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Chapter Sixteen
“For nothing so much shows us our degree of merit as the behaviour we meet with in the world.”
Private Education: A Practical Plan for the Studies of Young Ladies.
Elizabeth Appleton. 1815.
“Ireckon Chloe and myself might head to Gunter’s for an ice,” Kian declared as they ambled through the crowds and back to the carriages. “Let yer have some time alone with yer bonnie Miss Griffin.”
“Not you as well,” Seth grumbled. “What’s wrong with you all?”
“Begone with yer.” Kian halted his stride and cocked his head. “Over the years, we’ve all seen yer work nose to the grindstone and so deserve some pleasure in life. That lass gives yer a look that could butter parsnips, and I canna help but notice yer own lingering glances, and never have I seen yer in such a grouch when Rufus dallied at the dinner, and then in the ale-house when–”
“I hear you,” Seth griped as they continued once more wending their way through the parting hordes with no trouble whatsoever – which was often the case when Kian wore the insignia black feather of the Prince tucked in his hatband, “but you are ignoring the fact that she is a Ton lady and I’m a–”
“Successful owner of a boxing academy. With how many dukes clamouring for membership?”
“We will see,” Seth murmured, not inclined to continue the conversation. “Didn’t you arrive with Jackson?”
“Och, no. I filched a scarlet affair of the Prince’s and left it on the edge of the Common for a swift exit.”
Jackson’s carriage came into view first, gold wheels glinting in the sunlight, Chloe’s blond mop hanging out the window.
“Fancy an ice, wee bairn?” called Kian.
His daughter glared. “I’m not wee. I’m not a bairn. I’m fourteen in November.” Nevertheless, she tumbled out the door in eagerness.
“Seth’ll see yer governess home safe and sound, won’t yer Seth?” And Kian flipped a wink as he put an arm around Chloe’s shoulders.
“I know he will. A perfect gentleman, my pa.” His daughter likewise winked before the troublesome twosome wandered off to be swallowed by the departing crowds.
On the journey this morning, Chloe and her governess had gaily chatted within the carriage whilst Seth had sat atop to take the reins. Now, without his daughter, Matilda could sit up high with him – feel the exhilaration of bowling down the Wimbledon lanes, feel the quickening breeze in her hair, like the feathered birds she so adored.
Seth nodded his thanks at Jackson, who tipped his hat like a gentleman, and Seth strode to his own carriage to tug open the door. “No one was hurt, can you believe? That magistrate was chuckling his pantaloons off.”
No answer was forthcoming.
In fact, Matilda had failed to even turn from staring out the far window. Her hood remained drawn back, cap abandoned upon the floor.
“I apologise for leaving you, but…”
She twisted and his guts heaved.
Tears such as he had never seen coursed down her cheeks in silvery tracks, glasses strewn to the seat cushion, hair dishevelled and lips bitten red.
“Matilda! What the hell’s happened? Has someone hurt you?” He surged up the step, sat at her side, unsure what to do or if to touch her, but he clutched an arm and she fell into him like a ship to dock, her hands gripping and body shuddering.
Hell and damnation, he never should have left her. Had some ruffian forced his way in? But surely Chloe or Jackson would’ve heard a scream?
“Matilda?”
“I wasn’t going to… But I can’t not… And I don’t know…”
He enfolded her within his embrace.
“Hold me so tight,” she cried. “I beg you.”
So he complied, arms clasping her, breasts crushed to his chest. She appeared unhurt but…
