When the Duke Returns(36)

The Dower House was not really a house; it was more of a cottage. But it was charming, with a rosebush climbing over the windows. It was like a doll’s house.

“What color will the roses be?” she asked.

“Pale pink,” the butler replied. “There are a great many of them. The vine hasn’t been pruned as it ought, but it puts out a quantity of roses all the same. There are lilac trees around the back, but they won’t bloom, of course, until late April.”

He took out a huge circle of keys and finally managed to fit one to the lock. “There hasn’t been anyone living here since His Grace’s grandmother,” he said, over his shoulder. “We used to air it out and clean it thoroughly, but in the past few years…”

Of course, he hadn’t enough staff to spare.

After a small entryway, sunlight fell into a surprisingly large sitting room. The furniture was soft and covered with Holland cloths. There was no attempt at ducal elegance, quite the opposite. The walls were paneled in elmwood, painted a cream color with little pansies scattered here and there. The floor was flagstone, but a cheerful, if faded, rug hugged the middle. Best of all, the house smelled dusty but without even a whiff of sewage.

“How lovely!” Isidore exclaimed.

“The late duke’s mother disliked formality,” Honeydew said, bustling to pull open the curtains. “Phew! Look at this dust. I’ll summon all the housemaids immediately, Your Grace, and we’ll have it clean and aired in no time.”

Isidore had discovered a charming little bedchamber containing a large sleigh bed and one table stacked with worn, leather-bound books.

“The duke’s grandmother was a great reader by all accounts,” Honeydew said. “Her own life was quite a romantic tale.”

Isidore looked up from a small copy of Tales of the Nile that she’d discovered. It was falling apart, though she couldn’t tell whether that was due to age or over-reading. “Romantic?”

“Yes, you must ask His Grace to tell you about it,” Honeydew said, darting about to throw back the shutters. “There now, if you would be so kind as to accompany me back to the house, we’ll get the house tidy for you.”

Isidore shook her head. She supposed she would have to reenter the house for dinner. But she couldn’t face that yet. She tucked herself into a rocking chair, book in hand. “I am exactly like my husband’s grandmother,” she said. “A great reader. I shall be quite happy here. When the maids arrive, I’ll simply go for a little stroll.”

“Will your personal maid be arriving in the later carriages?”

“Yes, Lucille experiences stomach problems when she travels, so she generally follows me in a slow-moving carriage. If it were possible, I would love a bath. I’m quite dusty from the journey.”

“I’ll set up a hot bath as soon as the maids have finished. If you’re quite certain that you’re comfortable…” He lingered, obviously disturbed by the idea of leaving her.

But Isidore was already opening up a book. “I shall be perfectly happy here, Honeydew. Truly. Please send the dowager duchess my regrets that I cannot greet her due to the absence of my maid.”

She had a sudden thought. “Do you know, I believe that I am strangely fatigued by my journey.” She smiled at the butler, who had the discretion not to indicate that she seemed in the utter pink of health. “I shall dine here tonight.”

He bowed.

“I should be honored if the duke would disrupt his schedule and join me,” she added. “Quite informally, of course. He needn’t wear a cravat.”

Honeydew’s eyes were smiling, even if his face kept to a servantlike solemnity. “Just so, Your Grace. I shall inform him.” He bowed again. “May I add that your generosity as regards His Grace’s attire will be greatly appreciated?”





Chapter Fourteen




Revels House

February 29, 1784

“Her Grace is in the Dower House,” Honeydew informed the duke. “The maids have been to clean, and she seems quite comfortable. We started a fire in the grate. The walls are damp, and it should quickly take away the chill.”

The duke looked up from the letter he was writing and dragged a hand through his hair. “Really? Because of the stench? I think I must be getting used to it, Honeydew.”

“No, Your Grace. The air is somewhat drier than it was this morning and it’s not so obvious. But we are due for more rain tonight, or so Mr. Sumerall, the gardener, has told me.”

“She’s well out of it, then,” the duke said, looking exhausted.

“The duchess requests that you dine with her in the Dower House,” Honeydew said. In his estimation, the duchess wasn’t coming back into the main house until the water closets were cleaned. Even if Mr. Kinnaird managed to find cleaning men in London—and given the amount of money that the duke had given him, he ought to—Honeydew thought that they wouldn’t arrive for a day or two.