the new Baron Tolliver was entertaining enough to lift the dark cloud that had settled around her heart. She was contriving as best she could—for now she could try to be patient.
She moved back to her seat by the fire and picked up her book. It was a collection of improving sermons by a zealot monk who’d spent time in the Americas, and whose notions concerning bathing, women and religion were extreme and uncompromising. The good brother was a proponent of the theory that women were an unpleasant necessity, and once they’d fulfilled their procreative duties they should be sent to convents to reside with other women and endure a vow of silence.
Rohan had sent it on purpose, just to annoy her, but the written word was scarce enough that she even read this wretched book, alternately cursing its giver.
And she tried not to think about Francis, Viscount Rohan or his Heavenly Host.
14
In the end Lydia didn’t buy the tripe, though not because of any lightening of her spirits. For all that she wanted to wallow in unhappiness, tripe was carrying it a bit too far, and Nanny was far from an inspired cook. It would be up to Lydia to prepare it, and she’d never had much of a fondness for offal. She bought fresh farm eggs, leeks and cheese as well as a loaf of the freshest bread. If Nanny Maude couldn’t conjure something delicious out of all that then Lydia could.
And would, once she’d gotten over her stupid fit of the sulks. It wasn’t as if Etienne would help. After a riveting, arousing, frustrating encounter with the man she was foolish enough to…to be interested in, she had no choice but to follow it up with three hours of listening to Etienne go on and on. He had only two subjects of conversation: his brilliance as he worked through medical cases that he recounted in stomach-turning detail, and the great injustice served him by his cousin.
Fortunately he never needed much more than a word or two to encourage him, and Lydia was able to sit in the park eating cold chicken à la diable and pretend she was somewhere, anywhere, else. Until a word caught her ear.
“Jacobite?” she repeated, wrinkling her forehead.
“Ah, I forgot how young you are,” Etienne said fondly. “That was before you were born. The stupid English were arguing over who should be king, and they tried to put the true Catholic ruler on the throne, a Scots prince.”
“I know about Bonnie Prince Charlie, Etienne,” Lydia said with just a trace of asperity. “What has he got to do with my lord Rohan?”
The look that crossed Etienne’s handsome face might almost be called a sneer. “He’s not a lord according to England. He’s a traitor. He and his family fought for the Scottish king, and when the rebellion failed, his father and brother were killed, he was stripped of everything and exiled. If he ever returns to England he’ll suffer a traitor’s execution on Tower Hill. That’s a day I’d be happy to see.”
She couldn’t hide her horror. “You want to see Lord Rohan beheaded?”
“You forget, I am a doctor. I see death every day. Seldom is it a death I think just. Rohan escaped to France and claimed the title that should have been mine, and he’s gone to the devil ever since.” Etienne sniffed. It was an unfortunate habit of his, and she could imagine it getting worse as he grew older. With her trapped beside him.
“How old was he when this happened? He’s not terribly old now, is he?” she said.
“When he was exiled? When he fought in England? Seventeen, I believe.”
“Oh, God,” Lydia said in a hushed voice. Both Nanny Maude and Jacobs had Scots relatives, and they’d been firm Jacobites. Nanny had told her all about the true king, and the hideous massacre that was Culloden, when Butcher Cumberland had slaughtered thousands. That a seventeen boy had endured that bloody conflict and the savage aftermath was both cruel and enlightening. Living through a time like that would change someone forever.
“I almost wish he’d find some reason to try to go back,” he said. “I would make it my business to alert the English authorities, and his execution would clear any last lien on the French title. The woman who married me will be the Comtesse de Giverney. Sooner or later.”
She ignored his meaningful look. “But Lord Rohan has no interest in returning to England, I believe.”