“Your parents.”
Eliza nodded. “My mother, particularly. She could not bear to leave the house after my father died. Every room held a memory, every corner a ghost. In the end, I think the house consumed her more than the grief did.”
Dorothy reached across and squeezed her hand. “I am so glad August married you.”
The words were so unexpected that Eliza nearly spilled her tea. “I beg your pardon?”
“I worried about him, you know. After he took over the duchy. He became so controlled, so careful. As though he were playing a part rather than living a life.” She smiled, warm and genuine. “But you have changed something in him. He laughs more. Worries less about what everyone thinks. I do not know how he would have managed his father’s death without you.”
Eliza’s throat went tight. She thought of last night, of the kiss that should not have happened. Of the way she had fled like a coward instead of facing what it meant.
“I have done very little,” she managed.
“You have done more than you know.” Dorothy released her hand and sat back. “Now, tell me truly, are you happy?”
The question struck like a blow. Happy. Was she happy? She did not know how to answer that. She was confused and frightened and far too aware of her own heart. But happy?
“I am… adjusting,” she said finally.
Dorothy laughed. “That is what we all say when we do not wish to admit how complicated marriage actually is.”
They spoke for another half hour, the conversation drifting to easier topics. The triplets and their various schemes. The state of the gardens. The scandal involving Lord Pemberton and the opera singer that had everyone in London talking.
When Eliza finally rose to leave, Dorothy walked her to the door.
“Do come again soon,” she said, embracing her. “And tell my son to visit his poor mother before she forgets what he looks like.”
“I shall.”
Eliza stepped out into the afternoon sun, feeling marginally better than she had when she arrived. The visit had been exactlywhat she needed. A reminder that grief was survivable, that life continued even when it seemed impossible.
She had nearly reached the street when someone called her name.
“Duchess! What excellent timing.”
Eliza turned to find Lady Wilhampton hurrying toward her, all smiles and outstretched hands. She wore a walking dress of deep purple that set off her coloring to perfection, and her bonnet was adorned with enough feathers to suggest she had murdered several exotic birds.
“Lady Wilhampton,” Eliza said, summoning a smile she did not feel. “What a surprise.”
“Is it not? I was just passing by and saw you emerging from the house.” She looped her arm through Eliza’s before she could protest. “Come, let us walk together. I find I am in desperate need of conversation, and you are always such excellent company.”
Eliza allowed herself to be steered down the street, her mind racing. She did not trust this woman. Had not trusted her since their walk in the gardens, since the subtle insinuation about theaters and mistresses. But refusing would be rude, and rudeness would only create more gossip.
“It is very good of you to visit the Dowager Duchess,” Lady Wilhampton said as they walked. “So many would neglect such duties now that the funeral is over. But you are not like other women, are you?”
“I visit because I enjoy her company, not out of duty.”
“How refreshing! Most daughters-in-law would rather have their teeth pulled than spend an afternoon with their husband’s mother.” She gave Eliza’s arm a little squeeze. “You know, you really ought to consider hosting a ball once the mourning period is over. It would be an excellent way to establish yourself in society as the new Duchess of Wildmoore.”
“I had not thought that far ahead.”
“Well, you should! The season will be upon us before we know it, and a grand ball would announce to everyone that the Wildmoore household is thriving despite its loss.” She tilted her head, her expression all innocent curiosity. “Speaking of which, did you ask your husband what performance he saw at the theater?”
The question landed like a stone in still water. Eliza’s steps faltered, and she had to force herself to keep walking. “I have not had the opportunity.”
“Oh, you simply must ask him! I am certain he will have the most amusing stories. The theater is always such a delight, is it not? All those beautiful actresses—” She stopped walking abruptly. “Oh dear. I hope I have not said anything untoward.”
“Not at all,” Eliza said, her voice remarkably calm given the turmoil in her chest.