27. CHAPTER 27
H e broke the news over breakfast because he was a coward who believed the presence of his sister might soften the blow.
"Vivienne, we must go to London."
Vivienne's knife paused halfway through a kipper. She didn't look up, but he could read the tension in her shoulders, the stillness of her hands.
"Must we?"
"Yes. I have duties I can no longer ignore."
"When?" she asked.
"Friday."
She set her knife down. "May I ask why?"
He could not tell her the truth — that Alfred's network had resurfaced in Westminster, that two coded dispatches lay on his desk. She didn't yet know what he did for the Crown. That was a revelation he had to plan and execute with extreme care.
"The estate lawyers require signatures. The townhouse has been closed for months and needs attention. And — " He paused. "Your parents have written. They have heard rumors of your return."
Her face changed to something akin to a cornered animal's. "My parents," she said. "Whom I don't remember."
"Lord and Lady Kilbrannan are — " He stopped himself from saying good people , because that wouldn't help. What she needed was specificity. "Your mother is warm. Forthright. She says what she thinks and expects the same from everyone around her. Your father is quieter but no less direct. "
"They will want to see me."
There was still fear in her expression, but it now mingled with curiosity. With a hunger for the details of a life she could no longer access.
"They will want to devour you," he said. "But I will be there. And Venus will come with us to help. She is quite good at managing people."
"She would have to be," Vivienne murmured, "having managed you."
He almost smiled.
"You cannot stay in Cornwall forever, however beautiful it is," Venus added. "Your parents have mourned you for seven years, Vivi. And word will spread whether we manage it or not. It is better to arrive on your own terms than to let rumor precede you."
Vivienne was quiet for a long moment, no doubt grappling with the public dimension she had not, until now, allowed herself to consider. A duchess returned from the dead. The gossip sheets would feast.
"May I have some time to think about it?" she asked Dalton.
"Of course." He reached out and covered her hand with his. "But I need to go, regardless, and I will be in London for some time. I believe the moment has come, Vivi."
Their arrival in London was as uneventful as he had hoped.
He had made arrangements in advance: the train cars, the coaches, the London house, all exactly as he had ordered.
The dark mahogany paneling in the entrance hall gleamed.
Fresh flowers on the console table scented the air.
Mrs. Hewitt, who ran the London household with brisk efficiency, had everything ready.
At least most of the London staff had not been in his employ seven years ago. So thankfully there had been no tearful recognitions. No emotional displays.
Vivienne stood in the entrance hall, turning, her eyes moving over surfaces, absorbing everything. She touched the banister. Ran her fingers along the carved newel post. As if she were using touch to try to remember.
"It is beautiful," she said .
It was not the word he wanted. The word he wanted was familiar . Or home . He inclined his head and said, "I will show you to the duchess's suite."
"And where is the duke's suite?"
There was a spark of deviltry in her eyes. He was glad the overwhelm had not extinguished it.
"Adjacent." He paused. Leaned toward her to whisper for her ears alone. "With a connecting door."
Her mouth curved. The connecting door at Penrose had seen a great deal of traffic in recent days, and they both knew it.
"Adjacent," she repeated, as if tasting the word. "How convenient."
Society had not forgotten the Duchess of Dalton. And the news of her reappearance raged like a wildfire through the ton.
The first morning call arrived the next day, before the breakfast dishes had been cleared.
By noon, a dozen cards had accumulated on the hall table.
Some from well-wishers, most from women whose curiosity exceeded their good taste.
Dalton cataloged the names the way he cataloged intelligence assets: motive, allegiance, sources of information.
By evening, the gossip columns had the story.
The Duke of D — 's long-lost Duchess has returned to London, having been discovered living in reduced circumstances on a Channel island.
The details of her disappearance remain mysterious, but this paper can confirm that the lady was seen arriving at the Kensington residence in the company of Lady V — S — A — , the Duke's sister.
Reduced circumstances. As if Vivienne had been living in a hovel rather than as the companion to a clergyman's mother. As if the seven years of her absence were a matter of social status, rather than a catastrophe that had hollowed out his life and left him walking through the ruins.
He folded the paper and set it aside. He had known the gossip would come. What he had not realized was how fiercely he would resent her suffering made into a parlor amusement, their private grief turned out for public consumption .
As much as he would have liked to block access to Vivienne completely and turn away all callers, doing so would only invite more gossip and speculation.
Better to reintroduce her to society slowly, while they controlled the terms and the visitors.
On the third morning, the first real test arrived in the form of Lady Compton-Wells.
She was sixty, silver-tongued, and pleasant — which made her the most dangerous kind of caller. She collected other people's stories the way some women collected porcelain, and displayed them with the same indifference to their subjects.
Venus had anticipated her and positioned herself at Vivienne's right hand. Dalton took the armchair by the window.
Lady Compton-Wells embraced Vivienne with every appearance of warmth. "My dear girl. What an ordeal you have survived. You must tell me everything."
"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell," Vivienne said. Her voice was steady. Her hands, folded in her lap, betrayed nothing. "I was ill after the shipwreck. I have been recovering. His Grace has been very patient and kind."
"But the circumstances," Lady Compton-Wells pressed, leaning forward. "One hears such things — a remote island, a doctor who attended you — "
Dalton's fingers tightened on the arm of his chair.
"Dr. Harrison saved my life," Vivienne said.
Something in her voice had shifted. A note of steel he recognized from their negotiations on Guernsey, from the woman who had looked at him across the vestry table and said I will not be managed .
"And the rector's mother took me in when I had nothing.
I owe them a debt I can't repay, and I would be sorry to hear anyone speak of either of them with anything less than respect. "
The drawing room went still.
He could have applauded. Vivienne might not remember this life, but she was still every inch a duchess.
Lady Compton-Wells recovered fast; she had not survived six decades of society by being easily discomposed. She smiled, adjusted the angle of her inquiry, and spent the next twenty minutes asking about Cornwall with an enthusiasm that was almost convincing.
When she left, Venus exhaled.
"Well," she said. "That will be all over London by dinner."
"Yes," Dalton agreed. He was looking at Vivienne, who was staring at the closed drawing room door with a frown.
"You handled her perfectly," he said.
She turned to him. "I handled her the way I would handle anyone who insulted the people I care about."
He filed that away. She defended the people she loved without hesitation. She would, he suspected, do the same for him.
If he ever let her close enough to see where he was unprotected.