“We returned as soon as we heard,” she said. “But first, our mail delivery was delayed by nearly a week because we had changed hotels—”
Hattie sat down, stunned. “You … came back because of me?”
“Of course. But then every single Italian train was canceled or too slow. In France, there was a strike. It took eight days to reach Calais. I was ready to take over and drive one of those blasted things myself.”
Hattie gave a small moan. “You shouldn’t have abandoned your holidays.” In fact, her friend was still wearing a gray travel dress.
Lucie took her hands again in an unusually tactile display. “How could I stay? It all came at a great shock. Ballentine tried to reassure me he has never known Blackstone to maltreat a woman, but I had to see for myself.”
“But you so rarely take time for your own leisure!”
“If that worries you, look at my desk.” Lucie pointed at it, the towering stacks of mail specifically. “I’m dreadfully behind on my correspondence with the chapters in the United States, and Montgomery is putting the Married Women’s Property Act amendment proposal to Parliament in October, so I must lobby half the House of Lords by then. Idleness always takes revenge. I would have called on you in Belgravia this afternoon. Catriona shall be joining us here soon.”
“But … Catriona is in Applecross.”
“No, she stayed in Oxford, waiting for an opportunity to ambush you since you showed us the cold shoulder.”
“But she mustn’t!”
Lucie cut her an exasperate look. “Wouldn’t you do the same for us?”
“Of course I would,” Hattie said reflexively.
“So there.”
“You must know, my mother intercepted your letters,” Hattie confessed. “Hence the impression of me showing you the cold shoulder …”
“Dear, we aren’t cross with you,” Lucie said. “We understand. We are worried about you, not put out.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Hattie murmured. “What of Lord Ballentine? Is he terribly annoyed? You look very dark; it seems you had at least a few days by the sea.”
“We did.” Lucie touched her fine nose where her skin was peeling. Her blond hair had lightened to a silvery shade of white. “My bonnet, the stupid thing, was blown into the sea during a stroll on the beach in Naples, and I burned despite Ballentine giving me his hat—isn’t it odd, you would think as a ginger he would fry, but no, he turns a most becoming hue of bronze. He isn’t natural, I tell you. And he isn’t annoyed; he’s keen on making progress here, too—he has recently taken up with this playwright, Mr. Wilde, and my cousin Lord Arthur, do you remember him? He is determined to include their Decadent Movement poetry in London Print’s portfolio. We are becoming a radical publishing house after all, it seems … Anyway, Hattie, why aren’t you wearing a hat? Or gloves? And why are you hobbling?”
“It’s nothing,” she said, her smile a rictus grin. “I’m wearing new mules, and I took a wrong turn at Piccadilly Circus. I might have a blister or two.”
Lucie stilled. “You walked here. From Belgravia.”
“I wouldn’t have, but I realized too late I had no coin on me to hire a cab or take the underground.” Besides, she had never traveled on the underground unaccompanied.
Her friend was back on her feet, her hands on her hips. “You dashed from the house,” she said. “What has that man done to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Hattie groaned. “There was …” She had to close her eyes against the shame of it. “There was a woman.”
“A woman.” Lucie sounded incredulous. “But … you have been married only two days!”
“And I regret I ever consented to it.”
“The scoundrel!”
“It appears I was a bit hasty with my conclusions, but it revealed that he doesn’t care one wit for me, and he was terribly commanding.”
“Was he, now?” Lucie snarled. “How horribly provoking.”
The display of unconditional loyalty made her nose burn with tears. “Lucie,” she whispered, “I wish to apologize to you.”
“To me?” Lucie said, flummoxed. “What can you mean?”
She forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “I don’t think I fully comprehended the suffrage cause until now.” This had become clear to her during her hour-long, sticky, undignified hobble across London.