Page 81 of Never a Duke
Sorry, and already planning an expedient departure from her post, for which Rosalind did not blame her. “Fortunately, I love my aunt.”
“But you do not love the idea of more months ruralizing so far from Mr. Wentworth. As a widow, I can tell you this, my lady: Knowing that I would end up without children, without a home of my own, the nearest thing to a poor relation, I would still marry my Derrick and still be grateful for the few years we had together. He was my husband, my best friend, my confidant, and my conscience. My only regret is that he was taken so soon.”
She brandished her letter and disappeared up the steps.
Rosalind pondered those parting words and felt all over again the magnitude of the loss she’d endure if Ned quit the field.
Or if Rosalind sent him away, which would be the kinder course.
She had riffled through a prodigious number of bills and invitations before coming to a note addressed to her. The note hadn’t come through the post—no franking—but had apparently been delivered by messenger and slipped through the letter slot.
The hand was tidy, the seal plain. Would Ned part from her by note? She hoped not.
She slit the seal and read:
Come alone and at once to the Dog and Dam, on the corner of Cuckminster and Chickering, Wapping, if you want to learn what became of your maids.
***
Stephen found Ned in his office at the bank, which was where Ned was ever wont to be. His Ned-ship was not wielding the abacus at a speed even Walden envied, nor was he penning policies in that tidy, infernally precise hand he produced so easily.
Ned was staring at a box positioned upon his desk blotter, a pretty cherrywood box that looked to Stephen’s expert eye as if it held no particular puzzles.
No hidden compartments, delicate locks, false bottoms, or double linings—unlike dear Neddy.
“It’s a box,” Stephen said, sauntering over to Ned’s desk. “Boxes are usually employed as containers for sundry items. If I’d known you were so easily fascinated with them I’d have—what’s that note?”
Ned passed him the little missive without comment, which display of meekness should have earned theMorning Gazette’s front-page headline.
Mr. Wentworth,
I have chosen today to remark the miracle of your arrival into the world and your survival of all subsequent perils. Please accept a token of my esteem on this most joyous anniversary.
R.
PS Additional celebratory gestures to follow when next we picnic.
Stephen opened the box. “Did Lady Rosalind confuse you with her companion? This is embroidery thread, if I’m not mistaken. A colorful array, I grant you, and the scissors, hoop, needles, and thimble are artfully displayed, but…embroidery?” The case even held a sizable quizzing glass, tucked along one side.
Stephen set the note atop the thread, for surely Ned would treasure the epistle more than the box itself.
“Is today your natal day, Neddy?”
“Apparently so.”
A nonsensical answer, from a very sensible fellow. “And will the occasion be remarked with another picnic out in Surrey?”
Now Ned speared him with a look. “Did you have us followed?”
“Artie was boasting of his success at the ribbons. To hear him tell it, he beat the sovereign’s record to Brighton. Is somebody following you?”
“Yes. Jane must have had a word with Ivor or Sven, but I was certain I wasn’t followed when I drove out with Lady Rosalind. The Earl of Woodruff might be gathering dirt on me, but I took enough extra turns that I know my picnic at least was private.”
“You have no dirt to gather,” Stephen said. “In my younger days, I pursued the joys of the flesh with dedicated profligacy. You were a Puritan by comparison.”
“Not always,” Ned said softly. “I didn’t learn to open safes by reading the Book of Common Prayer.”
“Neddy, are you preparing to do something noble and blockheaded like returning this lovely box to Lady Rosalind?”
