While nothing more was said about the journal, she and Charles still had not shared a bed since that dreadful day Drusilla sent his handkerchief. He was either busy in his study or absent from the house during the day. She realized his presence was called upon by many, but the knowledge didn’t help to make her feel any less lonely. Was this to be the way of things? She feared it was.
Might he and the Frenchwoman have continued their relationship? It seemed unlikely as he was here in his study often and in her company at night. Nellie tried to convince herself she didn’t care and pushed away the throb of pain in the region of her heart. She’d heard gossip about Drusilla and a certain earl, and Arabella Forrester had become engaged to Viscount Blathely.
Her next guest was John Clare, whose rural poetry had made him a celebrity in London. He read two of his poems and was politely dismissive of the applause afterward. When the modest gentleman had departed, Nellie discussed his poetry with Caroline Faulds.
“His poem, First Love, is my favorite,” Caroline said. “First love can be wonderful, but painful. A study of a loss of innocence.”
Nellie wondered whether Caroline had experienced such emotion, as it sounded so heartfelt when the door opened, and Charles walked in.
There was a rattle of teacups. The women rose and dropped into curtsies.
“It seems I have missed the poetry,” Charles said, offering them a smile and a bow.
Nellie thought he’d timed it perfectly. Charles had little time for poetry. She poured him a cup of tea, which he took standing, while the ladies crowded around him.
“Are you a devotee of the arts, Your Grace?” Mrs. Milson asked him, twin spots of color on her cheeks. “Who is your favorite poet?”
Nellie sighed as frustration battled with admiration. Charles managed to slay hearts wherever he went.
“Byron,” Charles declared. “I was sorry to miss his reading.”
Her guests murmured assent and employed their fans.
“Very good, but not quite up to Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” Caroline said stoutly.
“Oh, no. When We Two Parted,” another woman said. “So romantic.”
A fierce discussion ensured.
Charles placed his cup and saucer down on the table. “If you’ll excuse Her Grace for a moment, ladies, I must speak to her.”
In the corridor, Nellie smiled at him. “I doubt you have read even one of Byron’s poems.” She had seen his reading material, farm periodicals, sporting journals, and much-thumbed classics.
A brief glimmer of a smile crossed his face. “One really can’t avoid it. Byron’s poetry and his manner of living are on everyone’s lips these days.”
His expression appeared so grave, she was startled into placing a hand on his sleeve. “Why, what is it, Charles?”
His large hand covered hers and squeezed it, surprising her. “Jason has written to say that he and Beverly have delayed their return to Dorset. Mother’s health has worsened, and he feels we should come soon to see her.” His eyes, shadowed with worry, might have undone her, and caused her to wrap her arms around him, had she not been aware of the ladies in the music room gathering up their things, ready to depart. “You shall have to forgo your literary salons for a while,” he said.
“Oh, but what of that! Of course we must go. I shall have Lilly pack. When do you wish to leave?
“Tomorrow. Thank you, Nellie. I shan’t keep you from your guests.”
“As if that matters,” she said, but he was already striding away.
Nellie tactfully brought the affair to a close. When the last of the guests left, she hurried to her bedchamber.
It had been Lilly’s afternoon off. The maid came in some minutes later. “The butler told me you rang for me, Your Grace,” she said with a bob. “I’m most dreadfully sorry. I didn’t expect you’d need me ’til this evening.”
Nellie explained about their departure in the morning as two footmen carried in the trunk. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” she asked in her dressing room as she considered what should be taken. Had the laundry woman sent back her gray morning gown?
Lilly flushed bright pink. “I did, yes. I…we went to see the troop reviews in Hyde Park. It was ever so exciting.”
Nellie was only half-listening, but she noticed Lilly’s flush, and it gave her a moment’s worry. “Fanny went with you?”
“Oh, no, Your Grace.” Lilly bent her head over a hatbox. “No sense in asking Fanny. She wouldn’t come.”
“Mm?” Nellie concentrated on the last-minute things which must be done. She acknowledged Charles’s suggestion to engage a secretary to be a sensible one. She would look for a suitable person on her return to London. There were several letters to be sent concerning the salon. And she must call on her mother. How long did Charles intend to stay? She would send a footman with a note of apology to Mrs. Perlew at the children’s orphanage she planned to visit tomorrow. James could pick up the boxes of food and clothing promised in the carriage and deliver them.
On the trip to Leicestershire, Feeley and Lilly accompanied them in the coach. The fourgon, piled high with their luggage, had been sent on ahead. Their conversation was desultory, focusing on the clement weather, the state of the roads, the quality of the food at the posting inns where she and Charles had separate chambers.
The warm breeze blew in, ruffling Nellie’s hat, as Peter, seated in Nellie’s lap, put his head out the window to sniff the country smells.
When it was necessary for the coach to stop for the dog, Nellie expected Charles to be annoyed, but he didn’t seem to mind the dog. He even offered
