A footman stuck his head inside before they could do that, and Effie’s heart sank. Another delay. What could this mean but that Mr. Nancarrow’s mission had failed?
“We aregoing,” Effie said in a low voice to the boys. “Whatever happens, we aregoingon the trip.”
“Why would we do otherwise?” one of them asked. Effie wasn’t sure who, because he was occupied bracing himself. He straightened his spine and raised his eyebrows at the footman, trying to affect a pose of aristocratic impatience.
“A letter has just arrived for Miss Turner, my lord.”
Effie fell over himself lunging for the letter, belatedly regretting the fervor with which he received it.
“Thank you.” He tucked the letter into his pocket, the effort of not immediately tearing it open almost too much to bear. Usually, he fell on one of Julianna’s letters like a hungry vulture at its first meal in days.
He turned to Archie. “Let us go.”
Archie gazed back at him for several silent beats.
“Please,” Effie added, allowing a note of the desperation he felt to creep into his tone.
Archie nodded, rapped on the ceiling, and they rumbled blessedly off.
“Who is Miss Turner?” Simon asked.
Archie, for his part, said nothing, just regarded Effie with a quizzical expression.
When Effie didn’t answer, Simon pressed further.
“Turner was your mother’s maiden name, was it not? Are you corresponding with a relation of hers?”
Effie knew the question was disingenuous. The footman had said a letter had comeforMiss Turner, notfromMiss Turner. Simon was as quick as they came. He hadn’t missed that.
After a moment of silence while Effie floundered silently, Archie, who had continued to gaze at Effie with a curious expression, said, “Perhaps we ought to stop at my house, after all,” He turned to Simon. “What do you think?”
“I think you were right the first time,” Simon said. “The countess will be surprised by the arrival of a printing press, but she will find a place for it. She’s quite unflappable.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Archie said.
Simon had brought a newspaper into the coach, and it was resting on the seat next to Archie. Archie picked it up and handed it to Simon and got out the beads he worried with his fingers as a way of keeping his mind calm.
Effie had the sense that Archie, with the question and the newspaper, had been purposefully distracting Simon from the matter of the identity of Miss Turner. Effie was grateful.
Grateful and a little guilty. He didn’t like to hide things from the boys. They didn’t do that.
He was ready to confess. But he needed that drink or four, the quiescence that only an Earls Trip could provide. They would settle in at their destination, and once he’d got the rhythm of the place, of the holiday, he would tell them about it.
Abouther.
The letter in his pocket felt warm, which he understood was impossible. But it was crying out to him. Itwantedto be read.
He ordered himself to hold off. Did he want to read the letter hastily and surreptitiously in a close carriage, or did he want to savor it? Let his fingers trace the embossed header on the cream-colored stationary?
Miss Julianna Evans, Editor
Le Monde Joli
Before diving in, he would allow his gaze to slide languorously over her sharp, small hand. Herurs were always formed so similarly to herws, makingturnintotwn. Her uppercaseGwas nearly indistinguishable from her uppercaseSwhen she was exercised over her topic and therefore writing quickly.
Next, he would jump ahead and take in her signature, which for quite some time now had been simplyJE. He still remembered his elated shock the first time she had signed off that way. The familiarity implied by the use of mere initials never failed to give him a thrill.
So, yes, he would wait and read the letter in Brighton.
