"You will speak to Mama, will you not, Rory? You won't let her scold?"
"Yes, of course. I promised I would. But I don't think you need worry. She will be too relieved to have you safely home to do much scolding."
Just then Harry spied Nicholas, who rode beside the carriage. "I wish I could have ridden like Mr. Deverill, instead of being shut up in this carriage."
"You said your ribs were still too tender to endure such a long ride on horseback, remember?"
The boy shuddered, as if recalling his ordeal – a reaction that Aurora noted with silent gratification. After his beating on the quay, Harry had sworn faithfully never to run away again, displaying a sincerity she thought was genuine. And much to her vast relief, two days of sweat and blisters and aching muscles had convinced him that he would not enjoy the hard life of a seaman.
Those two days seemed an eternity to Aurora, but she had promised Nicholas she wouldn't interfere with his harsh methods. And just as Nicholas predicted, Harry had abandoned his dream of joining the merchant marine, although not happily.
When she gently reminded him that upon reaching his majority, he would be wealthy enough to buy a fleet of his own ships, he had brightened considerably and decided that he would, after all, prefer to spend the intervening years in Sussex with his mama – that he missed her greatly and perhaps her smothering was not really so unendurable.
Aurora was taking the boy home now, while Nicholas provided escort. She, too, wished she could have ridden on the beautiful summer day and avoided the warmth and dust inside the carriage. But not only did she need to keep Harry company, she knew it was wiser to maintain the discreet pretense of Nicholas as a family friend and not advertise their actual plan. Upon delivering Harry to his mama, they would start back toward London but detour to Berkshire, where they would spend a fortnight together, as Aurora had agreed.
Until now she had managed to quell her reservations, but as they moved deeper into the East Sussex countryside of her childhood, she was glad to have Harry's chatter to distract her from her misgivings and from her feelings of sadness. This was the first time in nearly a year that she had been home. After Geoffrey's death, she had preferred to live in London, for there it was easier to avoid the painful reminders of her loss. She'd distanced herself even farther when she sailed for the Caribbean with her cousin and his wife.
How her life had changed since then, Aurora reflected pensively. She had been wed and widowed and then unwidowed… She had become fully a woman, learning carnal knowledge at the hands of an expert lover who was the very opposite of the gentleman she had admired and cared for so much of her life.
This journey home roused sad memories of Geoffrey, and other ones as well.
Aurora stirred uncomfortably. She had tried not to think about her father or the darker feelings he engendered. The March and Eversley estates were close, merely a few miles apart, but she had no reason even to call on the duke, since he had washed his hands of her and banished her from his property.
She couldn't forget, however, his threat to whip her through the streets if she exceeded the bounds of propriety. And she would soon be exceeding those bounds with a vengeance. Her father would be outraged if he learned of her intention to spend two intimate weeks alone with Nicholas. Even now she was skirting the edge. She had eschewed a maid on the flimsy grounds that the trip was of short duration.
At least one worry was unfounded; she wasn't with child after her rash intimacies with Nicholas. Her courses had come and gone this past week. And from now on, whenever they were together, they would take the kind of precautions the journal had described.
"So," she said to Harry, making an attempt at cheerfulness as she drew out a deck of cards from her reticule. "What game shall we play?"
It was nearly an hour later when the coach turned onto the smooth gravel drive of the March estate, and by then Harry was squirming in his seat. His mother, Lady March, came out to meet them as soon as the carriage drew to a halt before the impressive brick mansion.
She embraced her son fervently, then greeted Aurora with almost as much fondness. Lady March had been a friend to Aurora since her mother's death, and they had shared the sorrow of Geoffrey's death. With Nicholas watching her, though, she willed herself to shrug off her sadness and made the introductions.
Lady Mar
ch was effusive in her greeting to Nicholas as well, clasping his hand in gratitude with both of hers. "Harry's letters have been full of you, Mr. Deverill. I cannot thank you enough."
"It was nothing, my lady," Nicholas replied mildly.
"Oh, but it was. Harry has not had a man to guide him in…" She swallowed her sudden tears and pasted on a bright smile. "Will you be staying the night?" she asked Aurora.
"Thank you, but we must be getting back."
"You must at least have luncheon. And you must tell me all the gossip from London. I rarely get there these days, you know. Come into the house. Harry, you will join us…"
They settled in the drawing room until luncheon was served. Lady March kept Harry at her side, as if afraid he would disappear, but the moment the meal was through, Harry asked to be excused so he could go to the stables and visit his horses, barely waiting for permission before scrambling from his chair.
His mother stopped him from racing out the door, calling him to task for his ungentlemanlike behavior in front of guests.
"Pah, Rory is not a guest, Mama," Harry declared.
"Nevertheless you will apologize to her and to Mr. Deverill."
"Beg pardon," Harry said with an unrepentant grin.
"And I have yet to hear you thank her for her generous hospitality to you these past weeks," Lady March added sternly.
"Thank you, Rory." Returning to the table, he gave Aurora a fierce hug, shook Nicholas's hand, then dashed off.