Page 37 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“Don’t torment yourself. It’s over.”
Hot tears scalded her cheeks. For Millicent, it was not. She pined for a man she had lost. For Mary, it wasn’t, either. She too would pine for a man she lost and do it for years to come. So, yes, her remedies—her ‘plans’—were done.
She’d never do another.
* * *
Two mornings later, she stomped inside from her garden and yanked off her boots. They were so old the soles came away at the seams. It did no good to coddle and croon to her little seedlings anyway. The weather was so cold, so dreary that her plants were struggling, pale and feeble. Her talents at nurturing anything, anyone, had all gone bad.
She shrugged out of her father’s frayed frock coat, looped it over the hook by the back door and headed for the parlor.
When Thompson appeared with her tea, she’d made one firm decision. She had to get on with her life. Here. With those friends she might still enjoy if she were wise and retiring.
“Ma’am?”
“I’ll serve myself, Thompson.” She turned from the window. Her leg ached in this miserable chilly weather and she took her time to make for her favorite chair. “I’ve decided to go to London. The coach is repaired. Please tell Wilkins we leave day after tomorrow. Early. I’ll stay with my Aunt Georgiana in Brook Street. Not for long. Four days at most. Then I’ll return home.”
Her mother’s sister was a canny lady who would poke and tickle her for news of Bath, the Northington wedding and gossip of the event. She’d endure her aunt’s queries because she had few other good choices of accommodations in town. She’d keep a buttoned lip and hope her aunt would tire of the chase.
“Shall I tell callers the purpose of your visit to London?” The poor man was probing to learn what had happened at Courtland Hall that sent her scrambling home.
She would not tell him the calls she planned to make. “Simply say I see my aunt. Long overdue.”
“Even Lady Fiona gets no news?”
That gave her pause. She’d had a note from Fifi last night, saying she’d returned home yesterday. Welles had come with her, both of them brought to Bath by Lord Charlton in his coach. Fifi was concerned about Mary, that she’d left Courtland Hall without farewell and she wished to call. Fifi announced that she and Charlton were to be wed and soon, too. Welles, who took up her position with Mary once more, was aflutter with the prospect.
But the other news that Fifi conveyed—and Welles repeated—disturbed her more. Esme had fled before the wedding. Upon the discovery, her mother fainted. Minutes afterward, her father announced the painful news in the chapel. Esme had forsaken her fiancé. God only knew where she’d gone. Her father left in search of her. So had Northington. As previously planned, the wedding guests had dined in the house and the parishioners on the lawn that morning. Later all had dispersed to their homes. Among them were Fifi and Charlton.
Mary was just as upset to learn that Blake had left Courtland Hall early as well. Like she, he’d been undone by the revelations of her misconduct.
She sighed. She had so much to do to repair the damage she’d done.
She gave her butler a consoling half smile. “I must complete my business in London before I dare discuss my issues with Fifi. If she calls here while I’m away, be certain to feed her cake and—”
“Caesar wants cake!”
“And cover Caesar so he makes less a fuss.”
“If I may say, my lady, you should…ahem…take some care before you leave for your Aunt Georgiana’s.”
“Why?” She faced him, her long hair a tangle over shoulders.
“Your aunt will want to feed you.”
“I look famished?”
He looked startled as an owl. “And clothe you.”
She sighed. Her aunt was a stickler for perfection of hair and dress. “I look unkempt?”
“Shall we say, you are not in the pink, ma’am.”
She mashed her lips together. The man meant well. “You have suggestions, I assume?”
“That you stop walking the floor at night. Take a brandy or two, three if you must. Rest. And stop arguing with yourself.”
She did do that. Had to. “Often?”
