I’m not certain, because I don’t know precisely what I was mistaken about. Only that I was ham-handed, and tongue-tied.”
“You?” His mother smiled up at him.
He had to smile back. “Difficult to believe, I know. The circumstances were…unusual.” Or unprecedented, or revolutionary, Randolph thought. Now that it was too late, his mind teemed with words.
“Pleasantly so?”
“I think…I hope…perhaps.” He sighed. “People say wisdom increases with age, but I never felt so at sea with Rosalie.”
His mother looked him over. The acute assessment was as familiar as childhood. “Can I do anything?”
Could she? Randolph considered the idea. “I don’t think so. I need to make some inquiries. I wonder if Hilda might—”
“Georgina’s sister might help?” the duchess asked when he didn’t go on. She sounded dubious.
He nodded. “There’s no one better at ferreting out secrets. Could she be the friend? No.”
“Must you be so mysterious, Randolph? It’s quite irritating.”
He laughed. “Sorry, Mama. Sometimes a thing isn’t ready to be told.”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” she replied, a touch of asperity in her voice. “I’ve often heard it from you and your brothers. Though less so in recent years. I’m also familiar with a wide variety of results, from hilarity to catastrophe.”
“I hope to avoid either of those.” His mother sighed audibly. She seemed to sway slightly. “Are you well?” Randolph asked her.
“Of course.”
“You look a bit peaked.”
“It’s this red light. Like a beam from the infernal regions.”
Randolph laughed but said, “Shall I take you inside? Where is Papa?”
“Arguing politics with Lord Holland.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on and dig into your secrets. I’m perfectly fine. I like the night air.”
Randolph examined her. She made a face at him. He laughed again and went on his way.
The duchess stood alone in the illuminated garden, an oddly isolated figure. Then a friend came along, and the rhythm of the party overtook her again.
Fourteen
The trouble was, she sympathized with Olivia’s yearning for adventure, Verity thought the following afternoon. She knew so well how it felt to long for excitement, to want something to happen. And to be the one who took action—plunged into uncharted jungles or sailed around the world. She didn’t care for the way her friend had responded to the impulse, but she didn’t want Olivia stifled and confined. Or ruined, of course. That would be the stupid squandering of a lively, clever woman. By narrow-minded biddies who gave her no scope for her abilities. Manifestly unfair, as if society had set a trap precisely for females like them. Her. Olivia. It was infuriating.
And so Verity decided she’d deal with the matter herself. She would betray no confidences, and cause no uproar, if she simply handled the matter. No one else would know. It was easier. And also, she had to admit, much more satisfying. Why turn to others? What need for willfully obtuse, distractingly attractive young men? Now that she’d worked it out in her mind, Verity felt perfectly capable of managing the thing. She’d show Olivia how an adventure was done.
As a first step, Verity went to find her mother, pleading malaise, and asked for one of her powerful headache powders.
“I thought you didn’t like them,” Mama said, surprised.
It was true that Verity didn’t care for the strong effect of the medicine. “I just have the most dreadful headache.”
“Oh my dear.” Her mother was all sympathy, as Verity had known she would be. Mama was afflicted by terrible headaches that laid her low for days. Verity felt a bit guilty as her mother jumped up. “I’ll fetch it at once,” she said. In moments, she returned with one of the paper packets the apothecary made up for her. “Is it very bad?” she asked.
“I’ll be fine after a good sleep,” Verity assured her.
“I’ll sit with you and rub your temples.”
This wouldn’t do. “No, you go on to Mrs. Doran’s. She’s counting on you to make up her whist tables.”
“Yes, but—”
Verity held up the paper packet. “I wouldn’t even know you were there.”
“I suppose.”
The headache remedy induced heavy slumber. When Mama took it, she was dead to the world for hours. Verity was counting on this fact for later, in case anyone knocked at her bedroom door while she was gone. “Really, Mama, you should go. Don’t worry.”
“Well…I shan’t be late.”
Verity smiled and nodded and at last saw her mother off. She told the housemaid the same story, and by seven she was alone in her bedchamber, pulling an old, drab cloak from the wardrobe. She’d never been so