Part of her wanted to abandon this silly quest to watch Lady Winnifred and seek Daniel out, as he was so close by. Only, that would be…well, it would be better to assiduously do her assigned work, no matter what she thought of it. It would demonstrate to Melville that she was above such pettiness.
She sought for the word. Yes. She could be professional. Serious-minded and dedicated, no matter what Melville dished out.
Adele squeezed the handle of her parasol and sailed into the overpowering heat of the tent, heading for the table where Lady Winnifred sat. As she approached, she put a smile upon her face.
The debutantes, including Winnifred, all looked up at her approach. Winnifred looked startled. Something—a wisp of emotion—crossed her face too quickly for Adele to properly identify it. Her lips parted.
Then the chaperone, who had her back to the entrance of the tent, rose to her feet, closed her book with a thud and said, “I believe a stroll by the river, to take in the cooler air is in order, Winnifred.”
“Yes, of course,” Winnifred said, instantly rising to her feet.
“Oh, and I was about to suggest we have tea together,” Adele said, her throat and back prickling with discomfort.
“You are too kind, Lady Adelaide,” the chaperone declared. “But we’ve just finished. Please feel free to use our table.”
Lady Winnifred bobbed a curtsey at Adele and moved around her, with a little grimace that might have been an apology. All three ladies swept passed Adele, as the chaperone strode from the tent, a duck leading her ducklings.
Adele drew in a breath and let it out. The air in here was miasmic.
She heard a trill of laughter, hastily smothered, from somewhere else in the tent.
To leave so quickly would look far too obvious, but she was sick of society nonsense and it was simply too hot. So she turned on her heel and moved out of the tent and into the sizzling sun. Across the enclosure to the dappled shade in the south west corner, close to the water where the rowers were competing.
A horn blared from the start line, up the river by the bridge, announcing the start of the next race. Inside the enclosure, some of the spectators turned toward the river, but many turned back to their conversations, too.
Outside the enclosure, the spectators were far more vocal and enthusiastic. They lined the river’s edge, shouting and waving, encouraging their favorite team to victory. Most of the men wore shirt sleeves, rolled up, which looked very cool and comfortable. Many of the women had unbuttoned their top buttons, revealing flesh at the base of their neck.
Among them, leaning against another shady tree, was the grey-suited Phillip Cowden, esquire. He was watching the race, his notebook in hand, but when he noticed her gaze, he straightened and gave her a short, shallow bow—more a nod of the head.
She nodded back. She had spotted Cowden at Wimbledon, too.
Cowden returned his attention to the race and she continued on to where Daniel was sliding along the bench to make room for her.
Adele sank onto the space he had vacated for her. It was improper to sit amongst such a concentration of men without a single other woman to keep her company, but Adele simply did not care.
“You look hot and harried,” Daniel said, without formal greeting.
“I am hot. And very harried.”
He held out his drink. She took a deep swallow and enjoyed the pleasant bite of mint and some sort of alcohol that went well with it. Adele did not drink very often, so she was not familiar with spirits. “Very nice, for a day like this.” She wished she had a fan. Instead, she put up her parasol to protect her back from the sun, which seemed to beat through the muslin of her dress and make her flesh sizzle.
“Are you still trailing that poor girl?” Daniel asked. He kept his volume down, but made his tone light, as if he was asking about her social calendar.
“I would be, if she hadn’t just cut me off completely,” Adele admitted. She frowned. There was something about that moment which lingered, tapping at her thoughts for attention.
“Oh, no…has she caught on to you?” Daniel asked.
“No, it was the chaperone who whisked them away…” Adele frowned even harder. “Although I wouldn’t blame Winnifred in the slightest for trying to avoid me. I have been rather a leech lately and she is only eighteen. Having a widowed woman trailing after one must surely be a strain on even the most docile of debutantes.”
Around them, the men all rose to their feet, shouting and encouraging the racers as the sculling shells drew level with the enclosure. The finish line was just in front of the enclosure, too.
Daniel drew in a breath and let it out. “Then stay here beside me,” he said, his tone urgent. No one would hear him above the shouting around them. “I know this work Melville insists is so important is nothing of the sort. You know it, too. I’ve seen the girl more than once. She can’t possibly be anything but the lavender and rosewater debutante she’s supposed to be. This whole business is a charade.”
“M teaching me a lesson,” Adele added, with her own sigh. “But I think that’s the point, Daniel. I think we’re both supposed to know the work is a gesture, and I think I’m supposed to do it, anyway, as faithfully as I can.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Daniel ground out.
She tapped her parasol handle, thinking. “To demonstrate we can be relied upon,” she said at
