So she marched back to the kitchen with her charges, feeling marginally better.
That feeling stopped, though, when she saw Winter standing in the kitchen, his face grave. Winter never came home before his luncheon at one of the clock.
She frowned. “What are you doing home at this hour?”
Winter looked at the eldest girl. “Mary Evening, please set the marketing on the table and take the other girls with you upstairs. I believe Nell has just made some tea for the children there.”
The girls obediently trailed from the kitchen.
Silence looked at Winter, her chest squeezing, “Winter?”
He glanced distractedly at Mary Darling, still in her arms. “Perhaps we should send the baby upstairs as well.”
“No.” Silence swallowed, laying a cheek against Mary Darling’s soft, black curls. “Let her stay with me.”
Winter nodded. “Will you sit?”
She lowered herself to one of the kitchen benches. “What is it? Tell me.”
“We’ve received word from the owners of William’s ship,” he said gently.
Her head started to spin, Winter’s words becoming indistinct.
Still, when he continued, she heard him. “William’s ship has been lost at sea. There were no survivors. I’m afraid William is dead.”
“YOU SEEM TIRED, my dear,” Cousin Bathilda observed that night as she and Hero rocked in the carriage. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have sat with Phoebe all afternoon.”
They were on their way to a ball. Hero frowned for a moment, thinking. Oh, yes, the Widdecombe’s ball. She might find a lady tonight interested in helping the home if only she put her mind to it. Funny how she’d had trouble concentrating all day.
“My dear?” Cousin Bathilda prompted.
“Phoebe didn’t tire me.” Hero smoothed her brow. “I have a slight headache.”
“Shall I tell the driver to turn around?”
“No,” Hero said too sharply, then inhaled. “No, it’s quite all right, cousin.”
“Well, I can’t think it’s all right when you use that tone,” Cousin Bathilda said, her feathers all ruffled.
Hero stifled a sigh and made herself smile calmly. “Truly, I’m sorry to have snapped at you.”
“Very well, then,” the other lady replied. “It’s rather late to turn about now anyway; we’re nearly there. Although I do feel bad about leaving poor Phoebe abed at home. Has Maximus talked to you about her yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“He must make a decision soon, I think.” Cousin Bathilda had lines of worry about her eyes. “Thank the Lord the physician said her arm will heal. It would be terrible if she were crippled as well as…” Bathilda’s voice died away as if she couldn’t quite make herself say the word.
Hero sighed and turned to gaze out the window, though there was nothing to see in the dark. How strange she felt! As if she’d become disconnected from her body and the events around her. She should be thinking deeply at this moment, coming to decisions and making things right somehow. Instead, she found it hard to concentrate on anything at all. Anything but thoughts of Griffin and how it had felt to accept him into her body this morning. She could almost smell his skin, hot and salty, feel the hair on his chest rasping against her bare nipples, see his eyes watching her always….
“I do hope Lord Griffin isn’t at the ball tonight,” Cousin Bathilda said, making her start.
Fortunately, her cousin didn’t seem to notice Hero’s wild glance.
“Bad enough that Phoebe seems entirely charmed by him,” Cousin Bathilda huffed. “I cannot believe you invited that man to luncheon!”
“Phoebe doesn’t know the particulars of his reputation,” Hero replied, attempting to move the conversation away from herself.
“Naturally not!” Bathilda was shocked at the mere notion. “A precious, innocent girl like her having knowledge of the extent of Lord Griffin’s scandalous ways—the very thought.”
“He has his good points as well,” Hero said before she could stop herself. “He’s funny, and an interesting conversationalist, and he can be very kind.”
“Funny and kind do not excuse a man’s rakishness.”
“He will soon be part of the family,” Hero replied, and felt like weeping.
“Humph!” was all Cousin Bathilda had to say to that.
Her obvious indignation made Hero smile faintly. “Mignon likes him, remember.”
The little dog raised her head at her name. She was curled up beside Bathilda on the carriage seat.
Cousin Bathilda stared severely at her pet. “She usually has better taste, I must say.”
Mignon decided their conversation was uninteresting, since the topic didn’t involve doggy tidbits. She yawned and laid her head back down again.
“Ah, here we are,” Cousin Bathilda said as the carriage rolled to a stop. She gathered Mignon in her arms and preceded Hero down the steps.
Outside, the Widdecombe town house was ablaze with torches. Liveried footmen bowed and ushered them up the steps and inside.
“I see Helena has made an extra effort this year,” Cousin Bathilda whispered loudly in Hero’s ear. “And well she should after last season’s debacle.”
Hero was still trying to remember the debacle in question when they came upon the receiving line.
“Bathilda.” A very thin lady with silvery gray hair leaned forward and almost touched her cheek to Cousin Bathilda’s. “How wonderful to see you again. And you brought your darling dog,” she observed with pursed lips as Mignon rumbled at her.
“Helena.” Cousin Bathilda put a soothing hand on Mignon’s head. “You remember my dear relative, Lady Hero Batten.”
“My lady.” Hero dipped into a curtsy.
“Engaged to the Marquess of Mandeville, yes?” Lady Widdecombe peered at her with faint approval. “A very good match, my dear. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Hero murmured. She felt a suffocating weight, as if a large boulder sat upon her chest. How scandalized everyone here would be if they knew what she truly was beneath her facade. She’d lost her perfection. She’d lost her place. For a wild moment she had the urge to simply turn and flee from the ballroom.
“There’s Mandeville now,” Cousin Bathilda exclaimed.
Hero glanced up and saw her fiancé, looking the same as ever. He was quite elegant tonight in deep brown velvet overembroidered in gold and red.