“Eliza?”
She turned.
“Do not let him persuade you that you are the fortunate one. No matter what the world says, it is always the man who marries up.”
Eliza held the baroness’s gaze. “I will remember.”
She let herself out, the echo of Lady Hartwell’s words following her down the hall, echoing even as she stepped out into the pale, chilly morning.
Let the world come to you.
She almost believed it might.
“You’re here!”
The declaration issued from somewhere behind the door before Eliza could so much as knock. It was wrenched open by the Duchess of Wildmoore, who, even at this hour, wore an expression of delight edged with the mild panic of a woman in perpetual search of her spectacles.
“Is it Thursday already?” Dorothy asked, clutching her wrapper at the throat. “Oh, but you’re early! Marvelous.” She turned and swept back into the apartments, leaving Eliza to close the door after herself.
Eliza followed, navigating the obstacle course of footstools, embroidery frames, and stacks of periodicals that had colonized the drawing room. Dorothy stood at the hearth, wrestling her hair into a bun with one hand and rearranging the silver tray with the other.
“My dear girl, you look positively radiant. Or exhausted. Hard to tell in this light,” Dorothy said. “Would you like tea, or is it too soon after breakfast? I myself have already had two cups, but I’mtold that caffeine is a tonic, and if not, it is at least a means to an end.”
“Tea would be lovely,” Eliza agreed, perching on the settee with the only visible cushion.
Dorothy began to pour then turned and called, “Albert! Eliza is here. Did you hear me?” She ladled sugar with abandon then added three more spoons for good measure.
There came a muffled reply from the next room, and after a shuffle and a solid thunk, the Duke appeared, supporting himself with a handsome cane. Albert Vestiere smiled the instant he saw her.
He sank into his favorite armchair with a noise between a sigh and a groan. “You are even more welcome than the tea, my dear. I trust my son has not made a villain of himself yet?”
Eliza accepted the cup from Dorothy. “He has been the model of consideration.”
Albert’s brow went up. “That’s how you know he’s hiding something.” He flashed a quick smile—so brief it might have been accidental—and glanced at Dorothy, who seemed contentedly flustered by the presence of company.
Dorothy fussed with the tea tray. “I do wish you had called for a visit sooner. The hall is so empty without the girls, andthese days, Albert rarely leaves his chair except to torment the gardener or the physicians.”
“It’s true,” Albert said. “Retirement is quite the misery for a man used to being feared by accountants.”
Dorothy patted his hand. “He’s bored; that’s all. A new marchioness in the house, and not a single crisis to orchestrate.” She leaned conspiratorially toward Eliza. “If you wish to see him truly animated, start a minor fire in the kitchens. Or a rumor in the village.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eliza replied, unable to hide her amusement.
Dorothy straightened, patting at a lock of hair that had broken free. “You must come to dinner every Thursday, you know. It’s tradition. Not that we ever keep to them. Oh, and you must try the scones—Mrs. Hadley has finally perfected her recipe though it is quite clear she intends to destroy us all with butter.”
Albert set his cane aside. “Before we all expire from over eating, perhaps a walk in the garden? I’m told the weather is passable today.”
Dorothy looked outside. “It does seem mild. And the rhododendrons are in bloom.” She sounded surprised, as if the seasons had switched places when she wasn’t looking.
Albert rose, offering his arm to Eliza. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” she said.
They made a slow procession through the hallway, Dorothy at a nimble shuffle and Albert walking as if willing his body to remember its former strength. The garden doors opened onto a riot of green and pink, the air cool but not biting.
“I’m sure you know every inch of these grounds by now,” Albert said, steering Eliza onto the gravel path. “But I enjoy pretending to be a tour guide. It is the only authority left me.”
Dorothy drifted ahead, inspecting buds and shouting their progress over her shoulder.