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‘Excellent. Do you need me to arrange transport?’ The dowager reached for her reticule.
‘Thank you, no. I will use my own carriage and bring my maid with me, if that is convenient.’ Laura pulled the bell cord for Pritchett.
‘Oh, yes, plenty of room in the staff wing and the stables. I will see you on Monday afternoon—bring the recipe for those macaroons with you.’
When the front door closed behind her guest Laura sank back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Lord Wykeham had defeated her, frightened her and humiliated her. He would keep her daughter from her and ensure she never got so much of a glimpse of Alice. Her only consolation was her conviction that he loved the child and would care for her.
Now all she had to do was to decide how she was going to spend the rest of her existence, because now her former life, the pursuit of pleasure, the frisson of being Scandal’s Virgin, held no attraction whatsoever. Dry-eyed, Laura gazed at the row of stiff, engraved and gilded invitation cards that lined the mantel shelf. Her old life was dust, her heart felt as though Avery Falconer had kicked it and she had no idea what she was going to do next.
Except escape to the country and ride and gossip and eat too much and try, somehow, to imagine a future.
*
She had been to Lady Birtwell’s house parties before and the sight of the house, its warm red brick glowing in the afternoon sunlight, was pleasantly familiar. The journey from London into the Surrey countryside had been smooth and uneventful, despite Laura’s wish for something to take her mind off her emotional bruises. A minor riot, an escaped bull, even a highwayman, would have been satisfying. Instead, she and Mab had progressed in respectable comfort, on good roads, distracted by nothing more than unsatisfactory coffee at one inn and a slow turnpike keeper.
Other guests were there already. She saw a group of young ladies on the archery lawn attended by three gentlemen, one of them in scarlet regimentals. A carriage was being driven round to the stables as they drew up and Laura recognised Lady Frensham, one of the dowager’s friends, being assisted up the steps to the front door by an attentive footman. It seemed that the party was an interesting mix of ages, if nothing else.
Her groom came to open the door and let down the step, the butler turned from delivering Lady Frensham into the housekeeper’s hands to greet her and Laura took a deep breath, composed herself and entered the house, into a bustle of servants and luggage.
‘Lady Laura, good afternoon, my lady. I am Rogers.’
‘Of course, I remember you, Rogers. Good afternoon.’
The butler gestured to a footman. ‘Lady Birtwell is receiving guests in the Chinese Room. Would you care to go to your chamber first—?’
The high-pitched screams of excited children drowned his words. The butler’s carefully schooled expression slipped for a moment into something close to a wince. Laura realised she was wincing back. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I trust the children will not disturb you. Lady Birtwell enjoys the sound of young voices.’
‘It is lovely to hear them enjoying themselves, Rogers.’ Laura forced a smile on her lips. She had not realised there would be children here, that echoes of Alice’s laughter would haunt every room. ‘I will just go up to my…’
Her voice trailed away as the noise grew louder. Half-a-dozen children ran from the garden door at the back of the hall to tumble to a halt as they realised where they were. A sheepish silence fell, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the sound of a hoop being dropped with a clatter on the marble floor.
‘Now then, young ladies and gentlemen, this is not the place to be playing, is it?’ Rogers chided. ‘Lady Laura has only just this moment arrived and she must think this a menagerie.’
The biggest boy piped up, ‘Sorry, Lady Laura, we didn’t mean to disturb you. We’ll go out.’ He turned and ran back, his companions eddying around him, leaving one small girl standing staring at Laura, her mouth open.
The solid marble floor seemed to shift under Laura’s feet. Behind her she heard the sound of crunching gravel and voices and realised the archery party was coming back.
‘Aunt C…’ Alice Falconer whispered, her eyes wide and hurt on Laura’s face.
Chapter Eleven
Laura froze, then instinct took over. She raised one finger to her lips and shook her head at Alice. The words died unsaid on the child’s lips as Laura crossed the floor to her side. She bent and whispered, ‘I am not really Caroline Jordan—that was just a disguise.’
‘You were hiding?’ Alice whispered back, eyes wide. The sparkle of tears had become one of excitement.
‘Yes, a bad man was after me.’ As soon as she spoke Laura worried that she had frightened the child, but Alice’s eyes were alight with excitement.
?
??Like an adventure story? Is that why you had to go away from Westerwood?’
‘Yes, I am very sorry.’ Laura crouched down so she could murmur without Rogers overhearing. ‘We must pretend we do not know each other. Can you do that?’ It was wrong to ask the child to practise deception, but it was for her protection, too. ‘You may tell your papa, of course.’ Even if her father was Avery Falconer, she could not allow Alice to lie to him or to encourage her in deceit.
Alice nodded vigorously, then whirled round and ran after the others, ringlets bobbing. As she reached the door she turned, put her finger theatrically to her lips and waved. She seemed thrilled with her new secret.
‘My goodness, do you not know who that child is?’
Laura straightened up and turned to find Lady Amelia Woodstock surrounded by a group of young ladies Laura knew, more or less, from that Season’s events.
