The driving team pulled up something they called a barouche, which was like a convertible carriage. It was exactly like the one I’d seen the Queen of England in during a parade. Charles and I sat in the back, facing forward, and Hartley sat across from us.
I hadn’t been in many carriages, but it seemed like we were going really slow. It took me a minute before I realized what was going on. “We’re cruising the strip.”
“Pardon?” Charles asked.
“Back in . . . at home, when I was sixteen, we used to get in our cars, er, carriages and go cruising. Driving up and down the street to see who was there and to be seen.”
“Precisely,” she nodded. “The more people that see us together the better.”
We stopped often and spoke to people in carriages going the opposite direction, or to individual men on horses who rode up alongside us. Charles would whisper the names and titles before the conversation started.
“That is Lord—”
“Goring,” I cut in. “Lord Goring.” I had met him at our dinner party. “Him I remember because it rhymed with ‘boring.’” The only thing he wanted to talk about was filling up his stock pond and the types of fish he liked to catch. Not only that, but he spoke without any inflection in his voice at all. It was worse than you could even imagine.
“Emma!” she hissed under her breath, but I’d been careful not to say it too loud. Hartley looked way too entertained.
Sure enough, it was every bit as awful as I imagined. In a robot monotone. Something about salmon or trout. I briefly fantasized about punching him in the throat, just to see if that would make his voice change at all. Or if it would keep him from talking about fish. To distract myself, I looked at his funny pants. They went to his knees, with white stockings below. There were even little bows involved. I was very glad Hartley wore those awesome boots instead of something like this getup.
Finally we were on our way, and I let out a sigh of relief. “I feel really bad for that guy’s wife.”
“Lord Goring is unattached,” Charles told me, just before she inclined her head to a woman in another carriage.
“That superexciting guy is single? I’m shocked.”
“I’m certain he could wed if he chose to do so,” Hartley said. “But he seems the sort not likely to be married.”
“Is he gay?”
He slightly frowned, considering. “Yes, on occasion he could be considered a merry fellow.”
“No,” I leaned forward, closer to him, hoping Charles wasn’t listening in, or else there’d be a lecture. “I mean, does he prefer men to women?”
“Miss Blythe!” Hartley sounded like a scandalized schoolmarm. I half expected him to start clutching some pearls. “That is not something you should even know about, let alone speak about.”
“Sheesh. It was only a question. Although it’s not fair that he has better legs than I do.” I tugged on the end of my skirt, looking down at my feet in my impractical shoes. Hartley laid a hand on top of mine, presumably to stop me from exposing my scandalous legs to the world. I’m sure he didn’t mean to turn my nerve endings into fireworks.
He lingered for a second longer than he should have and then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “total lack of inhibition.”
We arrived at our destination, and Hartley leaped out first to help us out. I didn’t need the help, but I wasn’t going to pass up on yet another opportunity to hold hands with him, however briefly. Even if that did make me lame.
He offered both me and Charles his arms and escorted us to a tiny little table. Even if part of me chafed under these societal rules, I sort of loved how proper and formal he was. He managed to make me feel protected. Safe. Cared for. Like I was special. The princess in my own personal fairy tale. Seriously, chivalry was fun. I liked that he opened doors, pulled out my chair, and assisted me in and out of carriages. How he was on the lookout for traffic and ruffians, as he called them. I knew somewhere back in the future there was an entire classroom of women majoring in feminist studies who would burn me in effigy if they knew what I was secretly thinking, but it was true.
I tipped my face up to the sun, closing my eyes as I soaked it in. When I opened my eyes again, I found Hartley studying me. He cleared his throat and asked what we wanted. It didn’t matter as long as it was ice cream.
There were only a few tables set up, and waiters were dashing across the street to the parked carriages lining the maple-shaded square. The carriages were full of eligible women and their chaperones. The men were on horses and on foot, flirting with them.
Personally, I was glad I didn’t have to eat while seated behind a horse’s rear end.
Hartley had listed off some flavors like lavender and bergamot (?), and then he said the magic word.
Chocolate.
“Shut up.” Both he and Charles stared at me. “Sorry, that’s a good thing. It means I’m both excited and shocked by what you just said.” Not only did they have ice cream, but they had freaking chocolate?
“Am I to take it that you want the chocolate?”
I wanted that chocolate more than I’d ever wanted anything else in my entire life. Including Hartley. “Um, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes to chocolate.”
He smiled at my enthusiastic response. He had no idea how much I was actually holding in because we were out in public. The discovery of chocolate was a climb-up-on-the-table-and-scream-for-joy kind of moment. They should be glad I was behaving. Charles said she would have the same. He left to go and get my chocolatey chocolate ice cream.
“Excellent choice,” she said, observing the crowd around us. “The chocolate here is strong, dark, and delicious. Much the same way I prefer my men.”
That made me laugh, which caused Hartley to turn around. My breath caught as I realized for the millionth time how handsome and tall he was. I had to disagree with Charles, though. I didn’t want my men dark. I wanted them fair.
Forcing my gaze away so as to not make a scene, I watched as the waiters carried ice cream in all different colors and fruit shapes to various people. There was even one shaped like a steak. Don’t get me wrong, because I love ice cream, but there was something inherently wrong with a meatsicle.
A waiter approached while I kept sneaking glances at Hartley. When he discovered that our ice cream was already taken care of, he asked if there was anything we’d like to drink. I was so distracted I said, “I’ll just have a Sprite.”
I immediately realized my mistake when the waiter said, “A sprite? Like a pixie?”
Presumably there were no carbonated sodas yet. I gave him a tight smile and said, “I’ll just have what she’s having,” nodding my head at Charles, who placed our order.
“There is our prey, right on time,” Charles murmured. I followed her gaze to see a fashionably dressed husband and wife and their daughter being seated at one of the tables. Everyone was trying to catch the woman’s gaze, but all her attention was focused on her little girl, who I guessed to be about nine or ten years old.
“Our prey?” We weren’t going to do something weird to them, were we? Would magic be involved? I didn’t ask. I never asked Charles about how magic worked or what she could do. To be honest, I didn’t want to know. Yes, it was cool that it existed, but I figured the less I knew about it the better I could sleep at night. Because for every Harry Potter, there was a Lord Voldemort. I did not need to spend my nights worried about the potential evil warlock invasion. My imagination was already wild enough, thanks.
“That is the Duchess of Warfield. She is the key to your success. Now all you have to do is go over and charm her.”
Charm her? Had Charles met me?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
First aid classes (I wonder if Hartley will let me demonstrate CPR on him?)
“Please talk some sense into your aunt,” I said to Hartley when he returned with our ice cream. I dug in but was disappointed. This was definitely not Be
n & Jerry’s. It was still ice cream, and still better than no chocolate, but their chocolate was weird. Like it needed milk and sugar. Maybe I could invent that, too.
“What scheme has she hatched now?” he asked as he sat down.
“The Duke and Duchess of Warfield go to Gunter’s every afternoon the sun is shining,” Charles said. “Danvers discovered that for me this morning. Apparently, their daughter loves ice cream.”
Well, of course she did. Because ice cream was the best thing ever.
Even though the taste was off, it occurred to me that it might be due to it being pure food. I’d noticed that my skin was healthier, clearer. That I’d lost weight. There were no preservatives or additives in my food, no pesticides. It was probably the first time in my life I’d eaten real, actual food on a regular basis.
“So what’s her story?” I asked Charles. I needed some background detail if they expected me to try and befriend her.
“Lady Louisa was the only child of a wealthy earl. Her mother was known for her influence amongst the Whigs and as one of society’s most popular hostesses. Her parents wished her to marry into the royal family so that she could influence—”
Hartley interrupted. “Although why anyone would wish that on their sole offspring is beyond my comprehension.”
Charles continued as if Hartley hadn’t spoken. “As you can surmise, Lady Louisa was quite the thing. Beautiful, wealthy, impeccable heritage. She fell in love with the very poor Duke of Warfield, and her parents forbade the match. So Lady Louisa arranged to be deliberately caught in a compromising situation with the duke, which set off a series of other young ladies following suit and also being ‘caught.’ The rash of forced marriages they had that summer.” She shook her head, but I saw the hint of a smile.
I watched as the duke reached out for the duchess’s hand, gazing at her adoringly. It was enough to make anyone’s heart flutter. “I think it’s sweet when people are that in love.”
Except for maybe Tin Man Hartley. “Grand passion is a refuge for those who have no imagination or little else to do.”
What? A man down on true love? What a surprise. I only just refrained from rolling my eyes.
He went on. “Their feelings for each other are unnatural.”
“Unnatural?” They’d probably be shocked at the places my mind went. “How?”
“The duke and duchess are never out of each other’s sight. They are annoyingly and openly affectionate with each other. And they both relentlessly dote on that child. They’ve refused to engage a nurse or governess for her.” He said it like this was the most scandalous and unbelievable thing ever.
“That actually sounds pretty natural to me.”
He raised that one eyebrow, only this time it wasn’t because he misunderstood but because he disagreed.
“When a dog gives birth, she doesn’t turn her puppies over to a dog of lesser breeding to raise.”
He leaned forward, letting his ice cream melt. Which felt like a shame. “Are you comparing nobility to dogs?”
“No.” I licked the back of my spoon, watching as his eyes followed the movement. “I wouldn’t want to insult the dogs.”
I could tell he wanted to laugh. But it probably would have ruined his street cred to have done so in a place like this. Instead his eyes just danced, making parts of me melt.
Charles had apparently tuned out our entire exchange. “The duchess has taken an oppositional political stance to her mother and does what she can to spite her. Including, the countess says, not having any sons to inherit the duchy. Lady Elizabeth is their only child that has survived infancy.” She turned, giving me her full attention. “Apart from the blood feud with her mother, the Duchess of Warfield is loved and respected by nearly the entire ton. She sets fashion trends, and where she leads, everyone follows. If she takes a liking to you, there will be nothing else to concern us.”
“Right.” I sucked in a shaky breath, suddenly nervous. I used a napkin to wipe my lips, not wanting melted chocolate to ruin any chance I had.
It was then that the duchess looked at me, and with one cold glance, dismissed me.
“Wait. Does she know who I am?”
“Of course,” Charles said. “She knows who everyone is.”
“Did you not just see the glare of death? She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Come, I am going to arrange an introduction, and you will be a smashing success, I am certain of it.”
“I witnessed the ‘glare of death,’ and I’m inclined to agree with Miss Blythe. I think this is going to blow up spectacularly in your faces.” Hartley just had to add his two cents every chance he got.
“You are such a cynic,” I said to him.
“There are great advantages to being a cynic. You are always right and rarely disappointed.”
That was it. I would show him. I would make this duchess fall in love with me. Not romantically, obviously, but whatever the friend equivalent of that was, I was going to make it happen.
How, I had no idea.
Charles and I both stood, and I couldn’t believe how much my hands were shaking. None of this mattered. I was going to go home, and James would marry somebody acceptable, and this would just all be some fond memory I’d pull out from time to time. There was zero reason to freak out. I needed to calm down and trust in all the things Charles had taught me. This would work out, and everything would be fine.
Just as I was pumping myself up, the daughter started to make a noise. Her face turned red, and I realized that she couldn’t breathe.
“Darling, are you all right?” the duke asked, concerned.
The little girl shook her head, still unable to breathe. She gripped the sides of her table, trying hard to draw in some air.
“Henry, do something!” the duchess shrieked, looking totally panicked. Seconds ticked by, making me worry. Wasn’t someone going to step up to save Lady Elizabeth? Did they not know how?
The duke pounded on her back, but it wasn’t enough to help her. The little girl’s face was turning a bizarre shade of purple, and I decided it was time to intervene.
As part of my lifeguarding duties last summer, I’d learned several lifesaving techniques, including the Heimlich. I ran over and pushed the duke out of the way. I wrapped my arms around Lady Elizabeth, and just as I’d been trained, I pulled back and up once, twice, and then the third time a large nut came sailing out of her windpipe. She collapsed to the ground, crying and heaving in air.
Her parents huddled on the ground next to her, hugging her. The duchess was sobbing, pressing her daughter close. Relief flooded my system, and I hadn’t realized how wound up I’d actually been. I had been so focused on saving Lady Elizabeth that my own fear over the situation was just now kicking in. Not wanting to intrude on this private family moment, I started to go back to my table when the duchess reached out, grabbing my hand. She tugged me toward her.
Taking in a large breath, she stopped crying. “Miss Blythe,” her voice was shaky. “I do hope you will do me the great honor of calling on me tomorrow. Because you are most welcome in my home anytime.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, yes. I would love that.”
The duchess squeezed my hand while the duke said, his voice thick, “Thank you.”
I nodded back, feeling like it would have been weird to say “you’re welcome” to that. Plus, I wasn’t sure I could speak. The duke and duchess were making me really emotional. You could see how much they adored their daughter.
It made me glad that I had been there to help them.
When I did make my way back to Charles and Hartley, there was a look of respect and pride on Hartley’s face that made my toes curl and my pulse flutter, and Charles looked giddy. “Brava. That was even better than I could have hoped for. Everyone here heard what she said. It is all managed. There is nothing else we need do.”
The only thing we needed to do was deal with the James situation, if he ever showed up. And find that magic book. But it did make my shoulde
rs feel lighter to realize that I didn’t have to keep trying so hard to impress everyone. I’d saved the Duchess of Warfield’s daughter, and it was about to make life a lot easier.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
* * *
Our visit the next day went even better than we could have hoped. The duchess was all sincere smiles and graciousness and had been beyond kind to both me and Charles. She thanked me so often that it had started getting embarrassing. Like I was some kind of hero when I’d just done what anybody would do. Well, anybody who’d had modern first aid training.
The house was flooded with invitations, as apparently all of London wanted to have us over. Just as Charles had predicted, now that I was in with the Duchess of Warfield, everybody else wanted to be my friend, too.
“When Hartley sees that all of society adores you, he won’t be able to resist!” Charles crowed as she went through the invitations.
“James,” I corrected for the umpteenth time. She didn’t respond and just wore a calculating smile that made me more than a little worried.
Deciding that I needed more dance tutoring before we went to a ball at some place called Almack’s, she sent for Mr. Watson. I decided to hang out in my room until he showed up, as all her frenetic planning was starting to make me feel unsettled.
That feeling was only exacerbated when I got to my bedroom. I didn’t know how I knew it, but something was off.
It might have been due in part to Sir Reginald being perched on my desk, which I’d never seen him do before.
My locked desk, where I kept all my future stuff hidden away. The locked desk to which I had the only key—a key which I had hidden under a loose floorboard I’d discovered in my room. The desk drawer was scratched, and it hadn’t been done by the cat. Somebody had been in here and had tried to break into my desk.
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