Chapter 5
Rachel had appointed herself tour guide with enthusiasm, and Anna followed her through the principal rooms first that afternoon.
Anna enjoyed strolling through the long gallery with its ranked portraits of three centuries of someone else’s ancestors, the library that took up most of the south wing and smelled of old leather, beeswax and faint tobacco, the music room where a pianoforte stood in the window, and Rachel played three bars to demonstrate the quality of the instrument before declaring they had more to see.
“We must go outside,” she said as they reached the terrace, and off they went.
The grounds were larger than they had appeared from the carriage the previous night, which had shown Anna only the dark outline of things.
In the morning, they were something else entirely, almost out of a fairytale.
She could walk them every day, she thought, finding some new detail in the ornate stonework of the facade, or delicate gardens that surrounded it.
The gardens had gone to the unadorned beauty of late season.
The borders were stripped back, the beds mulched and dark, the kitchen garden harvested and waiting for a new spring.
“The rose garden is through there,” Rachel said, gesturing toward a gap in the hedge as they walked. “Frederick had it redesigned three years ago. It’s better in June, obviously, but even now… We should go through later!”
“How large is the estate?” Anna asked.
“Very.” Rachel said with a laugh. “Several hundred acres, I think? I never remember the exact figure. Frederick knows it to the yard. Naturally.”
They came around the east side of the house, where the formal gardens gave way to the working parts of the property.
There was the kitchen garden wall, the icehouse, the path that led down toward the home farm, and beyond that, set at a slight angle to the house as old stable blocks often were, the long stone building whose sounds reached them before they saw it.
Anna savored the soft percussion of hooves, the low breath and shift of horses in their stalls.
Two figures stood in the yard outside. One was the stablemaster; he was a broad, weathered man in his fifties who was holding a set of papers, his spine erect with the pride of someone delivering information he considered important. Naturally, he was speaking to His Grace.
The Duke of Rathbourne was in riding clothes again, coat dark, hat dispensed with despite the chill, and he was listening to the stablemaster with the same quality of attention he’d brought to Rachel’s arguments and Anna’s plea.
Anna noticed how complete and unhurried his focus was, as though nothing else was occurring anywhere in the world that required him.
He said something. The stablemaster nodded, turned over a page. It hit Anna hard in the gut, just how handsome the Duke was, how the golden hues of his sandy-brown hair glimmered in the sunlight, how tall and broad-shouldered…
Then, a cat appeared from nowhere, moving casually as any cat who feels at home. Then, the feline threaded itself between the Duke’s boots with the ease of long practice, once, twice, tail raising briefly in greeting. Despite the gesture, the Duke didn’t stop talking.
This is most surprising, Anna thought to herself, unable to look away.
The Duke bent down, and his hand found the back of the cat’s ears. He scratched expertly, and his voice continued speaking without interruption.
Anna could make out some words, something about the papers the stablemaster was holding. Then, the cat pressed up into his hand, and the Duke’s fingers moved absentmindedly, like he’d done this ten thousand times before.
“I’ll have the papers to you by this afternoon, Your Grace.” The stablemaster collected the pages, touched his hat in the general direction of Rachel and Anna, and removed himself back toward the stables with purpose.
The Duke straightened and his hand, Anna noticed, lowered to his side as though it had not been doing anything in particular. They came across the yard toward him, Rachel in front.
“Percy looks well,” Rachel said, pleasantly.
“He usually does.” The Duke looked at the cat, who was now sitting two feet away with his tail curled around his paws.
Percy was a handsome animal, large, with thick grey fur. His enormous green eyes blinked slowly, with the look of something that had been well-fed for its entire life and knew it.
“He’s yours, Your Grace?” Anna said.
He glanced at her. “He lives here.”
“Percy is very much Frederick’s cat,” Rachel said, “though if you ask Frederick, he will tell you that Percy earns his place.”
“He keeps the mouse population manageable,” the Duke said. “A cat is an important asset for country residences.”
“He keeps the kitchen staff on edge, too,” Rachel said with a wry smile.
“Can you believe that Frederick feeds him roast chicken under the table and now Percy considers it a personal affront when the kitchen produces anything else?” She tilted her head at her brother.
“I heard from one of our footmen that just last month, Percy sat outside the kitchen door for forty minutes until someone brought him a piece of the Sunday ham.”
“He is resourceful,” he said.
“He is spoiled,” Rachel answered.
The Duke said nothing further, which Anna was beginning to understand was its own form of admission.
She looked at Percy, who was sitting in a stripe of pale autumn sun with an expression of profound satisfaction.
She felt an immediate warmth for the cat.
She’d been fond of animals since she was a small girl, but London townhouses—and any property of Jonathan’s—were no place for a pet.
She crouched down, her skirts settled around her, and extended her hand. “Good day,” she said, in the voice she had always used with animals—low, undemanding.
Percy looked at her hand and sniffed. He looked at her face. He looked back at her hand. Then he stood, stretched with magnificent slowness, all spine arching, front paws extending, and sauntered away.
Anna straightened and stood, disappointed.
“He only likes Frederick,” Rachel remarked. “And tolerates me,” she added, “but only if I don’t make any sudden movements.” She paused. “And only since about… eighteen months ago.”
“He will come around,” said His Grace, and Anna was almost certain that he was talking about the cat, though his tone hinted at something she could not name.
Percy had reached the far side of the yard and disappeared through a gap in the stable wall without looking back.
A quality he shares with his owner.
“Come,” Rachel said, taking her arm. “I want to show you that rose garden before the light goes flat.” She glanced at her brother as they turned back toward the house. “You should come too, Frederick. You never come to the garden.”
“I have estate papers,” he said, too quickly. “You always have estate papers.” Rachel was already steering Anna away. “Really, I don’t know how you survive out here when I don’t come with you.”
The Duke said nothing, in the way that suggested the answer to this was very quietly. Anna let Rachel turn her back toward the house up to the rose gardens, but at the edge of the yard she glanced back.
It was just once, without entirely meaning to.
The Duke was looking at them. She’d felt his attention like sun beating against her back, but she couldn’t tell if it was harsh noontime light or gentle afternoon warmth. He looked away at the same moment she did, with the same sort of speed.
Well then, she thought to herself, as she felt sparks jolt inside of her like wild lightning, her pulse quickened. Perhaps I am not quite imagining things…
She faced forward and kept walking.