Was it an indication that her father was alive? Or simply a manifestation of her internal turmoil over Slayde? Either way, by week’s end, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. There was no longer any excuse. Her body was almost fully recuperated. ’Twas time to act.
Her mood was one of staunch determination when she arose on the sixth day following Slayde’s departure. She’d slept not a wink, alternately planning the upcoming day and tossing about in a futile attempt to rest her cluttered mind.
This was to be the day; she’d decided that somewhere between three and four a.m. Aurora didn’t know it yet, but right after breakfast, they were going to make the long-awaited trek to the lighthouse—only this time they would succeed.
Courtney frowned, brushing disheveled strands of hair off her face and crossing over to the dressing table. What she truly wanted was to leave for the Windmouth Lighthouse immediately, and breakfast be damned. But Elinore was joining them for their morning meal, and she’d be terribly hurt if Aurora and Courtney were absent when she arrived, so the conversation with Mr. Scollard would have to wait a few more hours.
Pensively, Courtney poured cool water into the basin. If things went well, she could visit with Elinore, meet with Mr. Scollard, and be back at Pembourne by midaftemoon—just in case the other cause of her upheaval returned.
Slayde.
Instinct told her he’d be home soon. The very thought made her pulse race, triggering several different reactions, each one as powerful as it was conflicting. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and welcome him home. She wanted to hang back and see if he could really keep his vow and restrain his feelings for her. She wanted to interrogate him about whatever he’d learned in London.
And she wanted to do these things all at once.
Courtney rolled her eyes. ’Twas no wonder she couldn’t sleep. She could scarcely manage her thoughts when she was awake.
A so
ngbird outside her window trilled, reminding her that the morning was ticking by. Well, whether or not the new day was ready for her, she was ready for it. Purposefully, she splashed some water on her face, just as her bedchamber door opened.
“Courtney?” Aurora poked her head in. “Finally, you’re up. Did I forget to tell you Elinore was coming to breakfast?”
“You told me four times,” Courtney assured her, grinning as she plucked a lime-green day dress from her wardrobe. “And each time I was delighted.”
“But you’re not ready.” Still hovering in the doorway, Aurora frowned.
“The viscountess is not due at Pembourne for over an hour,” Matilda announced, sailing into the room. “I’m certain we can have Miss Courtney dressed and ready in that amount of time. That is, if we have no interruptions.” She arched an affectionate—though pointed—brow at Aurora.
“Very well,” Aurora said with a sigh.
“I’d planned to find you before breakfast anyway,” Courtney told Aurora with a meaningful glance. “If it’s acceptable to you, I’d like to take that walk we discussed—just as soon as Elinore leaves.”
Aurora brightened at once. “Of course. I know just the walk you mean.”
“So do I,” Matilda inserted dryly. “Are you certain you’re up for it, Miss Courtney?”
“I’m certain,” Courtney replied. Grinning, she did a mock pirouette in place. “See? I’m as good as new.”
“Almost,” Matilda qualified.
“Excellent!” Aurora turned to go, infinitely more cheerful than when she’d arrived. “I’ll see if Cook needs help.”
“And I’ll be on time for breakfast,” Courtney called after her. Still smiling, she turned to Matilda. “If I’d been blessed with a sister, I’d want her to be just like Aurora.”
“Perhaps that blessing will come to pass,” Matilda replied, readying the gown as Courtney slipped out of her nightrail and into her undergarments.
Courtney’s fingers paused on the ribbons of her chemise. “What do you mean?”
A knowing smile. “Here, lovey, step into this.” She eased the dress up Courtney’s torso, carefully avoiding the tender area where her ribs had recently healed. “I mean that you and Lady Aurora might become sisters, after all. If not through blood, then through marriage.”
The very word made Courtney’s mouth go dry. “What makes you think that could happen?”
“Really, Miss Courtney, I’ve worked at Pembourne since before the earl was born. I’m aware of everything that occurs here—as well as things that don’t. And one would have to be blind not to see the way you and Lord Pembourne look at each other. If ever there were two people in love, it’s you.”
“You’re very insightful,” Courtney murmured. “But Matilda, love in one thing; marriage is quite another.”
“The earl hasn’t a snobbish bone in his body. So if you’re fearful of the class difference…”