Chapter 5
“Would you care for more kippers, Lady Louise?” The footman—James, she’d learned—stood at her elbow with a silver serving dish that could have paid their coal bill for three winters.
Louise’s stomach twisted with more than hunger. Every bite in her mouth felt like another chain binding her to the duke’s charity.
“No, thank you.” She managed a polite smile while her fingers tightened on the delicate china cup.
Real cream swirled in her tea. When had she last tasted cream?
Across the morning room’s elegant table, Emily attacked her third serving of eggs with enthusiasm that made Louise’s chest ache.
Her sister’s plate overflowed with abundance.
There was kedgeree, toast with actual butter, and fresh fruit that must have cost a fortune in January.
Emily’s cheeks already showed more color than they’d had in months.
“Nonsense! You’ve barely touched your plate.” Lady Merrow waved at James. “Give her more. The girl’s as thin as a reed.”
Heat crawled up Louise’s neck. She forced her spine straighter, a lifetime of training keeping her voice level. “You’re very kind, Lady Merrow, but I’ve had plenty.”
“Plenty?” Cecilia’s eyebrows rose. “My dear child, you’ve had perhaps three bites.”
Under the table, something warm and wet nudged Louise’s knee. Buttercup’s soulful eyes gazed up at her, a string of drool hanging from his massive jowl. Despite everything, she felt her lips twitch.
“Careful, there.” Lady Merrow pointed her fork at Louise without looking. “I know he’s down there begging. The rascal had an entire ham yesterday.”
“He’s very persuasive,” Emily giggled, sneaking the dog a piece of toast anyway.
“Emily,” Louise’s reproach came automatically, though her heart wasn’t in it.
How long had it been since she’d heard her sister laugh so openly?
“Oh, let her spoil him.” Lady Merrow’s eyes twinkled. “Heaven knows he’s already the most coddled creature in London. Aren’t you, darling?”
Buttercup’s tail thumped against Louise’s chair hard enough to rattle her teacup. She steadied it with practiced ease. How many times had she hidden their poverty behind perfect manners?
“Where is His Grace this morning?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Lady Merrow’s expression sharpened with interest. “Aaron left early on business. He often does, though not usually quite so …” She paused, selecting a piece of bacon. “Purposefully.”
Louise kept her expression neutral while her mind raced.
Business. What kind of business requires leaving before dawn? Had he gone to Bragg? The thought of the duke confronting that monster on their behalf made her stomach clench with equal parts gratitude and mortification.
She was supposed to be managing this herself. She always managed everything herself.
“More chocolate, Lady Emily?” James appeared by her sister’s elbow.
“Yes, please!” Emily bounced in her seat, then caught herself. “I mean, if it’s allowed?”
“Everything’s allowed for young ladies who eat their breakfast.” Cecilia winked at her, then deliberately dropped a piece of bacon beneath the table.
Buttercup’s satisfied chomping followed immediately.
“Lady Merrow,” Louise began carefully, “I should discuss my duties. As your companion—”
“Oh, pish.” Lady Merrow waved a dismissive hand. “There’s time for all that. Today you’ll settle in and get your bearings. I’m sure you’re exhausted after last night’s adventures.”
Adventures. Is that what they were calling it? Louise’s fingers found the edge of her napkin, pleating it into perfect folds.
Last night, she’d been ready to compromise herself to save Emily. Today, she sat in a duke’s morning room, eating off china that cost more than their house.
The whiplash of it made her dizzy.
“You’re very kind to take us in.” The words tasted like chalk; each kindness was another debt she could never repay.
“Kindness has nothing to do with it.” Lady Merrow’s voice was gentle. “Aaron needed a companion for me, and you needed sanctuary. It’s a practical arrangement.”
Practical. Yes. Louise clung to that word.
Not charity. A business arrangement. She was earning their keep.
“Buttercup wants to go outside!” Emily announced, scrambling down from her chair.
The dog’s entire rear end wagged in agreement.
“Take him to the garden, then. But wait!” Lady Merrow glanced toward the window, where snow still clung to the hedges. “Marie, fetch Lady Emily’s boots and stay with them. Be careful of the ice near the rose beds.”
“Yes, my lady,” the maid said, hurrying to help Emily into her outdoor things before ushering her toward the door.
The dog galumphed after her, nails scraping excitedly against the floor.
“Now then. Ask your questions.”
Louise’s teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down. “I’m not sure what you mean, my lady.”
“My dear girl, you’ve been vibrating with curiosity since you sat down. You want to know about Aaron.”
Heat flooded Louise’s cheeks. “I simply want to understand our situation better.”
“Hmm.” Lady Merrow helped herself to another piece of toast. “What would you like to know about my nephew?”
Everything. Nothing. Why did he help us?
“His Grace seems very … controlled.” Louise forced herself to select something appropriate.
Lady Merrow’s laugh held little humor. “That’s one word for it. Aaron learned early that showing emotion invited trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Let us say his childhood was not a happy one.” Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup, and her gaze was distant. “My sister died giving birth to him, and the household that remained was not one designed for nurturing a young boy.”
Louise thought of Aaron’s rigid posture, the way he held himself apart even in his own home. “That must have been very lonely.”
“Lonelier than any child should bear.” Lady Merrow’s gaze drifted to the window, where Emily’s laughter drifted in. “I visited when I could. But a visiting aunt is a poor substitute for what he truly needed.”
Louise understood that too well. How many times had she tried to be both mother and sister to Emily?
“Yet he helped us.” She couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice. “A man with every reason to be guarded took in strangers.”
“Aaron keeps his heart well hidden, but it is there.” Lady Merrow leaned forward, and a small smile played at her lips. “He will never admit it, of course. But I suspect protecting others gives him a sense of purpose he rarely finds elsewhere.”
Through the window, Emily’s delighted shrieks told that Buttercup had found something disgusting to roll in. Louise watched her sister chase the dog with a stick, looking more childlike than she had in months.
“Your brother,” Lady Merrow said gently. “Aaron mentioned you’re estranged?”
Louise’s shoulders tightened. “George is missing.”
“Missing or hiding?”
Lady Merrow certainly knew how to cut straight through polite fiction.
“Both, I suspect.” Louise met the older woman’s eyes.
“Aaron will find him.”
“Why would he bother?” The question burst out, raw with frustration. “George is nothing to him. We’re nothing to him.”
“Are you?” Lady Merrow’s smile held secrets. “You, my dear, are not nothing. You’re my companion now, and our guests.”
Lady Merrow stood, smoothing her skirts. “Come. Let me show you the house properly. You’ll need to know your way around if you’re to make it your home.”
Home.
The word sat strangely in Louise’s chest. This wasn’t home; it was a beautifully appointed refuge. Temporary shelter until George surfaced and their world righted itself.
If it ever did.
They collected Emily from the garden, where she and Buttercup had indeed found something to investigate.
Snow and churned-up dirt streaked the hem of her dress, a miserable reminder of every icy puddle she’d plowed through.
Louise tried not to think about how they would ever get it clean, or worse, pay for a new dress.
“This is the library.” Lady Merrow threw open the massive double doors.
Louise’s breath caught. Floor to ceiling books, thousands of them, their leather spines gleaming in the morning light. A fire crackled in the hearth, warming air that smelled of paper and binding glue and knowledge.
“Oh,” Emily breathed. “It’s like a castle!”
“Aaron practically lives in here when he’s home.” She ran her fingers along a shelf. “His father considered too much reading a weakness, so naturally, Aaron became voracious.”
Louise moved between the stacks, her fingers itching to touch. When was the last time she’d held a book that didn’t smell like humidity or was falling apart?
“You’re welcome to read anything you like,” Lady Merrow added. “Aaron’s rather protective of his rarer manuscripts, but everything else is fair game.”
Another kindness. Another chain. Louise’s throat tightened.
“This is the music room.” Lady Merrow led them on, Buttercup’s nails clicking on marble floors. “Do you play?”
“A little.” Louise had sold their pianoforte six months ago, and the memory of it leaving the house still ached.
“Wonderful! You must play for us. Aaron pretends he doesn’t care for music, but I’ve caught him listening outside the door whenever I try my hand at it.”
Each room was more magnificent than the last. The formal dining room with its table for twenty. The blue drawing room, where ladies would call. The conservatory with its jungle of exotic plants.
“And this is Aaron’s study.” Lady Merrow paused at a closed door. “Strictly off limits unless invited, I’m afraid. He’s rather particular about his sanctuary.”
Louise stared at the heavy oak, imagining the duke behind it. What did he think about in there? Did he regret bringing them to his house already?
“Come.” Lady Merrow took her arm and guided her onward. “You must see the conservatory. It’s one of my favorite rooms.”