Page 69 of Taken to the Grave
On the afternoon following the debacle at Burdick Close, Audrey had been seated at her desk, dipping a quill into her pot of ink to complete a letter to her sister Millie, when the door had flung open. Genie and Cassie had whirled inside.
“Is it true?” Genie had asked just as Cassie demanded, “When did you plan to tell us?”
For the briefest moment, Audrey wondered if they’d learned about Philip’s letter. But then, Cassie had stormed to the desk, picked up Audrey’s left hand, and stared agog at the sapphire Hugh had presented to her the night before. He’d explained the ring had belonged to his mother, Catherine Marsden. He’d learned the previous year that his birth mother was April Barlow, but Catherine would always be his only mother. Miss Barlow had remained distant, even after their meeting last year. It was something Audrey couldn’t fathom. How could anyone not want to know Hugh? How could anyone not want to love him?
“It is true!” Cassie had exclaimed.
The incurable gossipmonger Lady Dutton had just called on Violet House for tea and related that a friend had been taking Gunter’s ices in the park the other week when she’d seen Lord Neatham on one knee in what appeared to be a proposal to the dowager duchess.
“I had to pretend that I already knew, and that a formal announcement was to be made soon,” Genie said, “all while trying to keep my oolong from spilling into my lap!”
“How could you keep this from us?” Cassie demanded. “Why haven’t you said anything?”
It was true that she and Hugh had agreed that they’d wanted to solve Bethany’s case and the mystery of the Vauxhall bodies before they married. But that didn’t explain why Audrey had nottold them at breakfast that morning. Or why she’d kept her hand in her lap to conceal the ring.
“I didn’t say anything because I knew the two of you would make a fuss. Hugh and I will marry soon. It doesn’t have to be a big affair.”
“All right, fine. A small ceremony. But why keep the proposal asecret?” Cassie had asked.
It was with those words that Audrey realized the truth. Why she’d been tiptoeing around the subject. Everything involving Hugh had always been a secret. She’d secretly investigated crimes and cases with Hugh; she’d secretly spent time with him; she’d secretly fallen in love with him, and he with her; together, they had kept the secret of Philip’s ruse from the rest of the world. When it came to Hugh, she was accustomed to simply being secretive.
But like dawn driving out the night, a revelation had suddenly struck her. Secrets were no longer necessary. Even their largest one, the one involving Philip, had evaporated like morning mist after receiving his letter. There was no threat that someone, somewhere, at some point would cross paths with him and bring news of it back to London. He was no longer an axe hanging over their heads.
The overwhelming freedom Audrey had felt in that moment had been apparent to even Cassie and Genie. At seeing her overcome, they’d apologized, assuring her that they weren’t angry and would leave her to do as she wished.
“Don’t go,” Audrey said as they were backing toward the door. In that moment, she promised herself no more secrets. “Genie, can you send for Madame Gascoigne? We should discuss a wedding gown.”
The modiste had come that day, and Audrey had selected a cream silk taffeta and a simple blue embroidered design. She’dfinished her letter to Millie and added a postscript, telling her to come to London as soon as possible.
There was going to be a wedding.
“Oh, there you are!”
Audrey turned from her empty desk and found a frazzled but excited Cassie in the doorway.
“It is nearly noon! We need to leave if we’re to get there on time and dress you, and—oh! I’ve forgotten my gloves!” Cassie rushed back into the hall, calling, “I’ll meet you in the carriage!”
Audrey laughed as she made her way to the front hall, where Carrigan waited in the open doorway. He was wearing his finest livery.
“Are you ready, Your Grace?” he asked.
Greer had already gone ahead to Berkeley Square to prepare for her arrival. Audrey nodded, then thought of something.
“Carrigan, you may very well be the last person to ever call me that.”
“Your Grace?” he asked, sounding confused. She laughed.
“Yes. Exactly.”
A persistent thrumminghad come alive just under Hugh’s skin. He rolled his shoulders, for once at ease with his tall stock and cravat. If there was ever a day to appear starched and formal, it was this day. He hadn’t complained once as Basil had meticulously dressed him in the downstairs study at 37 Berkeley Square, where the valet had lain out his suit, complete with tailcoat and boutonniere, the flowers of which Basil had matched to the ones filling the drawing room.
The valet had been curiously silent while dressing Hugh, and while standing close to knot the neckcloth, he’d noticed Basil’s eyes glistening.
“Do not tell me you are becoming sentimental,” he’d said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m merely coming down with a cold.”
Hugh had clapped him on the shoulder. “I love you too, Baz.”
