Page 10 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Eight

They were not the only ones observing the bears today, however. Two gentlemen and a young girl leant against the railing, looking down on the scruffy, mange-ridden fur and the slow, lumbering animals. Aurora felt a pang of apprehension—with strangers there, she would have to display her most correct behavior. And be found wanting, regardless. Being found wanting appeared to be a theme in her life, ever since she was sent off to finishing school. She wished she could make herself invisible. Or make the other party invisible.

Then she looked at Missie and her spirits sank even lower. Her friend gave a final pat to her hair and smoothed the front of her dress in place, her face assuming its public porcelain-doll look. Please let me disappear. Please. Her mind scrabbled to find a quote from one of her beloved books to put a little more iron into her spine but was too distracted to locate anything of use.

At the sound of their footsteps, the trio at the railing turned around. One of the gentlemen was fashionably dressed, his well-shaped calves hugged by breeches fitted to perfection. He was quite fair, and his slightly reddish hair was sculpted on his head to a staggering height, each lock firmly pomaded into place, while an astounding waterfall of a cravat spilled over the front of his elegantly tailored coat. It was the other gentleman who caught her attention, however. While his clothes were relatively plain in contrast and lacked the elegance of the dandy’s, his broad, powerful shoulders and air of command meant he wore them. (As opposed to their wearing him; what an odd thought, Aurora noted.) His thick, almost-black hair was barbered short and curled slightly behind his ears and on his neck. It was his eyes, however, dark and direct, which caught and held her.

Who could he possibly be? His self-possession was rather intimidating. She stood a little straighter and nervously began pleating the front of her skirt until she was able to stop herself with a sharp, “Just breathe, Aurora. Just breathe.” Because neither gentleman would likely take much notice of her. Why, she was sure they were not even looking at her. Then she realized she was staring at her shoes. Slowly, she raised her head and dared to look at them both again.

They weren’t looking at her. Both gentlemen were staring at Missie, who, in the darkened tower, radiated like a small sun. Aurora was only too aware, once again, she was small and not fashionably thin; her hair was nondescript and mousy; and even though her gown was of the finest green muslin, with a hunter’s green spencer jacket and the most fetching bonnet the milliner claimed she had ever created, she was invisible. Completely and utterly. Why did this not make her feel better?

As the women came closer, the gentlemen bowed slightly and moved off to one side, ostensibly returning to their conversation and watching the bears below. Missie peered over the railing at the sad-looking animals, then turned to the Yeoman Warder and beckoned him over, requesting some food she might throw down to them. All the while, her face remained tilted at the proper angle for the gentlemen to maintain an easy perusal of it. It was a maneuver which filled Aurora with awe, for it was done with such artlessness yet, she knew, years of practice. She was pulled out of those observations by a tug on her skirt.

“Please, miss, is that lady real?” Aurora turned to see the little girl looking up at her. The latter had left her rapt study of the animals to investigate the disturbance to what had clearly been a special outing.

Aurora returned that look with a smile. She was rewarded with a shy smile in response, which began to spread into a pair of dark brown eyes, a perfect copy of the broad-shouldered gentleman’s. “Yes, yes, she is.”

“Oh,” and the little girl let out a long sigh. “She looks much too beautiful to be real.”

Aurora could not help but laugh at that. The men and Missie were studiedly not watching one another while, in truth, intently watching one another, and so she and the little girl were apparently being completely ignored. She found herself relaxing into that invisibility.

“I’m afraid she is. You should see the way she chews her brioche in the morning! Then you’d know,” at which remark her little companion began to giggle. “Did you come to see the bears?”

“Oh, yes. I have been trapped in our rooms with no one for company but Peg for ever such a long time, and I read about them in the guidebook, and then Papa and Uncle Finn—no, Uncle Henry said they would bring me, and here I am. We had to leave Peg at home today as she was completely at an end, so that is why she is not here. Though I do not believe she has a fondness for bears. Then I forgot my guidebook in the carriage, and Papa won’t let me back to fetch it, and I cannot remember everything it says about them.”

“Well, I have brought my guidebook with me.” Aurora flourished it. “Shall we read together?” She flipped through the book to the appropriate spot, and then the two of them headed to the rail to alternately read and look at the bears. Her small companion spent the next several minutes looking between the descriptions in the guidebooks and the sorry specimens facing them in the flesh.

“Poor bears,” sighed the little girl. “I do not think they look very happy. Do you?”

“No, indeed. Quite a disappointment. I expected them to be fierce and growl. These look like they have lived a hard life and are quite exhausted.”

“I should like to see a polar bear some time,” the little girl added a few minutes later, after reading a paragraph which mentioned one of those worthies being an inmate in centuries past.

“Yes, that would be interesting, would it not? They must be quite fierce. It says they let him out to swim in the Thames! Imagine living your entire life in the ice and snow and then coming to London.”

The little girl put a trusting hand on Aurora’s arm and looked up at her. “I like talking to you, miss.”

“And I like talking with you, too.” She found herself stroking the little hand which was losing its healthy color after too many days trapped indoors. “Please call me Aurora. It is the way the best conversationalists address me.” She was rewarded with a dimple.

“My name is Marjorie.” A pause, then, “Aurora. That means dawn, doesn’t it?”

Surprised, Aurora nodded.

“I know because Papa lets me read many of his books. He has ever so many books. I am going to be an explorer, did you know? One day, I intend to circum—oh, yes, circumnavigate the globe in a ship all my own. So, I need to know such things. I especially need to learn about bears, because I might meet some on my travels, and I shall have to know how to behave.”

“Well, being an explorer is a very fine thing. Where shall you go?

“I have not yet decided. Papa said⁠—”

“And what did Papa say?” came a warm baritone behind Aurora. The sound of that voice began to act on her insides like a strong gulp of brandy; she could feel it down to her toes. She jumped and stumbled a bit. The tall, dark-haired man caught her arm and prevented her from falling against the railing. “I am sorry I startled you.”

He quickly released her and stepped away, as propriety demanded. The heat spread up to her face, and Aurora found herself blushing furiously. Conscious of his dark eyes fastened on her, she wished they would turn and look away. She was afraid they would see right through her; she was also afraid they would see her and dismiss her entirely.

“It is time we left,” he continued, as though there had been no interruption. “Come, imp, do not bother the young lady.”

This brought a giggle from Marjorie and another blush from Aurora. She wanted to say something, but knowing they had not yet been introduced, she could only drop her eyes, followed by a slight curtsy.

He bowed in return and reached out a hand to his daughter. “Marjorie, we must take our leave.”