either.”
“Prickly,” he said. “Have I touched a nerve? Go away now and do whatever it is you do during your hour off in the afternoons. Send Quincy to me. I have letters to dictate to him.”
She walked in the garden as she did most afternoons except when it rained. Spring flowers were in glorious bloom, and the air smelled sweet. She was missing the air and exercise that had been so much part of her life in Cornwall. But fear was something that was closing about her more and more. She was afraid to go beyond the front doors of Dudley House.
She was afraid of being caught. Of not being believed. Of being punished as a murderess.
Sometimes she found herself on the verge of blurting the whole truth to the Duke of Tresham. Part of her believed he would stand as her friend. But it would be foolishness itself to trust a man renowned for ruthlessness.
A FTER TWO WEEKS J OCELYN decided that if he had to spend another week as he had spent the last two he would surely go mad. Raikes had been quite correct, of course, damn his eyes. The leg was not yet ready to bear his weight. But there was a middle ground between striding about on both legs and lying with one elevated.
He was going to acquire crutches.
His determination to delay no longer strengthened after two particular afternoon visits. Ferdinand camefirst, bursting with the latest details of the curricle race, set for three days hence. It seemed that betting at White’s was brisk, almost all of it against Ferdinand and for Lord Berriwether. But his brother was undaunted. And he did introduce one other topic.
“The Forbes brothers are becoming increasingly offensive,” he said. “They are hinting that you are hiding out here, Tresham, pretending to be wounded because the thought of them waiting for you has you shaking in your boots. If they ever so much as whisper as much in my hearing, they will all have gloves slapped in their faces hard enough to raise welts.”
“Keep out of my concerns,” Jocelyn told him curtly. “If they have anything to say about me, they may say it to my face. They will not have long to wait.”
“Your concerns
are
mine, Tresham,” his brother complained. “An insult to one of us is an insult to all. I just hope Lady Oliver was worth it. Though I daresay she was. I have never known a woman with such a slender waist and such large—” But he broke off suddenly and glanced uneasily over his shoulder at Jane Ingleby, who was sitting quietly some distance away, as usual.
Ferdinand, like Angeline and Jocelyn’s friends, seemed uncertain how to treat the Duke of Tresham’s nurse.
Trouble was brewing, Jocelyn thought restlessly after his brother had left. Just as it usually was over something or other. Except that normally he was out there to confront it. He had always reveled in it. He could not remember thinking, as he sometimes caught himself doing these days, that there was something remarkably silly and meaningless in his whole style of life.
The sooner he got out and back about his usual activities,the better it would be for his sanity. Tomorrow he would want to know the reason why if Barnard had not acquired the crutches he had asked for.
And then came the second visitor. Hawkins, come to announce the caller, looked disapproving. Jane Ingleby gathered up the book from which she had been reading and retreated to the corner where she always hid out while he entertained.
“Lady Oliver, your grace,” Hawkins said, “wishing for a private word with you. I informed her ladyship that I was not sure you were well enough to receive visitors.”
“Bloody hell!” Jocelyn roared. “You know better than to allow her over the doorstep, Hawkins. Get the woman out of here.”
It was not the first time she had come to Dudley House. The woman knew no better, it seemed, than to call upon a gentleman in his bachelor home. And she had come at a time when half the fashionable world was out and about and might happen by and see her or
“Prickly,” he said. “Have I touched a nerve? Go away now and do whatever it is you do during your hour off in the afternoons. Send Quincy to me. I have letters to dictate to him.”
She walked in the garden as she did most afternoons except when it rained. Spring flowers were in glorious bloom, and the air smelled sweet. She was missing the air and exercise that had been so much part of her life in Cornwall. But fear was something that was closing about her more and more. She was afraid to go beyond the front doors of Dudley House.
She was afraid of being caught. Of not being believed. Of being punished as a murderess.
Sometimes she found herself on the verge of blurting the whole truth to the Duke of Tresham. Part of her believed he would stand as her friend. But it would be foolishness itself to trust a man renowned for ruthlessness.
A FTER TWO WEEKS J OCELYN decided that if he had to spend another week as he had spent the last two he would surely go mad. Raikes had been quite correct, of course, damn his eyes. The leg was not yet ready to bear his weight. But there was a middle ground between striding about on both legs and lying with one elevated.
He was going to acquire crutches.
His determination to delay no longer strengthened after two particular afternoon visits. Ferdinand camefirst, bursting with the latest details of the curricle race, set for three days hence. It seemed that betting at White’s was brisk, almost all of it against Ferdinand and for Lord Berriwether. But his brother was undaunted. And he did introduce one other topic.
“The Forbes brothers are becoming increasingly offensive,” he said. “They are hinting that you are hiding out here, Tresham, pretending to be wounded because the thought of them waiting for you has you shaking in your boots. If they ever so much as whisper as much in my hearing, they will all have gloves slapped in their faces hard enough to raise welts.”
“Keep out of my concerns,” Jocelyn told him curtly. “If they have anything to say about me, they may say it to my face. They will not have long to wait.”
“Your concerns
are
mine, Tresham,” his brother complained. “An insult to one of us is an insult to all. I just hope Lady Oliver was worth it. Though I daresay she was. I have never known a woman with such a slender waist and such large—” But he broke off suddenly and glanced uneasily over his shoulder at Jane Ingleby, who was sitting quietly some distance away, as usual.
Ferdinand, like Angeline and Jocelyn’s friends, seemed uncertain how to treat the Duke of Tresham’s nurse.
Trouble was brewing, Jocelyn thought restlessly after his brother had left. Just as it usually was over something or other. Except that normally he was out there to confront it. He had always reveled in it. He could not remember thinking, as he sometimes caught himself doing these days, that there was something remarkably silly and meaningless in his whole style of life.
The sooner he got out and back about his usual activities,the better it would be for his sanity. Tomorrow he would want to know the reason why if Barnard had not acquired the crutches he had asked for.
And then came the second visitor. Hawkins, come to announce the caller, looked disapproving. Jane Ingleby gathered up the book from which she had been reading and retreated to the corner where she always hid out while he entertained.
“Lady Oliver, your grace,” Hawkins said, “wishing for a private word with you. I informed her ladyship that I was not sure you were well enough to receive visitors.”
“Bloody hell!” Jocelyn roared. “You know better than to allow her over the doorstep, Hawkins. Get the woman out of here.”
It was not the first time she had come to Dudley House. The woman knew no better, it seemed, than to call upon a gentleman in his bachelor home. And she had come at a time when half the fashionable world was out and about and might happen by and see her or
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