“I’ll take you driving in the park. We might ride.”
“Papa only keeps the carriage horses in the city.”
He was aware that Dountry’s finances were in difficulty. It was only temporary, Dountry had assured him. But Charles suspected he might be financing him in the future. “No matter. I keep a good stable and shall provide a mount for you.”
“I would love to,” she said, appearing warmer than she had a little while ago. “I miss riding when in the city.”
He glanced at the rain and cursed beneath his breath. If they could be alone, he might discover what worried her. A thought came unbidden. Might there have been another man in her past? Someone Dountry disapproved of? Was he still in her thoughts? It wasn’t that Charles was jealous. A man had to be deeply in love to suffer that excruciating emotion. But he dashed well didn’t want some fellow prowling around his wife. Surprised at the direction his thoughts took, he sighed inwardly as the music slowed.
Chapter Seven
Nellie rested her arms on the windowsill of her bedchamber and gazed down at Grosvenor Square. The family had been in London for a week, and for most of it, the weather had been dreary. A stultifying week of accompanying her mother on morning calls, where the wedding was discussed over the tea tables.
The drizzle continued, the sky a washed-out gray, the trees in the park drooping with the weight of a recent deluge. Rain in the city was not like rain in the north. It didn’t smell fresh and sweet as it replenished streams and revived the gardens and woodlands. It merely formed brown torrents in the gutters and splattered the carriages with sooty water.
Earlier, she’d taken Peter to the park, but hadn’t remained there long. Ordinarily, she liked to walk in the rain, but not here where people hunched beneath their hats and umbrellas intent on reaching their destinations. Was that a glimmer of watery sun she spied between the clouds? Probably not.
Nellie turned from the window. The long afternoon stretched ahead. Marian and Gerald had gone to their Kent estate because his mother suffered from another of her ailments. Her sister declared them to be imaginary and attention-seeking, for her mama-in-law always rallied at the sight of her son.
She wandered the room, picking up books and discarding them while thinking of Charles. He had suggested a carriage ride in Hyde Park, but so far, the dismal weather prevented it. She wished she didn’t feel so absurdly disappointed. There was the Brocklehurst’s soiree this evening, which Charles would attend. She hadn’t seen him since the day he left Dountry Park. That Sunday, the rain kept them indoors, ruining their last day together. With the diva’s performance after dinner, it had been impossible for more than a snatched conversation alone. Their parting had been formal with the whole family present to wave goodbye.
A maddening thought slipped uninvited into her head. Had Charles already encountered Drusilla in London? Nellie wished her cousin’s news hadn’t rattled her so much. She shrugged. How vulnerable one was to be marrying a man who didn’t love you.
Despite her fears, it would have been pleasant to be out in a carriage with Charles this afternoon. The Brocklehurst’s reception rooms this evening would be crowded and make conversation impossible. She wandered over to examine her pale blue muslin with white lace decorating the puffed sleeves and neckline, chosen for this evening, and the matching blue silk slippers Lilly had placed in readiness. It was decidedly missish, more for a girl of eighteen than a woman of twenty-two. Nellie was determined that once married, she would wear more dramatic silk gowns in rich colors, deep violet, gold, and crimson.
It wasn’t like her to mope. She owed Aunt Bea a letter. Nellie sat at her desk with a sheet of bond. Picking up her quill, she dipped it in the inkwell and addressed the letter. She paused when no words came to her. Her mind filled with thoughts of Charles. His lean, handsome face. She wished she didn’t find him quite so attractive. Sighing, she replaced the pen in the holder and then moaned in dismay at the smudge of ink on her finger.
The clip-clop of horses drew her to the window again. A smart, dark blue curricle had pulled up outside. She couldn’t make out the livery of the groom in his oilskin coat and dripping hat, who stood at the horses’ heads. Their footman rushed out with an umbrella and shielded its occupant from view as their visitor was ushered into the house. Her father was at his club. Mama had mentioned an afternoon caller, but Nellie hadn’t paid much attention to who left their cards. They would be sent away, for Mama complained of a headache. She had drunk an infusion of feverfew and was resting.
As Nellie scrubbed at the stubborn ink stain with a piece of pumice, their butler knocked on the door.
“Lady Cornelia, the Duke of Shewsbury is here to see you.”
Nellie’s wet hand went to her hair as excitement and consternation filled her. “Is my mother still resting, Hinkley?”
“I believe she is, Lady Cornelia.”
“Please ask the duke to wait.”
As the door closed, Nellie whirled around. She wore a dreadful house gown of faded lemon. And Lilly had gone down to the kitchen to heat the iron, to remove creases from Nellie’s evening gown. She whipped open the wardrobe and pulled out the first dress that caught her eye, Pomona-green cambric, which wasn’t too crushed. Struggling out of her morning gown, she drew on the green, then attempted to do up the hook and eye at her nape. One would need to be a contortionist like the one she once saw at Drury Lane to fasten it. With a moan of disgust, she gave up and rushed to the mirror. Her upswept hairstyle had been slightly disarranged in the act of dressing. She
