Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The girl looked at her as if she were daft, and Ariadne saw, in acute clarity, that Emily was, without a doubt, her husband’s child. “To go see Amelia and her five-toed cat, of course.”
“But—” her eyes flew to the ormolu clock on the mantle and quickly read, half past twelve. “—Isn’t it a school day, Emily?”
“It’s Friday,” Emily said, “Father has made it that I only have lessons half a day on Fridays so I can go visit my friends, read if I want, practice the violin or whatever I please. Today, I want to go see the cat.”
Amused, Ariadne asked, “Only the cat? Not your friend as well?”
Puffing out her cheeks, Emily said, “I suppose she must be there; it is her cat after all.”
“I would love to go with you, Emily, but I think it's best if you ask your father first,” she said delicately.
Pouting, the child replied, “Father left for London over an hour ago. Sometimes, he forgets.”
While heartbroken for her, Ariadne found herself in a difficult position; take the child to her friend and start bonding with her, and hope her father would take it lightly was one. The other was that he would see this as some egregious act, and she would incur his wrath.
She could feel Mrs. Tully’s eyes on the side of her head, simply watching to see what she was going to do. Surely Cedric knew his daughter’s friend and family, and if it was on the schedule—and she was sure it was—she decided to risk his temper.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “Just give me a moment to get into a carriage dress and get my coat.”
Ariadne looked up to see Mrs. Tully’s warm, agreeable smile. That was permission enough for her.
Beyond vast tracts of land, green pastures that teemed with droves of sheep, Ariadne spied the house. Their destination was ordinarily a twenty-minute ride from Hollway Estate, which, with the empty road, was covered in less than fifteen.
The manor house was three stories tall, made from stone and dark timber, with jutting balconies, floating eaves. A wide gravel road led to the tall columns at the front doors.
Curiously, Emily had chattered to herself all the way from the moment they had boarded the carriage. Through the rambling chatter, Ariadne had picked up that Amelia had two twin older sisters who were off on boarding school and a brother at Eton.
“Have you ever seen her brother?” Ariadne asked.
“Once,” Emily wrinkled her nose. “He smelled funny when he hugged me. His perfume is yucky. Do you have brothers?”
“No,” she replied. “I only have sisters, and you remind me of the two of them when they were your age.”
“Do I get to meet them?” Emily asked.
“Hopefully—” Ariadne’s mind ran on Isolde and Marigold. “—they can come visit soon.”
The carriage stopped, and she had to hold Emily from jumping out of the vehicle the moment it stood still. When the footman opened the door and helped her out, she was out first, and then with Emily by her side, they headed to the doors.
As they headed to the door, Ariadne rested a hand on Emily’s shoulder; the footman admitted them into a well-appointed foyer with a row of potted plants running under the wide windows and curricle chairs.
“My lady, welcome to the Hamden House,” another footman, a very young man this time, probably not even twenty years, bowed. “May I take your card?”
Fishing a card from her reticule, she handed it over and startled when the young man paled. He bowed so low that his nose touched his knees.
“I am so, so sorry, Your Grace,” the lad said. “I did not know, as Lady Emily has come with other misses as his companion and I—”
“It’s all right,” Ariadne assured him. “Please, take a breath. I won’t tell a soul and endanger your job. I promise.”
The lad nodded, but his hands were shaking, “I will be right back, Your Grace.”
“That’s strange,” Emily pouted. “They usually just show me to Amilia’s playroom.”
“That is because I am here,” Ariadne replied. “I am sure the lady or lord of the house would like to see me.”
In moments, a lady appeared at the top of the stairs, short and dainty; she was a vision of flawlessness in her flounced russet dress with Bishop’s sleeves. With strawberry blond hair, piled high, Lady Hamden did not look as Ariadne had expected her to be.
She looks so young. Is she my age?
The lady came down the stairs, her eyes as wide as dinner plates, but by the time she curtsied and brought her head up, the shock had been erased from her face.
“It is an honor to receive you, Your Grace.” She said. “I honestly did not believe Poll when he told me you were here with Lady Emily. I had heard rumors, all of London has, I am sure, about Duke Holloway’s marriage, but I never thought you would be visiting my humble home.”
“I am happy to be here,” Ariadne replied, feeling genuine warmth coming from the lady. “Emily wanted to see Lady Amelia, and I could not say no.”
“Amelia is in her playroom,” the lady said, while smiling at Emily. “Do you remember the way, dear?”
“I do,” Emily smiled widely before curtsying. “Thank you.”
As she went off, Lady Hamden asked, “I would love to have some tea with you.”
“I would like that, thank you,” Ariadne replied.
“Please follow me, Your Grace,” the lady said. “Call me Clara.”
“If you will call me Ariadne,” she replied.
“I wish my husband were here so he would meet you, but please, let me get my daughter,” Clara said as she let the way up the stairs to a well-appointed drawing room. “I know she would love to meet you.”
As the lady left, two footmen and a maid, one of them Poll from earlier, came in bearing laden trays of tea and finger foods.
“Feeling better now?” She asked him.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Poll bowed.
Clara returned with both girls. Amelia was a mirror image of her mother, with rosy-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“Amelia, I want you to meet Emily’s new mother, Her Grace Ariadne Greymont.”
The child smiled and bobbed out a curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Your Grace.”
“Same to you,” Ariadne replied.
“You girls may go off and play now,” Clara nodded.
As the two scampered off, Ariadne waited until the lady sat and poured tea into the Sèvres cups. “How long have they been friends?”
“From the moment they ran pell-mell into each other at four at a travelling zoo,” Clara replied. “Lady Emily was with an army of nursemaids and guards, but she still managed to sneak away to sneak bread into the monkey’s cage.”
Laughing, Ariadne shook her head. “In the short time I have come to know her, I do believe you.”
“She is a smart little girl,” Clara said while dropping a cube of sugar into her tea and adding a splash of milk. “And I am so happy she and Amelia met at four years old; I sensed a growing loneliness in her, at times. It vanishes when she is with Amelie, though.”
“What do you think caused that?” Ariadne asked, deliberately playing ill-informed.
“I think it’s because she did not have a mother,” Clara replied. “It’s the same way my girls Honora and Henrietta had when I met their father.”
Ariadne startled hard enough that her spoon clattered to her saucer. “P-pardon me?”
Clara gave her a tight smile. “You didn’t know? I met my husband in the same situation as you are in. He had lost his wife after the girls were born. He was at his wits' end trying to care for them, and I stepped in to help. I know a thing or two about becoming a stepmother and a lady in the ton.”
“Truly?” Ariadne asked, fascinated.
“I was only the daughter of a shop girl back then,” Clara said. “And, yes, it was no small feat to transform the proprietress of a frippery shop into a countess.” The lady sipped her tea, her eyes rueful. “But I was determined, you see, to be the lady my husband deserved, such commitment.”
Ariadne found it hard to believe that this poised, confident countess had needed any refinement, but the fact that Clara had started off with less than noble origins—a scandal, she was sure— and ended up where she was, gave her hope.
She made to slather preserves on her croissant, when something warm with twitchy ears jumped on her lap. Startled, she looked down to see a long-haired white cat with startling green eyes staring at her.
“Um, hullo,” she blinked. “Who are you?”
The cat ignored her and made a few rounds on her lap before settling down in a tight circle.
“That is Queen Guinevere,” Clara laughed. “She is a particular cat.”
“Particular, how?”
“She hardly comes to anyone except me,” Clara said.
From outside the open door, a child called, “Queenie? Queenie? Where are you?”
“In here, sweetheart,” Clara called.
The two girls tumbled in to see the cat sitting atop Ariadne’s lap, and Emily’s eyes soared to her with wonder in her eyes. Resting her cup into the saucer, Ariadne gently petted the cat and smiled when the feline purred softly into her hand.
Emily gravitated forward. “May I touch her?”
Instead of replying to her, Ariadne looked to the lady for permission, which she gave with enthusiastic nods. “Gently now,” she instructed the girl, “Stroke her behind her ears and down her neck with light touches.”
Following her instruction, Emily gently petted the cat until the cat felt it was enough, got up, and stretched to where Ariadne saw the two front paws with five toes each. With a soft purr, the cat jumped off her lap and sashayed away with her tail up.
“How—” Emily looked to the door as the cat’s rump vanished around the door. “—how did you get her to come to you?”
“I didn’t,” Ariadne replied. “She came to me.”
“Really?” the girl sounded overawed.
“Truly,” she replied. “Do you girls want to have tea with us?”
“Is there cake?” Amelia asked.
Laughing, her mother said, “Yes, there is orange cake, your favorite. Please, take your seats, and I’ll make your tea.”
“What did you think you were doing?!” Cedric snapped the moment she and Emily set foot into the foyer.
Jerking to a stop, Ariadne felt a rush of shock jolt up the back of her spine. It vanished when she understood the situation. Calmly, she undid her coat and handed it to the footman, “I took Emily to see her friend.”
“Without my permission,” he seethed.
“You were not here,” she said exasperatedly. “There was no way to get your permission. Besides, was it not on her schedule that you so love to follow?”
“Am I in trouble?” Emily’s small, scared voice made her heart twist.
Shaking her head, Ariadne replied, “No, you’re not.” Nodding to a nearby maid, “Please, take Lady Emily to her room and have a late luncheon sent up for her.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the girl curtsied and softly shepherded Emily from the room.
Ariadne pretended not to see when Emily looked over her shoulder, worry painted on her tender face. Cedric’s face had the rigidity of stone, “My study. Now.”
With that, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving her with no choice but to follow.
The study was exactly as remembered: a citadel of masculine order and rigidity. Towering shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls, smelling of aged paper and polish, all of them in perfect order, she knew.
A fire burned low in the grate, casting a somber glow on the dark, leather furniture and a desk large enough to serve as a battlefield map.
He spun, “You are never to do that again.”
Ariadne calmly replied, “Do you not know Lady Clara and her family?”
“I do, but—”
“And do you not have her on a schedule for her to go?”
His eyes narrowed, “Yes, but there is an—"
“And when she does, do you not send her with her governess or a maid and an army of footmen with her?” Ariadne pressed, her tone as calm as still water. “Who do you think garners more respect, your maids, who are perfectly fine by the by, or a duchess?”
She could see that he realized she was chipping his argument to pieces. His jaw worked while the apple in his throat bobbed, and she wondered what he was going to do to refute her claims. He opened his mouth, but nothing came up except for a frustrated grunt.
Spinning on his heel, he went directly to a shelf, took down a decanter and filled a glass, his hand perfectly steady. By the color of the liquor, she assumed it was brandy, and he threw it back in one gulp; Ariadne winced; the fire of that had to be an ungodly burn down his throat.
“Are you going to ban me from taking her to see her friend then?” Ariadne asked, knowing that he had no reason to deny her.
“No,” he said gruffly.
“Do you want me to stop going with her?”
“No.”
Ariadne cocked her head. “Then why did you shout?”
He ignored her and instead plucked a sheet of paper from his desk and handed her a single sheet of crisp, white paper. “This is your overall schedule,” he stated. “I have taken the liberty of outlining my expectations for your role as duchess. You will adhere to them. Without deviation.”
She looked over the paper; the handwriting was sharp and black, as severe as the man who had written it. It was not so much a list of instructions as a set of royal decrees.
Regulations
Wake at 6:00 a.m., daily ambitions are expected.
7:00 a.m. Have a light breakfast.
8:15 a.m. Attend to letter, invitations, correspondence with important executors of the dukedom under your purview; keep up to date with the latest developments in society. No need to speak with the housekeeper about the menus. Those are set.
10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. Payday visits to those requested in the letters, the girls' homes, the orphanage, and et cetera.
3:15 p.m. Luncheon is always served. Usually, Luncheon consisted of two courses, with roast meat or fish, soups, and sweet platters served at the same time.
At 5:00 pm, following dinner, take tea, finish any documents left from earlier, and read.
The rest of the day is yours, no obsequious loud noise, and if you must speak to me, refer to Mr. Hunt first.
She folded the paper, “Very well.”
He looked taken aback. “Only very well?”
“Yes,” Ariadne stood. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” he said.
She dipped out a curtsy to him. “Good evening then.”
As she left the room, Ariadne could feel his eyes flitting over the back of her neck as she knew she had left him discombobulated.
“Good,” she said to herself. “Someone needs to shake him up, and if that role lands on me, I’ll take it.”