Chapter Eighteen

After Mrs Selfridge's ball, and as the Season was coming to a close, the ton fell into a slump that only a picnic on the bank of the river Thames could assuage. Lady Tabitha and Lord Thorpe conceived the happy scheme, and in the space of a week, the idea had grown enough that half of London's society vowed to join. By the time Theo arrived with Nathanial, the elected picnic spot was crowded and busy.

"Duchess!" Lady Tabitha said in excitement, and Nathanial took that opportunity to drop her arm. "How delightful you could join us. And Your Grace! I'm so glad to see you both."

Nathanial gave her a brief bow, murmured pleasantries, and at the beckoning of one of his friends, left them. Lady Tabitha tucked her arm through Theo's. "Now, my dear," she chattered, "let us see who is in attendance. I declare it's so very warm!"

It was an unseasonably hot July day, and Theo found herself wishing she had stayed home. Keeping up this endless charade was exhausting; as Duchess, she was often one of the most highly ranked people in any room; everyone vied for her attention, her good will, her favour. And everyone watched her eagerly, waiting for a mistake. A woman's reputation was a fragile thing, long cultivated and easily broken. It would take very little to cut the strings by which it was attached. A mistake like she had made at the masquerade, an indiscretion that was made public, and it would all come tumbling down.

"Sir Montague!" Lady Tabitha trilled, dragging Theo across to where Sir Montague stood. "How wonderful to have found you here! I declare, I had not expected you to come."

If Tabitha was looking for a husband here, Theo could have told her she was wasting her time. Something great would have to induce me into matrimony . That something great was unlikely to be Tabitha and her modest fortune.

Sir Montague raised a brow. "Indeed?"

"Oh, well, yes." Tabitha batted her eyelashes at him in what Theo suspected was supposed to be coquettishness. "Does not the water look especially warm today?"

Theo glanced at the silvery water of the Thames, which in her opinion did not look warm, and wondered how, when she felt so wretched, the sun could keep smiling.

Sir Montague's gaze was on her, and his dark brows drew together. "You are hot, Duchess," he said.

Lady Tabitha snapped open her fan and turned it on Theo with such force, her eyes watered. "Is this better?" she asked solicitously.

As had happened frequently of late, Theo wished to go home. "I'm perfectly well."

"There is a blanket to our left in the shade," Sir Montague said. "Come, ladies, join me and we shall sit together."

"What an excellent idea," Tabitha tittered. "You think of all the best ideas, Sir Montague."

Sir Montague, a lady on both arms, led them slowly to the blanket and sat them down. "Allow me to procure you both something to drink," he said. "It really is extremely hot. "

Theo searched for Nathanial in the crowd, and was just in time to see Mrs Stanton, copper curls bouncing, approaching him with a smile on her face. The lump in Theo's throat grew, and her mouth dried.

"Don't you think Sir Montague favours me?" Tabitha asked in a whisper as soon as he had left. "He was so assiduous in showing us to the shade, and you know, I am inclined to freckle if I am in the sun too long."

Theo blinked, surprised that Tabitha could have deceived herself so utterly. "Oh," she managed.

"Have you noticed? I have my maid bathe my face in lemon juice every night, and I'm sure that's made a difference in fading them." Tabitha motioned to her complexion, which was robust, with no freckle in sight. Theo wondered if the contrast was intentional, given she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. "Can you believe two months ago we had snow?" Tabitha asked with a little laugh. "I declare . . ."

Theo tuned out Tabitha and her comments about the weather and looked again in search of Nathanial and Mrs Stanton. It would be like sipping poison, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. Was Mrs Stanton placing another possessive hand on his arm? Did he accept affection from her when he wanted nothing to do with Theo?

But Mrs Stanton was not with Nathanial after all. She was standing with Sir Montague by the refreshments, their body language taut and defensive. After a few seconds, Mrs Stanton broke away, her head held high, and Sir Montague walked back towards them, two glasses in his hands.

"Wine for Lady Tabitha," he said, handing her a glass partially filled with red liquid that made Theo's stomach lurch to see it. "I thought you may enjoy it."

Lady Tabitha looked as though she had been handed the moon itself. "Oh, you are so considerate," she twittered.

"And lemonade for the Duchess." Sir Montague's dark eyes lingered on Theo's a fraction too long. "You looked as though you might favour something a little lighter and more refreshing."

Theo smiled and took a sip. The bitter sourness of the lemonade almost overpowered her, and she wished they had thought to add some more sugar.

"The Duchess is feeling the heat," Tabitha said suddenly. "Perhaps it would be sensible to leave her for a spell until she's feeling better. Here, Duchess, have my fan."

"You are too kind," Theo said dryly.

"If we take a turn along the shore, I'm sure by the time we've returned, the Duchess will be feeling quite the thing." Tabitha sat up straighter, clearly delighted by the plan that had resulted in her claiming Sir Montague's time for herself. "What say you, Sir Montague?"

"An excellent plan," he said smoothly. "We shall be back for you soon, Duchess."

"Enjoy your walk," Theo said, not finding she minded. Their absence would give her ample time to think about Nathanial and the way he was steadfastly ignoring her. Perhaps he really had given up caring after all.

Sir Montague's dark gaze was on her again, but after a moment he offered his arm to Tabitha and they left. Theo turned her attention to the party around her. There were boats pulled up on the shoreline, a few commandeered by small groups. Laughter hung on the air, as bright and warm as the sunlight.

It was a beautiful picture, and one Theo should have enjoyed. She might have enjoyed it had she been with Nathanial. Had Nathanial wanted to be with her .

She contemplated her lemonade, but it really had been too sour, and the thought of consuming more made her stomach turn. She poured it in the grass. Perhaps they would make a fresh batch with the appropriate amount of sugar soon .

To her surprise, she had not been sitting alone more than five minutes before Sir Montague sauntered back to take his place beside her, sprawling across the blanket as though he had been born there. "I'm surprised I haven't already been superseded," he said. "Are your hordes of admirers absent today?"

"I suspect I'm less admired than you think."

"A beautiful duchess who has Society at her feet?" He tilted his head to look at her, a calculating expression in his eyes. "Or perhaps they don't dare approach you when you look so forbidding."

Theo had to laugh. "Forbidding? Me? You must be mistaken."

"I'm never mistaken, little mouse, and you are indeed forbidding. If I did not know you so well, if we were not such old friends, I would never have dared approach you."

"Liar," she said, prompting a bark of laughter from him. His edged charm and mocking laughter were so far removed from Nathanial's curls and grey eyes, but although Sir Montague looked the part of the hero, she was no longer sure he could sweep her off her feet.

How could he, when her every first thought went to another man?

"I am very glad I know you, Duchess," he said.

A wave of dizziness came over her, and she pushed it aside, forcing a smile for his benefit. "You are an incorrigible flirt."

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but that does not make me untruthful."

"Where is Lady Tabitha?"

"We were fortunate enough to—er—discover a mutual acquaintance."

"You mean you foisted her onto some poor, unsuspecting soul," Theo said, then shook her head. "No, that was cruel of me. "

"Yet not unjust. But as pleasant as she may be on closer acquaintance—though I pray I am not blessed with that —she is no Theodosia."

Theo knew she should feel something at the sound of her name on his lips. Novels had taught her that hearts ought to flutter at moments such as these, but hers remained obstinately still. In fact, the way he looked at her—as though he was a man starving, and she the feast he intended to devour—merely left her with a shimmer of fear, transient as the clouds across the sky.

"I suppose I ought to be flattered," Theo said, the world losing a little of its clarity. She folded her hands on her lap and concentrated on breathing through her nose.

"I never used to believe flattery to be beyond my powers, but now I wonder." The predatory light in his eyes faded as he searched her face. "You look a little pale. Perhaps a trip on the river might soothe you a little?"

There would be a breeze on the river rather than this insufferable heat, and Theo was prepared to sacrifice far more than propriety to feel a little of that breeze on her sweaty face.

"Yes," she said, accepting his hand as he pulled her gently to her feet. "That would be . . . lovely. I trust you are an able rower."

"You have nothing to fear from me, Duchess."

Perhaps that was not strictly true, but she believed she knew enough of his character to know he wouldn't try ravishing her against her will, especially not in public.

And especially not on a boat. There could be nothing less conducive to ravishing than a boat.

Her stomach cramped, and she was conscious of a wish for the shade again. Preferably the shade and the coolness of water. Perhaps she could throw herself into the Thames, propriety be damned .

She did not dare look at Nathanial, if he had even noticed her.

The boat dipped alarmingly as she clambered inside, her legs a little shaky now. The stomach cramps were becoming more pressing, and she was in imminent danger of expelling everything she'd ever eaten.

Breathe .

She had not thought such a simple command could be so difficult.

Her fingers wrapped around the rough wood of the seat, and if it were not for her gloves, it might have given her a splinter. She squeezed, gritting her teeth against the pain and roiling sickness.

"Hold still," Sir Montague said as he pushed the boat off into the water, gathered the oars, and sat opposite her. "There we go."

Cold shivers racked through her, despite the overbearing heat of the sun. She closed her eyes.

"Duchess?" Sir Montague's voice sounded as though it came from a distance. "Are you well?"

The world was not in its proper place. If she reached out to touch it, she would miss. And oh, her stomach hurt unbearably.

"Theo?" He put his oars down and reached towards her. "What's wrong?"

The world tilted on its axis as she leaned over the side of the boat and vomited so hard her body convulsed and everything went dark.