He removed the grasping boy from around him and climbed into the carriage where Eamon Murphy waited. When he was settled and a footman had secured the door and folded the step away, Eamon thumped on the carriage roof. As the carriage lurched into motion, he turned to those gathered on the stairs and lifted his hand in farewell.
Elizabeth and George huddled together. Tobias had his arm about Blythe’s slender shoulders and his brother had, in fact, joined them on the stairs after all, the duchess tucked snugly in his arms. It was a pretty memory he’d treasure during the long journey ahead.
He faced Eamon when he was nudged. “Yes.”
Murphy held out a square of linen. “You’ve tears on your face, my friend. Very unaccountably emotional of you.”
Oliver patted his face and gave Murphy his own handkerchief to replace the one he’d used. He adjusted himself on the seat and watched in silence as the Romsey estate slipped past his window. All his life he’d dreamed of this moment. Seeing new fields, towns, people.
He glanced across at Murphy and was disappointed to find him dozing already. Did he intend to sleep the entire way?
An hour later when Eamon still hadn’t woken on his own, Oliver kicked his shin to point out a charming dovecote on a faraway hill. Eamon spluttered to wakefulness, glanced at it briefly, and then harrumphed. “Nothing new yet.”
“There have been many new things that you cannot see by falling asleep.”
Eamon scratched his jaw as he looked outside. “If you find the scene outside fascinating, why are you risking our necks beyond England’s shores in search of adventure? You could easily spend half a year each year traveling to the far counties and Ireland. The duchess has good connections everywhere so you’d have many welcoming places to stay.”
Oliver hadn’t honestly thought that enough of an adventure to suit his needs, but the idea was intriguing. He could always undertake such short jaunts when he returned from the continent. As the carriage jostled and swayed along the road to Portsmouth, he stared at a distant manor house and wondered at its occupants. At a creek crossing, two boys sat beside the stream, long poles and strings dangling in the water in search of fish. He’d done that recently with George and he wondered what the boy was doing at this very moment. He turned to Eamon to pose the question, but his friend was sound asleep again, which made him wonder anew where he’d spent his last evening at Romsey.
In truth, Oliver hadn’t paid much attention to Eamon’s romantic pursuits for the past few weeks, especially once he’d begun his affair with Elizabeth, but he suddenly wondered if Eamon was sorry he’d agreed to join him on this journey. Was he leaving a sweetheart behind? If he was, he’d given no indication, but Oliver was coming to understand that complete honesty was a trait few shared. Was he being selfish to take Eamon with him? Oliver had not suggested it, but he rather thought his brother’s protests had been the catalyst for Eamon’s decision to come.
Troubled, he tried to settle and enjoy the new discoveries as they passed him by. When they stopped for luncheon and to change the horses, he ate and drank in the public taproom, watching those around him with interest. When they stopped to change horses again later in the day, he walked to the edge of the village to stretch his legs. He looked across the valley, squinting to see if the ocean was within sight yet, but didn’t believe so.
Disappointed, he returned to the carriage moderately happy and ignored Eamon’s grumble that his backside had gone numb. As Eamon’s complaints grew more and more elaborate, he decided to send his friend home once they reached Portsmouth. He valued Eamon’s companionship, but it was very easy to see that his heart and soul weren’t in the adventure of the trip. He would have found greater pleasure and companionship should he have taken George with him. The boy had never been beyond Romsey. They would have had much to comment on.
Thoughts of George turned to thoughts of his mother. Would Elizabeth be weeping over his departure? Would she come to enjoy the thrill of travel? He dug in his pocket and removed the ribbon he’d kept with him these dozen years. He ran the slick strip through his fingers, his mind turning to their lovemaking and her passion.
He’d spent ten years trapped with madmen and women and never once had he let this slip of ribbon be taken from him. When his thoughts had turned maudlin, the ribbon had given him comfort. He had imagined Elizabeth at Romsey, laughing and happy in her life.
Yet he’d been wrong. Elizabeth had not always been smiling. When she cried, Oliver had been glad to hold her and turn her mind from her troubles. He hoped she had no need of comfort again. He wouldn’t be there to hold her anymore.
After a time, traffic around them grew denser. His coachman grew surly at other drivers getting in his way. They drew to a stop before an inn on the outskirts of Portsmouth that his brother had mentioned was acceptable and waited their turn to enter the yard. As his luggage was handed down, he glanced about him curiously.
“Watch out,” someone shouted.
Eamon grabbed his arm, wrenching him against the stone inn wall.
; A horse hurried past, tail flicking and striking Oliver across his chest.
Eamon laughed suddenly. “Keep your eyes open my friend lest you get run down before your adventure begins.”
Oliver frowned at Eamon, but concluded he was correct. He would make sure next time to stay out of harm’s way before he studied his surroundings. He followed Eamon into the coaching inn and waited while his friend bargained for a cheap set of rooms, dinner, and water for washing. Their chambers were neat and bare, the taproom crowded and noisy.
Eamon slid an ale across the table and drank heartily from his own. As Oliver sipped his slowly, he studied the room. Merchants, a few sailors, and important-looking men propped up their tables with either laughter or solemn expressions. Dinner was adequate, a trencher of fowl and green beans and day-old bread that stuck to the roof of his mouth and made swallowing uncomfortable.
When night fell and Eamon gained the company of a willing tavern wench across his lap, Oliver returned to his bedchamber alone, ears ringing from the noise of the taproom below, and considered how Elizabeth would spend her last night at the abbey. Dinner with the duchess, tucking her son into his bed with a kiss to his brow, sliding into the cold sheets of her bed and maybe sparing a thought for their time together.
As he lay down, he distinctly heard singing and laughter coming from the room next door. He held a pillow over his head as the laughter turned to moans of pleasure.
Yet sleep was denied him. He tossed and turned but couldn’t get comfortable in the strange empty bed. As he lay there, he wished for Elizabeth’s soft body to be nestled against his own, warmer and more welcoming than the ribbon he carried could ever be.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THERE WAS NOTHING gloomier than to sit in a room full of people you loved and exchange soft smiles with those who were to be left behind the very next day. Beth shivered and drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders to banish her fears. She would leave Romsey and the people she’d come to admire tomorrow and would never see them again.
Although she wished to thank Leopold Randall for all he had done for her and her son, she decided to wait till morning to speak with him. He had been surly with everyone since Oliver’s departure. Beth had heard the servants’ whispers of their discussion and had been shocked to her core. The strength of Leopold’s arguments had not swayed Oliver one bit. He’d told his brother in no uncertain terms that he was glad to be gone from this place.