Page 15 of The Truth About Dukes
Lovely, wonderful, happy…these terms peppered Althea’s speech like cheerful colors dotting a still life.
“I am glad you have found a man who deserves your affection, Thea. I will miss you.”
Althea bumped her shoulder against Constance’s. “I’m going a mere twenty miles away, not far at all.”
No, but in a significant sense, Althea, who was Constance’s closest ally, had already departed, never to return.
Time to change the subject. “Has Nathaniel heard anything from the solicitors?”
“Yes. They are optimistic that Robert need only present himself as a missing heir, one who did not realize until recently that the old duke had gone to his reward. The letters patent can be reissued to ensure the title remains in his hands.”
Was that what Robert wanted? Had anybody thought to ask him what his wishes were? But then, as Constance well knew, titles were unruly beasts, rampaging across family trees like famished dragons obedient exclusively to the terms of the documents giving them life.
“You’re wishing we had walked,” Althea said, as the walls of an old orchard came into view.
“Of course I wish we’d walked. The distance isn’t but a mile and the countryside is beautiful.”
“You cannot be trusted under a sunny sky, Con. You’ll get out your pencil and sketch pad, and neither hunger nor thirst will pluck them from your hands. You will be agog at Robert’s walled garden. He’s spent years there, and his plots are magnificent.”
Constance would have to sketch the duke in his garden to wrap her mind around that notion. She could still picture him as a younger man, gaunt and deathly pale from years indoors, his drapes always closed, the candles in his room always lit. He’d put her in mind of a hibernating wolf, except that wolves never hibernated, no matter how cold and dark the winter.
“His Grace enjoys gardening?” Constance asked.
Althea turned the horse up a long, weedy drive. “I don’t think Robert loves the flowers so much as he loves creating patterns and watching them emerge. You seem to have an easy acquaintance with him, considering he hasn’t moved in society.”
So that was what this invitation to pay a call on the Hall was about. Rothhaven had sensed family would pry, while Constance had been confident that nobody would dare allude to her youthful mistakes.
“His Grace is restful company,” Constance said, which was the absolute truth. “He doesn’t put on airs, he’s exceptionally well read, he is tolerant of human failings, and a good conversationalist.”
The gig hit a rut, tossing Constance against her sister.
“Is he, Con?” Althea said, when the horse was again trotting along. “Yours might be the minority opinion in that regard. Rothhaven can be unreasonably stubborn. Nathaniel says he’s had to be.”
Nathaniel says, Nathaniel thinks, Nathaniel, Nathaniel, Nathaniel…who did not know the half of his own brother’s past.
“Stubborn?” Constance replied. “Imagine that, a stubborn duke. I know of only six or seven others, our brother among them. Good heavens, could this façade be any more bleak?”
Gray stones could be made cheerful by flowers, greenery, gracefully curving arches, or pretty mosaics, but Rothhaven Hall was devoid of those touches. Lichens encroached on the wall supporting the front terrace, weeds added to the neglected air, and moss climbed the corner where the north and west walls joined. Every curtain was pulled closed despite the fine weather, and the brass lamps on either side of the front door were tarnished.
“The neglect served a purpose,” Althea replied. “A bleak façade discourages callers. The past five years have not been happy at the Hall. That can change now.”
She drew the carriage to a halt, and no groom appeared to take the horse.
“Let’s drive to the stables,” Constance said. “The staff is apparently out of the habit of watching for guests.”
The day was sunny, but Constance’s mood was increasingly dark. How could anybody thrive in surrounds like this—negligent staff, desolate grounds, no beauty or grace to be seen? Especially for a man burdened with a chronic affliction, such a setting was all wrong.
Althea gave the reins a shake. “I know you are entitled to your privacy, Con, but I have to ask: If you are acquainted with Rothhaven from some previous situation, does that make him unfit company for you now? I can say something to Nathaniel—something vague—and you need not deal with Rothhaven again.”
Protective family was a blessing—also a curse. “His Grace and I are cordially disposed toward one another, as people with a prospective family connection should be. Stop worrying, Thea. Spinsterhood is almost within my grasp and I will be fine.”
Much to Constance’s surprise, she was looking forward to seeing Rothhaven again. He’d taken the sketch she’d left for him after their previous encounter and sent a polite thank-you note. That note was in her jewelry box, the first thank-you note she’d ever received.
An older fellow of diminutive stature shuffled out of the stables as Althea drew the horse to a halt.
“Mornin’, your ladyships. Fine day, is it not?”
“A fine day indeed, Mr. Elgin,” Althea replied, climbing down. “We will stay for luncheon, and we might walk home.”
