She squeezed his arm. “You know what we have always been.”
“We’re an army of two.”
Theresa nodded. She refused to cry. Generals didn’t cry. “That’s right. We’re an army of two, even if we’re separate.”
He didn’t ask where she was going or what she planned to do. He understood that if he knew those things, he’d tell Judith.
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, sir.” His voice shook. “Bon voyage.”
She took a step toward him. “None of that sir business. You make your own orders now.”
He nodded. “When you see me next, I’ll make you proud.”
They embraced—his arms came around her impossibly hard—and Theresa imagined that he squeezed those two tears out of her. They didn’t come out on their own. That would be ridiculous of her.
“Go back to bed,” she said. “Don’t lock the door behind me. You’ll come under suspicion.” So saying, she slipped out into the dark.
The street was utterly quiet. A chilly little autumn breeze swirled over her, and she slipped on her gloves and began to walk, swinging her valise.
It was heavy. She hadn’t realized how heavy it was until she’d gone one street, then the next. It felt as if her clothing had turned to bricks and her fingers to ice. She switched the valise to one hand, then the next, then carried it in two. Her shoulders slowly began to burn.
It was going to be a long, painful two miles to the docks, she thought.
A noise behind her caught her attention—the rattle of wheels against cobblestones. She retreated into the shadow of the stairs, huddling against the stone wall of a house as a carriage came into view.
If she was very still and very small, maybe they wouldn’t see her.
But the carriage stopped in front of her. A footman—oh, damn it all, an Ashford footman—hopped off the back of the conveyance and opened the door.
Theresa had planned for this eventuality, too. She’d get in the carriage. Pretend to go willingly. She’d have to scramble and abandon her valise, of course, but damn, that valise was heavy. She’d be delighted to leave it.
But it wasn’t Judith who stepped out. It was the dowager marchioness. She approached Theresa slowly, as if she were a skittish animal.
“Theresa, dear,” she said, as if they were meeting in the yellow parlor, “why are you walking to the docks?”
Theresa sighed. “Damn Benedict and his eternally running mouth.”
The dowager sighed. “Don’t talk about your brother that way. He didn’t tell me a thing. It’s simply that I’m not an idiot. I did tell you months ago that I knew your habits. Do you think I wouldn’t notice what was happening underneath my very nose?”
Theresa felt her chin set. “I’m not going back.”
“I know. I told you I knew your habits. If you’re going to be you, do it well. Running off by yourself, with a handful of notes that will be discovered by the servants? Your family would never live this down. That was a poor choice.”
Theresa didn’t have time to argue. Her teeth ground together. “I realize that. Nonetheless, I am not going back.”
The dowager just shook her head. “And yet on the other hand, you have a perfectly acceptable alternative.” She held out her arm. “You could be embarking on a world tour with your elderly grandmère.”
Theresa blinked. She frowned. “I could?”
“I have access to funds you will never be able to tap,” the dowager said. “I’ve instructed my girl to gather your note and deliver it along with my own letter to my son in the morning. And I really would prefer that you remain among the living, which is quite often not the case when young women without funds travel on their own.”
Theresa blinked. “But I have over a hundred pounds on my person.”
“So intelligent, and yet still so little sense.” The dowager nodded. “I saw you looking up routes to the Orient in the newspaper the other day. I assume we’re going to find your brother, Anthony? He was such a nice boy.”
“Eventually.” Theresa hadn’t let herself say the words aloud. She was going to find him eventually, and tell him what she really thought. By then, maybe she would have sorted out her tangle of love and anger. “But not at first. I’m going to find my other sister.” Theresa glanced defiantly up at the dowager. “They told me I made her up, but I’ve discovered I didn’t. She’s real. She’s illegitimate. And she’s half Indian.”
“Well, then.” The dowager just nodded. “Our work is certainly cut out for us. Come now, don’t you think my coach will be a better way to get to the docks?”
Theresa looked at the conveyance. She thought about her aching shoulders.
Very, very slowly, she nodded.
“Excellent. Where are we heading, then?”
She’d not let herself say the words until now.
“We’ll go to Brest first.” Theresa had been on a ship when she was a tiny child, and her memories of it were as diffuse as water-color paintings. Still, she thought of the feel of sea wind against her face. She remembered salt spray against her cheeks, ocean waves, and an open vista of sky and water. She remembered the sight of land—a green peak rising sharply from the sea…
“Then, around the Cape of Good Hope to Calcutta. From there, we’ll find passage to Hong Kong. And after that? Wherever the trail leads us.”
“Well,” said the dowager. “This will be interesting.”
Thank you!
Thank you for reading After the Wedding. I hope you enjoyed it.
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Would you like to know when my next book is available?
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Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.
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If you’re wondering about great-great-uncles John and Henry, their story is told in The Pursuit Of… The novella
can be read in the collection Hamilton’s Battalion, but it will be coming as a stand-alone story on June 26, 2018. An excerpt follows.
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I you want to know what’s going on with Grayson and his telegraph laying-ship, his story is up next in The Devil Comes Courting. Benedict will feature prominently in the story, and you’ll find a brief description just after the excerpt from The Pursuit Of…
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If you want to know about Judith and Christian, their story was the first book in this series—and it’s available now in Once Upon a Marquess.
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Finally, you may be wondering how Theresa formed her friendship with the Dowager Marchioness of Ashford. My newsletter subscribers received a short story called “Bank Notes” about that.
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If you didn’t get a copy, don’t fret—you can get one now. Just visit http://www.cmil.co/bn to claim your free short story.
Excerpt: The Pursuit of…
The Pursuit Of… is the story of Adrian’s great-great-uncles John, and Henry…
What do a Black American soldier, invalided out at Yorktown, and a white British officer who deserted his post have in common? Quite a bit, actually.
•They attempted to kill each other the first time they met.
•They're liable to try again at some point in the five-hundred mile journey that they're inexplicably sharing.
•They are not falling in love with each other.
•They are not falling in love with each other.
•They are… Oh, no.
The Pursuit Of… is about a love affair between two men and the Declaration of Independence. It’s a novella of around 38,000 words.