One day would not be enough to counteract all the terrible rumors, but it would be a start.
Amelia hurried down the stairs to them, dressed in white chiffon that floated behind her as she ran, a little like a lost fairy princess. Her curls bobbed about her head, and her eyes were dancing with mischief and anticipation.
“Chris,” she said when she reached them. “Howwellyou look. Do you not think, brother? Positively beautiful.”
Hugh took Christiana’s gloved hand, bending low over it. “Beautiful,” he asserted in a low voice, kissing her knuckles withliquid grace. Her breath caught in her throat, and she smiled past the obstruction there.
After this was over, she would find him in his bedchambers. The knowledge of her own daring nearly drained her courage.
Amelia, however, knew none of this, and so after rallying Miss Byrd, who had expressed an interest in seeing the fire-eaters, even if she opined that such pleasures were to be frowned upon, they left.
Given the location of the carnival was some five miles hence, they took two carriages, both of which would wait until they were done. As they rumbled through the village, Hugh placed the mask over his face.
Christiana leaned forward and took his hand, squeezing it in hers. “Would you consider foregoing the mask?”
He met her gaze, exhaling in a rush through his nose. “You ask too much.”
Perhaps she did. She leaned back. “All right.” She gripped her reticule with nervous fingers, peering at the people gathered for the carnival. People from all walks of life were in attendance. There were squires here. Ladies in ermine stoles and long peacock feathers in their turbans. Gentlemen with coat buttons as large as Hugh’s, some inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Local farmers in shabby coats and hats. Mothers with children in their Sunday best, slabs of pie clutched in their hands.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop. Hugh took both Christiana’s arm and Amelia’s, as they disembarked, and Miss Byrd followed with James. The footman paid their passage into the fair itself, and they entered the grounds. Her shoes sank into the soft grass, and she found herself relieved that it hadn’t rained recently.
Ahead, a man juggled on a unicycle, mastering more and more wooden balls as he rocked gently back and forth to prevent himself from falling. Amelia watched with unabashed glee.
Christiana did her best not to feel too overwhelmed by the noise. In the carriage, they had been protected from the bulk of it, but here she was exposed on all sides. Laughter, raucous and at times screeching, filled the air. Shouting from vendors selling their wares. Game pies and ale and candied fruit. Children shrieking in delight.
The roar from the crowd over one thing or another.
Hugh glanced down at her. “Having second thoughts?”
She shook her head. They were not here for her; they were here for Hugh, and she would not give up now. Already, people had noticed them, and whispers spread through the crowd.
“The Duke and Duchess of Somerset are here!”
To Christiana’s relief, Amelia seemed immune, or perhaps even oblivious, to the glances sent their way by interested people from all walks of life. Hugh paid for tickets to see a puppet show that had Amelia cackling with laughter, and even Hugh cracked a smile.
They ate a picnic composed of local food bought from vendors—largely bread and cheese and game pie, with ale and wine to wash it down—and drank while watching a man wandering through the crowd on stilts.
In the distance, past several tents, a lady balanced on a wire suspended above the ground. Cheering greeted her feat of athleticism as she jumped and landed back on the wire, swaying a little as she balanced.
To one side, a fire-eater put a burning torch in his mouth, appeared to swallow, then shot flame into the air. All around, there was the scent of charred meat and soft bread.
Amelia sent Miss Byrd away with James to procure some local sausages she had taken an interest in—though Christiana rather suspected that was out of a desire to have Miss Byrd gone. The lady, however well-meaning, cast somewhat of a shadow over proceedings.
As they started up again, the remainder of their party made their way to where they had heard there was a sword-swallower, only to be hailed by a lady and gentleman. The lady wore a blue muslin dress that cinched high under her breasts in a style somewhat out of fashion, and the gentleman had a ruddy, good-natured face and a loud waistcoat. The lady lifted languid fingers to their party, and Hugh stopped.
“Your Grace,” she said in a cultured voice. Up close, Christiana could see the lady was older than she’d initially appeared, trying and failing to hide her age with powder. “Lady Amelia. Goodness, how you’ve grown.”
Under Christiana’s fingers, Hugh’s arm had gone solid with tension.
“Lady Ponsonby,” he said, remarkably pleasant despite his obvious discomfort. “Sir Charles. I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
“We hadn’t expected to seeyouhere, lad!” Sir Charles, with a clear disregard for rank or manners, clapped Hugh on the shoulder. “I told Maria—I told her—that we weren’t likely to see you here again.”
“Every year,” Lady Ponsonby said, the words dripping with disdain. “Every year, he tells me that, and he has finally been proven wrong.” She fluttered her fingertips at them as though conferring a great honor. “I had heard you were quite the recluse, Your Grace.”
Christiana’s ears burned with outrage, and Amelia let out an angry hiss, but Hugh merely said, “You have not met my wife, the Duchess of Somerset. Christiana, this is Sir Charles Ponsonby and his wife, Lady Maria Ponsonby, aformerfriend of my mother’s.” Judging by the emphasis he’d put onformer, it was clear he put little stock in the friendship.
“By now, I expect you have heard all about the fire,” Lady Ponsonby said, holding out a limp hand as she curtsied.Although Christiana rarely felt like a duchess, anger bubbled inside her. Thus far, no one had overtly insulted them, but Lady Ponsonby was skirting the edge of affrontery. It could not be borne.