Page 4 of Map of a Lady's Heart
“I recognize this is not how you planned to spend your holiday,” he went on, trying to be understanding. “A viscount will be subject to duty and obligation, and not all of it is exceedingly pleasant. However, you can make anything as bearable, or as horrible, as you choose by how you approach the matter. Conduct yourself with grace and good will, and you will find yourself master of the situation instead of a victim gnashing his teeth over the gross indignity of everything.”
“What am I do to here, Uncle Winterton?” asked Justin plaintively. “I know nothing about atlases or old books. I’ve never met the duke. It’s the middle of winter and I shall miss Christmas with my mother and sisters. It feels like punishment.”
“We’ll be back in Hampshire by Twelfth Night. If all goes very well, perhaps sooner. And I don’t view it as punishment—a change of scene, nothing more.” He waited, but Justin merely heaved a silent sigh. He accepted his fate, but without understanding. “Buck up, lad,” said Wes bracingly. “When you were a child, you used to beg to come along on my travels.”
“The East Indies sounded a great deal more exciting and exotic than Dorset in winter.”
Wes laughed. The carriage had reached the front of the house, which was indeed a castle, though one shorn of moat and outer wall. “True enough! But you never know where adventure may be lurking.” The footman opened the door, and Wes stepped out.
Justin followed, pulling his greatcoat tightly around him as he peered up at the massive stone walls of Kingstag Castle, doubt written on his face. “In Dorset? I can’t imagine.”
“Try.” He strode forward through the swirling snow. An inch or two had accumulated, suggesting it had been snowing for some time here. With a sharp jangle of harness, the carriage started off again; the coachman would want to get the horses out of the cold as soon as possible. The butler was waiting in the wide open doorway of the house, holding a lantern aloft like a beacon.
The cavernous hall inside was dim, the candlelight no match for the soaring vaulted ceiling above. A footman pulled the tall doors shut with a clang behind them, while another servant took their hats and coats, and a third instantly stepped forward with a broom to whisk away the snow that had blown in with them. The butler bowed. “Good evening, my lords. Won’t you come this way?” He led them into a cozy parlor nearby. A fire burned in the hearth, and Wes went to warm his hands, grateful for the heat.
“Are you certain they’re expecting us today?” Justin lingered by the door.
Wes turned to let the fire warm his backside. “Why?”
His nephew shrugged. “It didn’t seem as though they were.” He drifted into the room, fiddling with his watch chain.
Time passed. More time passed. Justin began openly checking his watch, in silent demonstration that he’d been right and this visit was indeed a punishment. Wes grew restive. He had an invitation, damn it, from the duke himself. He had more or less begged for it—perhaps even almost invited himself—but he was still an invited guest. Today had been explicitly fixed as the date he would arrive, and however reluctantly the duke had agreed, hehadagreed to that. Wes had roamed across half the world, and he knew how to plan and execute a trip on time, with minimal delays. Had it really thrown the duke’s household in uproar, or was something more serious going on?
His fingers were reaching for the cord to summon a servant when the door opened at last. A woman stepped into the room—a very attractive woman, with toffee-brown hair and soft green eyes. His hand dropped back to his side in surprise.
“Lord Winterton,” she said, dipping a curtsey until her dark blue skirts pooled around her. She raised her head and looked him in the eye with a warm smile on her lovely face, and Wes would have sworn the floor rose and fell under his feet like a ship on the sea in a squall. “I apologize that you’ve been left waiting.”
His eyes fixed on her, Wes bowed. “Were we? I hardly noticed.” Justin made a quiet noise behind him, and he started. He’d forgotten his nephew was in the room. “My nephew, Viscount Newton,” he said, motioning toward the young man.
She made another graceful curtsey. It made her bosom plump up beautifully. “Welcome to Kingstag, Lord Newton.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Justin’s voice sounded deeper and more interested, which perversely annoyed Wes. This woman was too old for his nephew. Not that she was old by any stretch. In fact she looked to be just about perfect. But when he shot a glance of veiled rebuke at Justin, the boy was gazing attentively at the newcomer.
She came forward, her skirts swaying attractively. “I am Mrs. Cavendish, private secretary to the Duchess of Wessex. I’m afraid I bring unfortunate news. His Grace is not in residence now.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate Wes’s brain. His attention had snagged on the way her lips shaped the words. “We had an appointment,” he said.
She bowed her head. “I apologize, my lord. His Grace was called away rather abruptly. I believed Mr. Martin to have written to anyone expected, requesting a postponement.”
“There’s a snowstorm,” protested Justin. “The roads are a nightmare.”
Her face blanked for a split second, then turned pink. It was entrancing, and completely distracted Wes from the urge to correct Justin’s rude statement. “Oh no,” she said, her lips curving into a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean you must leave, certainly not in this weather. You are very welcome to stay. I regret that I cannot tell you when the duke may return, though.”
If someone had told him an hour ago that the duke would be away and his trip would be for naught, Wes would have snarled in frustration. Now, he stared at Mrs. Cavendish’s smile and forgot all about atlases and the long carriage ride and the snow. “That is very kind. I hope Wessex wasn’t called away on a tragic matter.”
Her expression flickered for a moment. “Nothing of the sort. Her Grace the dowager duchess bade me welcome you, and convey her regret that she’s unwell and unable to receive you herself.”
Wes bowed his head and murmured a wish for the duchess’s health. Both the duke and the duchess were away on urgent business—there could be no other kind that required them to leave in such weather—and the dowager duchess was confined to her bed. There must have been quite a search to find someone to tell him the bad news.
As it happened, he was not sorry Mrs. Cavendish had been the one chosen.
“Withers is having rooms prepared for you,” Mrs. Cavendish went on. “May I send for some refreshment? You must be chilled and tired after your journey. The family dines in an hour, if you would care to join them.”
“Thank you.” Wes shook himself out of his daze. He was dumbstruck by a secretary; what a fine example to set for his nephew. Hypocritical, too, after warning Justin away from the miller’s pretty daughter.
The door opened behind her before she could reply. A young woman, about Justin’s age, slipped in. “Viola, may we—?” She stopped short at the sight of the two men, her mouth hanging open. “Are you a friend of Frye?” she asked Justin suspiciously.
Justin blinked. “Who?”
