Page 24 of Duke of the Sun

“I wonder how long that would be,” a deep voice rang through the foyer behind them. Slipping out through the kitchen, Duncan pressed in on them, his head angled down to shroud his naturally handsome gaze with shadows. The corner of his lip twitched between a smile and a disapproving frown. “My sister,” he continued, “What an unexpected surprise.”

“On the contrary,” Cordelia said, watching her brother approach with a raised brow. “Irene very much knew of my visit.” She placed a slender finger on her chin. “How funny. Did shenotinform the head of the household? How despicable. Tell me you’ll punish her, brother.”

Duncan did not dare to crack a smile. “I see you are still nothing more than a tease.”

“And I see you are still as tight lipped as the rest of the Celeston men.” She smiled and took a step closer to him. “Can’t you tell me how Irene is faring?”

“If you are here to see her, why don’t you ask for yourself?”

“You know our dear eldest sister,” Cordelia pressed. “She won’t offer me the slightest bit of the truth.”

Duncan raised a brow. “And you assumeIwould?”

“Does it hurt to ask?”

“Perhaps.”

Cordelia’s shoulders sagged. “Duncan!”

“Honestly, Cordelia, ask her yourself,” he muttered, crossing his arms determinedly over his chest. “I have bigger things to ruminate over than our sister’s inability to share her feelings. I thought you’d at least understand that now, as a married woman with a title.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Duncan shook his head. “Dear sister,” he muttered, “There isn’t a lady in London’s aristocratic society who’d dare to reveal her true feelings. Not when there is marriage, and more specifically, a fortune at stake.”

Cordelia blinked, entirely lost. “Once again,” she snapped, “What does that have to do with our sister’s well-being?”

“Forget it,” Duncan mumbled, his brow crooked and annoyed. “She rests in the drawing room. Follow the damned hound,” he gestured to the great beast who rose from the stairs. “He knows the way.”

Duncan stormed off in the opposite direction, whipping around a corner without another word.

Cordelia flipped around to the housekeeper. “Is it just me, or is my brother a bigger hard-head than usual?”

“I wouldn’t know such a thing, your Grace.”

She raised a brow and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“The Duke has had quite a bit on his shoulders over these few years, especially with the return of the Countess,” Mrs. Atty finally said in a lowered voice. “I thought her grief and mourning would affect him, but it seems to be something else weighing on the Duke’s mind. Not that he is ever as inclined to share it.”

Cordelia scoffed. “Must run in the family. Does Irene truly grieve?”

“My dear,” Mrs. Atty cooed, extending an arm towards the wolfhound, who truly seemed to be waiting on Cordelia by that point, “I believe it would be best for you to see and ask her for yourself. You are sisters, after all.”

After letting out a burdened sigh, Cordelia left the housekeeper in the foyer, and followed the wolfhound up the stairs. The beast barely gave her any attention, merely walked at a lazy pace around the corners and through the halls.

For a reason Cordelia could not explain, her nerves amounted to an unexpected height as she drew closer and closer to her sister. Grief was not something their family had yet to experience, but the untimely death of a newly wedded husband? Cordelia shook her head as she walked, slowing her pace so as to not pass the wolfhound. Even for a woman as strong and gracious as Irene, it felt like a burden no person could manage well on their own.

Cordelia received a letter from Irene the day before, after learning about how her husband decided they would attend a ball as a united pair. The look on her husband’s face still haunted her, clinging to the back of her mind like a forgotten dream. Even then, as she walked towards her sister, a tension grew in the center of her chest, a sort of tightness she would have once considered to be a sign of sickness. Now, Cordelia suspected, it had to be some sort of nerve. It had to be.

The wolfhound used his long snout to push a door open fully and slipped inside without barely letting out a sound. Cordelia eagerly followed, and stepped into the brightly lit parlour after the gentle beast.

The parlour was a round room, with tall windows framing one side and bookcases lined with leather-bound volumes on the other side. Plush seats and a long sofa were in the center of the room, a table in between them. A tray carrying a baby blue tea set glimmered at the table, one cup set aside and steaming. Upon the sofa, with needlepoint resting on her lap, was Irene. The wolfhound clobbered up to her, resting his long head beside her, looking up with wide doe-eyes, the slightest bit of a whimper filling the air.

“Dear sister,” Cordelia said from the doorway. “Once, you told me of a certain beast with a rather worried tone. Look at you now! Carrying ‘round a beast of your own.”

Irene looked over her shoulder, a wide smile beaming across her beautifully porcelain skin. “How dare I,” she teased. “If it worries you any, know that Tiberius is the gentlest giant I have had the pleasure of knowing.”

“Tiberius,” Cordelia repeated, catching the dog’s attention for a second. “I don’t recall you being an animal lover, Irene.”

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