Page 41 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Feeling like a captive en route to freedom, or the guillotine, she could not decide which, Aurora looked out the window, not really seeing the passing countryside. Would she miss the city which was rapidly receding behind them? Truth to tell—no, not really. The one painful moment was saying goodbye to Lucy. The young girl had become teary, as had she. She had considered long and hard about bringing Lucy with her, but she knew the housemaid still had her family in London and was therefore reluctant to drag her away from them. But Aurora had ascertained Lucy was able to read and write and left her direction with her so Lucy could reach her at any time, should she need a reference or, simply, to let Aurora know where she was and that she was well.

It was not the thing, she knew, but Lucy had been the truest friend she had found in the bustle and noise of her time in London. Perhaps, once things were settled, Aurora could arrange to bring Lucy to wherever she found herself. She was therefore able, for the moment, to tuck Lucy away while she concentrated on the task in front of her. Or tasks. Or thoughts. Which were many.

She glanced at Missie. Her erstwhile friend was deliberately staring out the opposite window, pointedly ignoring her. Marjorie nuzzled in a little closer to Aurora’s side. She quietly hugged the little girl, smiling down at the upturned face. Content for the moment, Marjorie closed her eyes, leaving Aurora once again to her deliberations.

All right, time to face them. Item the first: Missie was upset about Selkirk being chosen for Aurora. In fact, she was furious. On the one hand, it made sense: Aurora’s long-time friend was competitive, and what she wanted she usually got. She had said so. And she was not getting this. Which she had admitted as well. But was Missie truly in love with Alec? Careful, Aurora, she chided herself, they were not yet on a first name basis. Do not try to run before you have learned to walk, her father taught her when she was small. Safer to call him the Duke of Selkirk and keep her own feelings out of it. Though that immediately failed, and she tumbled back into the next thought: was Alec in love with Missie? She slammed the possibility down, but it crouched in her brain like an evil toad.

Item the second: Missie was ruthlessly practical. Aurora had seen that for herself, time and again. Missie well knew Selkirk’s financial situation meant he was not the man for her. Besides, she had another terribly eligible and extremely wealthy duke paying court to her. She should be entirely pleased. Crowing over it to Aurora, in fact. Her beau was not quite as dashing in looks. Yet he was most definitely a Nonesuch, a Pink of the Ton in terms of his appearance, manner, and dress, and he was infinitely the better catch.

In addition, Missie’s duke, Galloway, was—item the third—not encumbered by a dead wife and a small child. Two facts which Missie had made clear were items to be placed firmly in a suitor’s demerits column.

It was more than a muddle. It was a confusing and painful mess. And each mile made it a heavier one.

The silence grew in the carriage. Aurora could hear the murmur and occasional laughter of male voices outside, the rumble and creaking of the vehicle they were in, the horses’ hooves on the hard packed road and, distantly behind them, the sound of another carriage.

Ah, yes. The aforementioned smaller coach followed them at a slower pace, containing Peg, Archibald, and, to that particular party’s infinite dismay, Hyacinth. Along with the bulk of the luggage. This was the Duke of Selkirk’s older and shabbier conveyance, which was why he had not used it at all while in London. Its driver must have put on some speed to cut the distance between them. Or, no, they were slowing down slightly to rest the horses? Oh, I give up. Missie. The strategy of carriage drivers. She did not care. She only wanted to get home.

Nearly three days of this. How will I make it through? She longed for the pair of trousers in her small valise. If only she could put them on, jump on the back of a horse herself, and gallop away from all of this. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

“How fare you, my imp?” The abrupt sound of a baritone male voice startled Aurora out of her reverie. She looked in the voice’s direction and saw the Duke of Selkirk’s face, peering in the open window at his daughter. Marjorie had emerged from under Aurora’s arm and was smiling up at her father.

“I am well, Papa.”

“And how are you behaving? Are you causing any trouble to her ladyship, Miss Wentworth, or Miss Hardcastle?”

Marjorie looked up at Aurora for confirmation. That gave her a moment to catch her breath and smile down at the Duke’s daughter. She regained her self-possession enough to give Marjorie a wink.

Marjorie smiled back and attempted a wink in return. She turned again to her father. “Tolerably well, Papa. All ship-shape and Bristol fashion.”

“I should hope so,” he replied. He doffed his hat to Aurora and to Missie, each in turn. “Miss Hardcastle. Miss Wentworth.” Lady Wentworth had slept through the entire exchange, so Alec pulled away from the window and returned to his conversation with the men.

Aurora gave a sigh, though she wasn’t sure if it was relief or regret. Alec’s focus was entirely on his daughter, it seemed. Well, that was as it should be, was it not? He was to be Aurora’s husband. There would be plenty of time for attention as they got to know each other. This was not a romance, after all. It was all logical, sensible. She received a title; he obtained a fortune. And a mother for Marjorie, too. With a little reassured sigh of her own, Marjorie inserted herself back under Aurora’s arm.

Missie continued to pointedly ignore both Aurora and Marjorie, seemingly fascinated by the view visible from her side of the carriage. Alec’s physical presence, looming in the window, had stirred the careful détente which had been achieved, and any order into which Aurora had organized her thoughts splintered in a million different directions. Again. As they were wont to do when he was near. She did not attempt to guess what was going through Missie’s mind.

As the carriage inexorably trundled its way to her home and her parents, Aurora recalled the short note, addressed to her and written in Alec’s own hand, which she had received the morning after his proposal. She had read and re-read it so often over the last handful of days, she had it memorized.

Dear Miss Hardcastle,

As we discussed, my daughter, Marjorie, has been notified of the prospect of having you form a close and personal relationship with her. She is most delighted and wished me to convey that delight. In point of fact, her response was quite exuberant. Several cushions on the sofa experienced the joys of flight, but none, I am happy to report, sustained a substantial injury upon landing.

I look forward to finalizing our plans for the drive north.

Your obedient servant,

Selkirk

She didn’t like to think herself an especially sentimental person, but said note was safely tucked inside her reticule and carried next to her person at this very moment. As was the said daughter. Who was not looking particularly exuberant at this moment but, yes, contented would be one way to describe her.

Aurora smiled, settled back, and closed her eyes. Perhaps all would be right in the end, settling itself nicely. However, she did not entirely believe herself.

Thirty-Two

Alec was grateful he and Finn had decided to ride and not stuff themselves into the crowded carriage. Of course, their decision had prompted Lord Wentworth to insist he must join them, which led to the two younger men essentially acting as spotters to ensure the man kept his seat and stayed in the saddle. The ladies had generously offered a seat inside the carriage, whenever the gentlemen wished a respite. Alec had the distinct feeling Lord W. (as his good lady was heard to refer to him as) would be taking them up on the offer.

He was relieved to have Finn riding beside him. It was a beautiful day. The crush of the city had long been left behind them, and Alec felt as if he could breathe again. The weather was decidedly warm and the road dusty, but, frankly, he did not care. He was outside. He was able to keep his own counsel and chew over things. He occasionally peered in through the open carriage window to see how Marjorie was faring. She was tucked under Miss Hardcastle’s arm like a chick cozying up to her mama hen, which was a good sign. The first time he had done so, his affianced had literally jumped. Good Lord, she wasn’t going to go back to being miss-ish now, was she? He kept his conversing to the bare minimum, focusing on his daughter.

Truth to tell, he was escaping, as far as one could escape riding beside his to-all-intents-and-purposes betrothed. He and Miss Hardcastle had greeted each other politely in the early morning hours, which launched their journey. She had seemed a bit shy again, and he did not press the point, but her face was bright and eager to begin the drive. The Honorable Miss Wentworth, on the other hand, was coolness personified. She could not help yawning delicately behind a gloved hand, and her lids drooped fetchingly over those gray eyes. But she had fluttered her lashes at him and, those times he looked into the carriage, she would shoot him a sidelong and alluring glance.