“Thank you, Tom.”
“Barnaby,” Severin called, and the secretary rushed back in. Severin handed the page to him. “This station. Everything has to be ready by tonight. Make certain Winterborne’s private carriage is stocked with ice and fresh water after it’s delivered.”
“Yes, sir.” Barnaby nodded wildly and ran out.
Severin sent Rhys an inquiring glance. “Do you want to walk to a food shop for lunch? Or at least have a whiskey here?”
Rhys shook his head regretfully. “I have too much to do. Let’s meet after I return from Wales.” It occurred to him that he would be a married man then. Helen, in his bed every night, and sharing breakfast with him every morning . . . for a moment he was lost in a daydream, imagining ordinary life with her, the multitude of small pleasures he would never take for granted.
“Of course.” Severin’s blue-green eyes were friendly and inquisitive. The angle of the light on his face caught his right eye, illuminating the extra green. “This takes a bit of getting used to,” he said. “All this smiling and good spirits. You’ve never been one of those lighthearted fellows.”
“I’m not lighthearted, I’m . . . wholehearted.”
Severin smiled reflectively as they stood to shake hands. “It must be nice,” he mused, “to be any kind of hearted.”
RHYS RETURNED TO Winterborne’s, finding that most of his executive staff was rushing about at a berserk pace that rivaled Barnaby’s. Sales clerks and dressmakers’ assistants carried stacks of white boxes and armloads of garments to his private office, where his social secretary, Miss Edevane, was making detailed packing lists. Things were being accomplished, he observed with satisfaction. He decided to find Fernsby and ask about her progress.
As he approached her desk, he found himself following behind Dr. Havelock. The older man carried a tray bearing silver-covered dishes, a glass of iced lemonade, and a tiny vase containing a perfect half-open rosebud.
“Havelock?”
The lionesque head turned as the older man glanced over his shoulder. “Winterborne,” he said gruffly.
“Who is that for?” Rhys asked.
“Not you.” Havelock proceeded to Fernsby’s desk and placed the tray on it. “I heard about the frenzy you’ve created up here, obligating your entire office staff and three other departments to work themselves to the bone. All the fuses lit at once, as usual. Why must an elopement happen with such all-fired haste?”
“Elopements aren’t usually known for being slow,” Rhys pointed out.
“Are there parents in pursuit? A rival lover determined to prevent the wedding? No—only an impatient bridegroom who won’t cool his heels long enough to allow his hardworking secretary enough time for lunch!”
Just then, Mrs. Fernsby came to her desk. Her gaze fell on Rhys first. “Sir, we found a temporary lady’s maid: one of Mrs. Allenby’s assistants in the dressmaking department. Mrs. Allenby is altering at least two finished dresses from an order placed by a customer with similar measurements to Lady Helen—the customer agreed as long as we replace them with free dresses of more costly design. As for the nursemaid, Miss Edevane has a younger sister who would be delighted to accompany you and Lady Helen to take care of the . . .” Her voice trailed away as she noticed the other man standing nearby. “Dr. Havelock. Has something gone awry?”
“No, Mrs. Fernsby,” Havelock said, “but something might well go awry if you forego proper nutrition, especially at the bruising pace Winterborne has set.” He guided her to the desk and urged her to sit.
“You brought lunch for me?” Mrs. Fernsby asked in bewilderment, picking up the linen napkin on the tray and placing it on her lap.
“Indeed.” Havelock glanced at her covertly, assessing her reaction. A flash of triumph entered his eyes as he saw how pleased she was, and he quickly covered it with another burst of indignation. “If it were left to Winterborne, you would soon be carried to my door in a state of nervous exhaustion and malnourishment. And I already have enough patients to attend to.” He removed the silver covers, and turned the rosebud so that it was shown to its best advantage.
“I am rather hungry,” Mrs. Fernsby said delicately, as if she could hardly summon the strength to lift a fork. “Will you keep me company, Dr. Havelock?”
“I suppose I must,” came his enthusiastic response, “to make certain Winterborne allows you fifteen minutes of peace.”
Rhys tried to sound grudging. “Very well, Fernsby. You can have food. But only because Havelock insists on it.” Before turning away, he exchanged a quick glance with Mrs. Fernsby, and her eyes twinkled at him.
Chapter 35
RHYS’S PRIVATE TRAIN CARRIAGE consisted of two long sections with a flexible covered walkway in between. It was magnificently furnished with luxurious chairs upholstered in bronze silk plush, and floors covered with cut-velvet carpeting. There was a parlor with wide observation windows, and a dining room with a mahogany extension table. Rhys and Helen would sleep in the large bedroom en suite in the first section, while Charity—no, Carys, Helen reminded herself—would occupy one of two smaller bedrooms in the second section, along with her nursemaid.
At first Helen had worried that Carys might be uneasy at sleeping apart from her on the train. However, the little girl had immediately taken to Anna Edevane, the younger sister of Rhys’s social secretary. Anna was pretty and vivacious, and she’d had experience helping to raise her four younger brothers and sisters. As soon as they boarded, Anna took Carys to their room, where a collection of new toys and books had been left for her. Dumbfounded by the playthings, including a porcelain doll in a lilac silk dress and a Noah’s ark, Carys didn’t seem to know what to do with them. Sitting on the floor, she touched the carved and painted animals gently, as if she thought they might break.
Now that Carys had been thoroughly bathed—Rhys’s suggestion of foam soap had worked brilliantly—she was clean and sweet smelling. She wore a rose-colored dress with a little skirt made of box plaits, each one headed by a little ribbon rosette.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” Helen told Anna. “Carys must go to bed soon—it’s been a long day, and she had only a short nap.”
“I don’t want to,” Carys protested.
“I’ll read her a bedtime story,” Anna said. “I heard she has a favorite one . . . I think it was . . . ‘Little Red Riding Hood’?”
“‘The Three Bears,’” Carys said from the floor.
Anna pretended not to hear. “Maybe it was ‘Rumplestiltskin’ . . .”
Carys stood and hung onto her skirts. “The Three Bears.”
“Three pigs, did you say?” Anna swept the child up in her arms, and fell with her onto the bed.
Carys lay there giggling. “Bears, bears, bears!”
The sound of her laughter, Helen thought, was more beautiful than any music.
The rest of the Winterborne retinue, including the lady’s maid, Quincy, a footman, and a cookmaid, were all lodged farther back on the private train, in handsome carriages provided by Mr. Severin.
“I’m so glad you renewed your friendship with Mr. Severin,” Helen exclaimed as she wandered around their private compartments, pausing to admire a gilded wall lamp. She quoted a popular poem, “Forgiveness! No virtue surer brings its own reward.”