a horsehair bow across the strings, producing a wretched sound indeed. She swallowed the pebbles in her throat and tried again. “F-family? Has Uncle proposed?”

With a light squeeze, Lady Redford—definitely not a Viola as of yet—released Aphrodite’s fingers and leaned back against the squabs. Here was a woman in full possession of her composure, exhibiting nowhere near the swirling morass that threatened to beggar Aphrodite’s brains at the moment. “Oh, you are darling. To think thus. Nay, and I do not anticipate one in the coming weeks. A proposal, that is.” The woman pursed her lips, not in frustration or anger, but in contemplation it seemed, before releasing them. “Not that a proposal would be amiss. I could bring myself to take delight in the thought, but nay. After wretched years of marriage endured in stoic resolve, returning back to that state is not something I am eager to embrace so soon, so not what I intended to imply.

“After how close I grew to Rich’s mama, Lady Warrick, dear Elizabeth”—the way Lady Redford near sighed the name, the grief of loss was still fresh—“after how I watched him suffer along with my dear Ward, why, he’s become like another son to me. That is what I refer to. For his claim that you were his future wife rang unmistakably, both stout and sure, through the pump-room for all to hear.

“And unless I have lost all ability to judge matters—which I doubt—that is something you are inclined to be amenable toward?”

As though Lady Redford’s supportive attitude released Aphrodite from hesitation, her words poured forth. “Oh yes, very much agreeable, amenable, thrilled toward. Although now that I hear myself, I do sound rather juvenile in my exuberance, do I not?”

Lady Redford granted her a light laugh. “As exuberant as your charge, Lady Harriet, perhaps?”

And there it went, the flush that had been absent for minutes, flaring heat into her cheeks and bringing her palms up to slap them as it went. Her eyes flew wide, aghastment hitting her as well, as the reality of that situation slammed into her for the first time. “Harriet! Oh my word. Lady Ballenger will be fit to faint if I leave their employ. Whatever will?—”

“Tut-tut. Dear, refrain from spanking your cheeks, if you will? That will never do for a future countess.” With a single slide of her gloved index finger, Lady Redford indicated Aphrodite needed to lower her arms and fold them in her lap, which she did, almost without thought.

Nay, for her thoughts were now fixated upon C-O-U-N-T-E-S-S . Lap bound, her fingers threatened to strangle the life out of each other.

“There now. See how much more composed you look? One may not control how the body responds—and you do have a tendency to blush beyond that of reason”—said with another of those indulgent smiles—“but you are very intelligent. Lovely in an unusual way, once one gets beyond the shock of your hair color—I have known of courtesans to rely upon henna and prayer to get anything approaching that shade. And your background?—”

Aphrodite groaned. A deep-throated gargle that was in no way ladylike. She kept her fingers clenched amongst each other, to keep them from flying upward. “I know. ’Tis completely inappropriate for Richard—I mean Lord Warrick—my background, that is. For him to even conceive such…”

Another smile. A decisive twinkle in her expression, telling Aphrodite that Lady Redford found this entire situation highly amusing and much to her liking.

At least one of them did.

“We shall return to that in a moment. As to Lady Ballenger? How she will react upon learning you are leaving their household? We both know should the sun shine, she will complain about it. Should a cloud pass over and grant shade? Why, the very outrage! Should the temperature be mild and warm? ‘Oh, ’tis a horrid, horrid day full of flies and sundry buzzing beasts!’” The portrayal now had Aphrodite, if not outright giggling, then definitely smiling, for Lady Redford could mimic her employer down to every nuance of her shriek and mannerisms. “If the outside weather deigns to be cold? ‘Harri et! Fetch my bonnet! My shawl! My cloak! No, wait. I want my pelisse first! The one with fur trim. Nay, not that bonnet, you silly girl, the one with the two peacock feathers, not the single broken one.’”

By now, the two of them were howling with laughter, the sort that quickly drowned one’s eyes with mirth.

Aphrodite knew Lady Ballenger loved her daughter, in her own way, for there had been touching—if infrequent—moments of true affection between them. Lady Ballenger was much like other mothers of the ton Aphrodite had encountered. Even if she was—at times—more involved than some, the woman left the rearing of her child, and the curbing of that child’s rumbustious behavior, to the governess.

“You portray her startlingly well,” Aphrodite complimented when she managed to mute her gales of mirth some moments later. “But Lady Harriet will no doubt be distraught. She and I have grown quite close in the nearly three years I have been with them.”

“I did not know the exuberant miss, not excessively so, before my Ward came to his senses after a mental delay and applied himself to courting her sister, but Lady Anne impressed me from the moment we met through letters she wrote, condolences upon the death of my other sons and spouse. No matter how forthright and inappropriate Lady Harriet might be at times, take heart. For there could be no one more appropriately behaved than her elder sister. I have every faith that with time and additional years in her cup, Lady Harriet will mature as well, whether you are there to guide her in that or not.

“As to how Lady Ballenger will take the news?” Lady Redford drew herself up and conformed her features into that of haughty expectation, a stark contrast to the amusement and friendly mien of moments before. “That is no longer your concern, and something you must remind yourself as often as necessary. For you, my dear, will be Lady Warrick , and you will be her equal in every way except in intellect and manners. For I am not hesitant to state that you exceed her in both. I do believe Anne and Harriet get their wits from their father.”

Be her equal in every way… Exceed her in intellect and manner… Get their wits from their father… “You also have no hesitations being forthright with me.”

A deep breath that lifted her chest and firmed her posture before Lady Redford admitted, “I stifled my personality, stifled my words for years. Gazing back, I now realize I married an emotionally stunted man and was forced to depend upon myself for every ounce of affection and company I might wish. It makes one very independent. Very observant, those years of watching without responding.”

Enrapt by the revelations Lady Redford continued to divulge, mayhap Aphrodite could begin to think of the woman as Viola…

Even though she had not yet spared a moment to begin to appreciate the grandeur of the carriage within which they rode. For who would have ever dreamt Lady Redford, Viola, the exceedingly polite, if somewhat reserved mother-in-law Aphrodite had witnessed interacting at times with Lady Anne and the other Larchmonts could have this…nearly maternal, caring aspect to her?

“During the second half of my unpalatable marriage, when Redford no longer made any attempt to appear anything but the scoundreling wastrel that he was, I slowly started, resisting his demands, countering his opinions—only in private, you see, never in public. Because I had been taught that appearances were everything. In our society, they are.

“But, perhaps fortunately for all four of us—you and I and the two men we care for—after suffering so many losses the last three years, I have decided I am quite beyond all of that. I will speak my mind when it suits me and go about my life however I wish. My sole goal is to not harm others, but beyond that?” Lady Redford gave a dismissive flick of her hand. “I care not what anyone else thinks. If I did, do you think I would have convinced your uncle to take me promenading today? And are we not thankful I did?”

After those startling revelations, Aphrodite could do naught but nod.

“Be advised—and this is not something I shall admit to my daughter-in-law, cherish her though I do—I worry what Ward will think when he learns of my, now public and obviously intimate association with a surgeon. Think you it does not occur to me that if I support you and Rich, he might be willing to lend his support toward me and Silas? Temper any resistance my son might hold?”

Aphrodite’s heart sank. “Then you might be speaking in my defense for naught. Richard does not like my uncle. Not at all. Refers to him as The Tyrant. Well”—Aphrodite had to clutch her fingers even tighter, press them firmly against her thighs, to not raise them to her lips—“that is no longer any secret, not given how his sister’s letter was addressed.”

Which had Lady Redford laughing anew. At least one of them thought it funny. Aphrodite didn’t. The only two men in her life hated each other? How did that bode for her future?

And what of the second letter, the one that came just as they were leaving Marigold Cottage? The one also addressed to Richard—but much more formally. The one he’d had no time to read and share with her, as he had the first? That first letter, penned by young Sophia, a heart-rending combination of childishness and maturity that even now sat, read and refolded, within the confines of Aphrodite’s reticule.

“Come now, child. I see your worry. Do not fret. For there are things Silas must explain to you, things that will give you leverage to gain his cooperation.” And with that inexplicable hint flitting about the air between them, Lady Redford concluded with, “Fret not about any of it. Richard cares nothing for society, not since the accident. While his outrageous charm may not have been extinguished, his desire to live only for himself died a swift death with his mother’s. I have seen how he now thinks of the future, and more for his brothers and sisters than himself.

“And, lest you wonder, my primary motive for assisting you is not to gain his cooperation. Nay, that is simply a lovely benefit I thought of and aired betwixt us. Be at ease and exhibit confidence.” Another pointed finger circled Aphrodite where she sat, reminding her to appear serene whether she felt it or not. “Together, we shall see things set to rights, somehow. Starting with your employers. Your former employers.”

“Despite the constant challenge she presents, I will miss her, very much. Lady Harriet…”

“As it should be, for someone who cares.”

A change of scenery as the carriage jostled merrily—and swiftly—along drew her attention beyond the window. Staring at nothing as the view blurred past, she spoke. “It was very kind of you to lend your carriage to our journey homeward. Very competent and admirable, how quickly you summoned back Lord Redford’s servants and had his carriage made ready as well.”

In truth, the last two hours had been a blur—every bit as disorienting as the view. Once Richard determined he was returning to his siblings, and with an attitude that made it clear nothing would dissuade him, Lady Redford, operating with a quiet firmness Aphrodite could only admire and commit to memory, said, “Silas, see to locating my son’s servants, if you would?” (Explaining that he had already remarked during the past days seeing them outside a stabling house, so he knew where to start.) “Command they see their employer’s carriage made ready posthaste.”

Between that and hers, despite the lack of household servants, the four of them trunked up travel belongings, saw them loaded with the help of the groomsmen and coachmen, and were on their way in less time than Aphrodite ever knew nobility to move.

Uncle had stopped Richard when he pushed up from his chair and started to alight—with the help of Lady Redford’s coachman—into her carriage, had suggested—in a way that everyone knew was not a request—the men ride together while the ladies had a “coze” to themselves.

“I can scarce believe it.” The words were but a whisper, reflected back to her as she had edged closer to the window, finally releasing her nervous clutch and lifting gloved fingers to slide against the glass. Glass that had chilled the farther north they traveled. “Even now, think I must be dreaming. That we will stop, change horses, and I will learn he has been but toying with me. To think? Imagine? Even the notion of a life with him…”

“You do realize that he may never walk fully again? Silas confided to me his doubts and uncertainties on that.”

“I know.” Her whisper grew even softer, now that her eyes brimmed with moisture of a different sort, no longer that of mirth but misery. The edges of her upper teeth scraped over her lower lip as she turned to Lady Redford, met her gaze and held it. “I know he may never walk. I know if he does, it will not be with ease, and likely not for long. I do not care. It is not his legs that make me love him.”

There. She had finally admitted it, and out loud. Seeing no censure at her words, if anything even more understanding on the features that she would have—previously—labeled imposingly regal, but that now seemed comforting, her voice strengthened. “I love his wit, however inappropriate. I admire his strength—and I’m not talking about that of his arms. I know he’s been hurt, but the way he speaks of his sisters? His brothers? Why, they could have been of his loins, the way he cares for them. Seeks only to provide the best home possible.”

“What of your children? If he cannot give you those? Babes of your own.”

And for once, when her face should have flamed, when embarrassment should have heated her skin to a boil, it did not. She remained in confident control—what a marvel. “I would consider myself the most fortunate of women to bear his children, but more for him than even myself. Nurturing his siblings will succor any yearning I might have toward a child of my own. I can imagine growing old with him without any other children to bless our lives. But—but—” A sigh shuddered through her chest. “I cannot imagine how barren my existence if I must grow old without him.”

“If he does not heal beyond where he is now, you will have many years of hard work ahead of you, seeing to his comfort.”

“I am aware of that. And are you aware of how many years I will also have being dismayed to frowns and startled to laughter by his bawdy wit?”

Lady Redford released her own composure long enough to laugh until she coughed. “Well said. I see you do know him well. Well enough to love him.” Then the woman shocked her silly, when she rose and joined Aphrodite on her side of the carriage, bringing arms about her and granting her the most comforting and welcome of hugs.

Some moments later, when Lady Redford had retaken her own bench, she ordered, “Tell me what you know of your family. What you remember of your parents.”