Chapter 9
“You have looked out that window for nearly an hour.”
Adelaide did not immediately turn from the passing countryside. Beyond the carriage glass, London had long since given way to hedgerows, wheat fields, and broad stretches of pasture stitched together by low stone walls.
Afternoon sunlight wandered across the hills in slow bands as clouds drifted overhead, turning whole fields from green to gold before moving on again.
“I know.”
“You have not missed very much.”
“That is because you have forgotten how to look.”
The answer drew his attention from the ledger resting unopened across his lap. She had leaned one elbow against the window frame, one gloved fingertip tracing idle circles through the fog her breath left upon the glass.
“I assure you,” he said, “the fields were there the last time I passed them.”
“Yes, but not this particular light.”
She smiled to herself. “Elise would have pressed her nose against the window by now.”
“Would she?”
“Yes, and she would have asked whether every sheep belonged to you.”
“And what would you have told her?”
“That sheep are notoriously indifferent to titles.”
He gave a quiet huff, then, that almost became a laugh. “She would have believed you.”
“She believes most things until evidence proves otherwise.”
“That is a useful habit.”
“It is at five.”
The carriage rolled through a shallow dip in the road before climbing again. Ahead, the land widened into open grazing country where several riders could be seen exercising young horses across a distant field.
Adelaide leaned forward. “Oh, she would adore this.”
“Elise?”
“And Violet.”
He looked across at her then, suddenly frozen with confusion. “I—” Is this the first time I’ve heard her maid’s name? Violet? It is a common name to be sure, but a strange coincidence… “I thought you were speaking of the child.”
“I was. Then I remembered her mother.” The excitement softened into something quieter. “She has scarcely left London since her husband died. I don’t believe she’s seen countryside like this in years.”
Eric watched the landscape slip past for another moment before asking, “How did she come to your household?”
Adelaide turned fully toward him then, surprised enough that she almost forgot to answer. “She answered an advertisement.”
“I imagine there were many applicants.”
“She nearly talked herself out of the position.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“She admitted to us that she had a daughter.”
Eric waited.
“Most households wouldn’t employ a lady’s maid with a child,” Adelaide continued. “Not one young enough to require constant care.”
“So you ignored the objection?”
“My father did.” A fondness entered her voice that Eric had not heard before. “I merely refused to let him change his mind.”
“And her daughter, Elise?”
“She arrived looking as though apologizing for existing had become a habit.”
The words settled between them.
“Children ought not learn that lesson,” Eric said quietly.
“No.” Adelaide smiled again. “She argues with me regularly and lost the privilege of treating me like her employer after about three months.”
“You dismissed her?”
“No, we essentially guaranteed her position for life after she informed me that my arithmetic was wrong.”
Eric looked at her. “And was it?”
She sighed with theatrical reluctance and a wide grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “Marginally—and she has been just… insufferable ever since.”
He found himself smiling before he intended to.
“For two years now we’ve managed estates together, educated Elise together, disagreed over household accounts together…” Adelaide shrugged lightly. “At some point the distinction between servant and family simply stopped making sense.”
Family. The word lingered.
Eric looked back toward the window—his own family had once occupied entire dinner tables. Now it consisted of memories, one trusted cousin, and a promise never to leave another child with only memories in return.
“I hope,” Adelaide said after a thoughtful pause, “that Wolverton won’t expect Violet to become invisible simply because she’s in service or has a child.”
“I don’t.”
She searched his face. “And Elise?”
“She will be exactly where children ought to be.”
“At lessons?”
“And at whatever mischief occupies them between lessons.”
The answer earned another smile. “That is reassuring.”
She settled back against the cushions, watching the countryside again. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That sounds… perilous.”
Adelaide rolled her eyes but continued. “I should like to see the nursery someday.”
The sentiment caught him off guard before he could disguise it. She had said it as casually as another woman might have mentioned the gardens.
“Only to know where it is,” she added quickly. “Large houses always have one.”
“They do.”
“And yours?”
“Ours has remained empty.”
She nodded once, her gaze returning to the passing hills. “I suppose that was always the plan.”
There was no accusation in her voice. Only quiet acceptance. Which Eric found that almost harder to bear.
***
“Your Grace.” The coachman’s voice carried through the carriage door with practiced restraint. “We’ve arrived.”
Eric had known that for several minutes.
The wheels had left the main road behind and begun the long climb beneath Wolverton’s ancient oaks, every familiar bend announcing itself before it appeared beyond the window. He had ridden that drive since childhood.
Now he returned with a wife.
Across from him, Adelaide slept with her head resting lightly against the carriage wall, one gloved hand curled loosely atop the traveling blanket that had slipped across her lap sometime before dawn.
The conversation that had carried them through the first hours of the journey had long since faded into silence.
Exhaustion had claimed her somewhere after midnight.
Eric had not been nearly so fortunate.
Every attempt at sleep had lasted only moments before some fresh realization pulled him awake again. Married. Responsible for another life. A woman who scarcely knew him now depended upon him in ways he had spent five years promising himself would never happen again.
Adelaide stirred as the carriage came to a complete halt. She blinked once, then looked out the window before straightening with obvious embarrassment.
“I apologize.”
“You were asleep. I suspect you needed it.”
“I suspect I still do.”
There was enough honesty in the admission to draw the smallest smile from him.
He stepped down first, turning to offer his hand as she emerged.
Morning mist still lingered over the lawns beyond the drive, softening the hills that stretched away behind the house.
Wolverton rose from the landscape in weathered gray stone, ivy climbing one entire wing while tall chimneys reached into the pale sky above. The windows caught the first true sunlight of the morning, throwing gold across the glass.
Adelaide stopped beside him as she took in the estate. She looked toward the stables first. Then the paddocks beyond. Only afterward did her gaze travel upward to the house itself, which Eric found unexpectedly reassuring.
“You’ve arrived at last, Your Graces.” Mr. Charles descended the front steps with his usual easy confidence, though something about the smile failed to reach his eyes.
“Ah, yes—” Eric turned to Adelaide. “Mr. Charles keeps us all in line here whilst Atlas is away.”
“Duchess.” The old man smiled and bowed. “I hope the journey wasn’t too tiresome.”
“I believe I slept through most of the difficult parts, Mr. Charles.”
He bowed politely, then turned back to Eric. “I have everyone assembled,” he said, and the footmen opened the great front doors before them.
The entrance hall smelled faintly of beeswax and wood smoke. Morning light spilled through the high windows onto the black-and-white marble floor, where nearly every member of the household stood waiting.
Each bowed or curtsied in turn.
“Welcome home, Your Grace.”
The words echoed softly through the hall.
Eric inclined his head before turning toward Adelaide. “And this,” he said, “is Her Grace, the Duchess of Wolverton.”
Another wave of curtsies followed that were far warmer this time.
Adelaide answered each greeting with quiet grace, though he noticed the uncertainty she tried to hide. She had managed estates before, but never one where every pair of eyes belonged, in one way or another, to her.
The introductions began. “Hawkins, my butler.”
The older gentleman bowed. “A pleasure to welcome you home, Your Grace.”
“Mrs. Dalton manages the kitchens.”
The cook offered a broad smile. “We’ve been planning your arrival for a week.”
“I very much look forward to meeting your cooking,” she said almost reverently.
Mrs. Dalton beamed, and the tension eased fractionally. One by one they continued until only the housekeeper remained.
“Mrs. Graves.”
Abigail curtsied perfectly and coldly. “Your Grace.”
Nothing in her tone could reasonably have been called disrespectful, yet it lacked the warmth every other servant had offered.
Eric saw Adelaide’s expression change with confusion almost imperceptibly. The quiet, immediate sort that asked, Have I already failed?
“I trust our rooms have been prepared,” Eric said evenly.
“They have,” Abigail straightened.
Silence lingered just long enough until finally he stepped forward. “Mrs. Graves has overseen this household faithfully for many years.”
The housekeeper inclined her head.
“She has weathered more changes than most,” he continued.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I imagine this year has unfolded rather differently than anyone expected.”
Something flickered across Abigail’s face. “Very much so.”
“It has been unexpected for all of us.” His voice remained calm. “Her Grace deserves the same welcome and respect this household has always shown me.”
He met Abigail’s eyes. “I expect nothing less.”
The housekeeper lowered her gaze. “Of course, Your Grace.”
The answer came without hesitation this time.
Eric looked back toward Adelaide, who had not spoken. “As for the rest,” he said, allowing the moment to pass, “you’ll meet Mr. Higgins soon enough.”
She looked around, and a few servants smiled knowingly.
“He retired several years ago,” Eric reminded her with a friendly tone. “He simply refuses to behave accordingly.”
“What does he do instead?”
“He lives in a cottage somewhere on the estate, wanders into my stable before sunrise whenever the mood strikes him, offers unsolicited advice, and disappears again before breakfast.”
“And you allow this?”
“I’ve attempted not allowing it, but he has just ignored me.”
She laughed. “I rather think I’m going to like Mr. Higgins.”
“I suspected you might.”
She looked at him sideways, and another smile escaped her before she could stop it.
Eric glanced toward the staircase. “I had intended to show you the grounds.”
She followed his gaze, then blinked heavily for what was surely the third time since leaving the carriage.
“But the grounds will still be there this afternoon.”
She looked almost relieved and offered her his arm.
“For now…” His expression softened by a degree. “I’ll show you the house.”
The servants gradually dispersed, their footsteps fading into the distant rhythm of a household returning to its ordinary work. Atlas excused himself to attend to estate business with little more than a courteous nod, leaving the entrance hall unexpectedly quiet.
The staircase curved upward beneath a tall window overlooking the front drive. Morning sunlight stretched across the worn oak steps, warming the polished banister his father had once insisted never be replaced, despite generations of scratches left by boots, children, and careless trunks.
“My father always claimed those marks gave the house character.”
Adelaide glanced toward the railing. “And did you agree?”
“I thought they suggested we ought to hire better movers and it saved replacing the banister.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “So practical.”
They climbed in comfortable silence for several steps, and Adelaide’s attention wandered from the portraits lining the walls to the broad windows overlooking the eastern lawns. She slowed before one landscape, leaning slightly to admire the view beyond it.
Her foot found the edge of the next stair instead, but she caught herself with a startled breath, and Eric’s hand closed around her forearm before she could lose her balance for the third time in scarcely a fortnight.
She looked down at where he held her, then slowly raised her eyes to his. “I—” Color rushed into her cheeks. “I seem to be developing a habit.”
“You,” he said as his mouth curved into a smile, “certainly appear remarkably determined to fall into my arms.”
She covered her face briefly with one gloved hand. “I should like to stop providing you with opportunities to say things like that.”
“I should hate to lose the amusement.”
“You are enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Only a little.”
She recovered herself, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her sleeve with great concentration. “I blame your stairs.”
“I thought it was the horses.”
“The horses have shown considerably better manners.”
“They’ll be disappointed to hear it.”
She shook her head, though the embarrassment lingered in the pink still visible across her cheeks. At the end of the gallery, Eric stopped before a pair of adjoining doors.
“These rooms have been prepared for your arrival.” He reached for the nearer handle. “They connect privately,” he said. “Should either of us require—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question arrived so abruptly that his hand remained suspended above the latch.
He turned, and Adelaide had gone very still. Her features were now fixed on a non-existent object in the distance. Her earlier embarrassment had disappeared entirely.
“What?”
She searched his face as though trying to determine whether he truly did not understand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
For several seconds, Eric simply stared at her. Then, to her obvious outrage, he laughed.