Chapter 10
“Have you quite finished finding this amusing?”
Adelaide stood rigidly in the middle of the gallery, one hand still curled against the folds of her traveling gown while Eric’s laughter softened into something dangerously close to a smile. The sound had been brief, but it had done enough damage.
Heat had already climbed from her throat to her cheeks, and she could feel every degree of it as though the entire upper floor of Wolverton had conspired to witness her humiliation.
“I am making a sincere effort,” he said.
“You are making no effort whatsoever, and you have yet to address the concern I presented.”
His mouth shifted again, which proved her point.
Adelaide looked at him with confusion.
Eric rested one hand against the brass handle, regarding her with an expression far too composed for a man who had just laughed at his wife’s apparent surrender. “I meant only to show you where you would sleep.”
Her eyes snapped back to his. It was at that exact moment that she realized that this was a complete misunderstanding. He laughed because he thought she was asking him about the shared door and about their marital duties.
“Should either of us require?” she repeated back to him, fingers floating up to rest on her lips.
“I was speaking of the bell pulls,” he supplied calmly. “For assistance during the night. The bell pulls are beside each bed.”
Adelaide stared at him.
Eric’s composure held for perhaps two seconds before another trace of amusement touched his face. “Though I can see how my phrasing may have led you elsewhere.”
“Look—” she said quickly, her hand floating down, fingers flexed between them.
“I think we have misunderstood each other. I meant to ask about what Atlas said at the wedding, which does not relate in any way to a… shared… door…” Adelaide started to say, but the words felt heavy on her tongue as she said them because she knew precisely that it did have almost everything to do with the shared door.
Eric straightened then. “What did Atlas say?”
“He said you had made a lifelong promise. That one day he would inherit Wolverton because there would never be an heir.” She held his gaze. “You should have told me before we married.”
The amusement in Eric’s features disappeared and she continued.
“The matter of an heir,” she continued, turning fully toward him. “That should have been among the first things discussed between us, not something your cousin mentioned over champagne at our wedding breakfast.”
“He should not have mentioned it at all.”
“That is not the point.”
“No,” Eric said after a moment. “It is not.”
Adelaide watched him carefully. “I told you I had no romantic expectations. I did not tell you I wished for children. I do not know that I do. Perhaps I never shall.” She paused, choosing the next words more carefully. “But the absence of an heir affects more than your private grief.”
His jaw tightened faintly, though he did not interrupt.
“If the title passes to Atlas, then the house passes to Atlas. The lands, the income, the authority. Everything tied to Wolverton becomes his.” Her gaze moved briefly across the room before returning to him. “And I become the inconvenient widow who remains only by another man’s generosity.”
“You will not.”
The certainty in his voice caught her off guard. “You cannot know what Atlas will choose years from now.”
“I do not need to.”
Adelaide frowned. “That is an extraordinarily confident answer.”
“It is an accurate one.”
She folded her hands before her to keep from reaching for the seam of her glove. “You made a lifelong decision that would determine my future before you knew my name.”
“I made it before marriage was ever under consideration.”
The admission came so plainly that Adelaide lost the reply she had prepared.
He continued before she could recover it. “You are right. I should have told you. Not because Atlas believes himself entitled to discuss my private intentions, but because you were entitled to understand the terms of the life you were entering.”
She studied him. “So, what happens to me?” she asked.
“You remain secure.”
“Through what means?”
“I have taken care of it.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“It is the one I am prepared to give.”
Adelaide’s brows rose. “You cannot announce that you have taken care of my entire future and expect me not to ask how.”
“I absolutely can,” he said, as he started down the hallway. “I simply do not expect the attempt to succeed.”
Despite herself, she almost smiled. “What have you done, Eric?”
He stopped.
It was the first time she had used his Christian name without thinking. The sound of it seemed to settle differently between them than his title ever had. His gaze met hers, and for one strange moment the room grew quieter around them.
Adelaide felt like she should apologize, but knew it was not appropriate to do so, so she rolled her shoulders back and waited for his response.
“You will never be dependent upon Atlas, his heirs, or anyone else’s goodwill. Whatever happens to me, you will have property and income of your own. No one will decide whether you may remain comfortable. No one will be able to turn you from your home or dictate where you live.”
He had said it without flourish. Without seeking praise. As if arranging her independence had been no more remarkable than ordering a carriage.
“You did that before the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Something unreadable passed through his expression.
“Because I know what it means to have one’s future determined by a death,” he said quietly. “I had no intention of allowing mine to determine yours.”
Before she could answer, he turned from her. “You should rest,” he said, returning to formality with such ease that she nearly resented him for it. “Your maid and the child are expected before noon. Mrs. Graves will see that breakfast is sent up when you wake.”
“Eric—”
He inclined his head. “Adelaide.”
Then he was gone.
For several moments she remained where she stood, and then she turned. The polished brass handle stared back at her waiting for her to enter.
The chamber was larger than the morning room at Talbot Park. Pale blue silk covered the walls, though age had softened the color until it resembled evening sky. Tall windows overlooked the eastern lawns, where mist still clung to the lower fields.
A fire burned low in the grate, and fresh flowers had been arranged near the bed in a porcelain vase she suspected had not occupied the room before that morning.
Her trunks stood near the dressing room doors.
Someone had taken care with the details… she thought. Could this be the workings of Mrs. Graves, cold and distant as she was when meeting her earlier?
She turned slowly, taking in the carved bedstead, the writing desk near the window, the cushioned chair beside the hearth. Nothing in the room belonged to her, yet everything had been prepared as though the household expected her to remain.
At least she is professional…
Adelaide moved toward the window, then stopped before reaching it. The conversation with Atlas had waited in her mind through the entire journey, quiet but persistent.
Eric’s genuine laughter at her embarrassment of the misunderstanding had temporarily displaced it but not erased it. Turning back to the bed, she removed her bonnet and set it beside her on the coverlet.
She intended only to rest for a few minutes before unpacking, but the room disappeared almost immediately.
When she woke, afternoon light had replaced the pale morning across the windows. For one disoriented moment she did not know where she was. Then a small weight landed against the mattress, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone attempting to whisper and failing entirely.
“She is awake.”
“I can see that, Elise.”
Adelaide opened her eyes.
Violet stood beside the bed in a traveling dress creased from the journey, her dark hair escaping beneath a simple bonnet. Elise had climbed halfway onto the mattress and now leaned over Adelaide with both hands planted near her shoulder, grinning as though she had personally arranged the reunion.
“You slept forever,” the child announced.
Adelaide pushed herself upright, still heavy with sleep. “Three hours was not forever.”
She smiled and reached for Elise, and the child came willingly, curling against her side while Violet sat near the foot of the bed. “You arrived safely?”
“Yes, without delay,” Violet said quietly.
Adelaide looked around the chamber, which seemed to have changed again. Nothing physical had moved except the small carpetbag near the dressing room door and Elise’s bonnet abandoned on the chair. Yet the chamber no longer felt borrowed.
Violet’s familiar voice had entered its silence. Elise’s boots had marked the rug with a faint line of dust. Their presence filled the spaces grandeur had left empty.
Adelaide pressed a kiss to the child’s hair.
Restored by sleep and the reassuring disorder that Violet and Elise brought with them, Adelaide pressed herself up to sit and announced that she would be venturing downstairs to explore the house. Violet stayed behind to continue moving her into the rooms.
Wolverton revealed itself slowly.
The western gallery overlooked formal gardens arranged with almost military precision.
The library stretched across two rooms and contained enough neglected books to occupy several lifetimes.
A narrow passage near the old chapel smelled faintly of damp stone, while the newer wing carried beeswax, lavender polish, and the distant warmth of the kitchens.
The house was beautiful.
Servants bowed when she passed. Footmen stepped aside. Maids lowered their eyes. Mrs. Graves found her near the breakfast room.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying. “I have shown Miss Hale to the servants’ quarters, but His Grace has made it clear that she is to remain in rooms near you.”
“Yes, she will have rooms near mine.”
The housekeeper’s expression remained composed. “Naturally. I only wondered whether maintaining the customary distinctions might make her position easier among the staff.”
Adelaide smiled. “How thoughtful of you.”
Mrs. Graves inclined her head.
“Though I have found,” Adelaide continued, “that people generally understand their positions quite well until someone insists upon making them feel smaller.”
The housekeeper’s gaze sharpened.
Adelaide kept her voice pleasant. “Mrs. Hale is my lady’s maid. She is also my friend. Neither fact prevents her from performing her duties, and neither should inconvenience anyone else.”
“Of course not, Your Grace.”
“I am pleased we agree.”
A pause followed. Mrs. Graves recovered quickly. “The late duchess maintained a more traditional household.”
“I am sure she did.”
“She believed familiarity between ranks could create confusion.”
Adelaide’s features shifted and she lowered her chin to look sternly at the housekeeper. “Then let us avoid confusion entirely.”
Mrs. Graves waited.
“You manage the household staff,” Adelaide said. “Miss Hale attends me. I am the mistress of Wolverton. That seems clear enough to me.”
The words landed without force, which made them sharper, and the housekeeper’s composure faltered.
Mrs. Graves lowered her head. “Perfectly clear, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Adelaide said plainly and turned away, walking toward the quieter wing of Wolverton.
Violet joined her as she departed the library, having completed the unpacking rather quickly, and Adelaide was thankful that her friend had not been with her during the confrontation with the housekeeper.
As they left the main gallery behind, the polished floors gave way to narrower passages and faded carpets, their colors softened by years of sunlight.
Fewer servants passed them there. The walls held older paintings, darker landscapes, and several portraits that had been turned toward the plaster or covered beneath linen cloths.
Adelaide found the silence preferable, but the sound of their footsteps seemed a bit unbearable. So she recounted the exchange to Violet, quiet enough to not draw attention but loud enough to drown out the silence.
“Do you not think you went a little too far on your first day here?” she asked as they rounded another corner.
“Not at all. If anything, I was more pleasant than she deserved,” Adelaide said almost sharply, then felt a heat creep up to her cheeks and apologized quickly for her tone.
The maid glanced toward her. “The house is lovely. I am sure they have a way of doing things that seem more proper than how we are used to. It will just take time.”
Adelaide gave her a doubtful look. “I think I made myself clear. Time be damned.”
Violet lifted one shoulder and chuckled.
“Mrs. Graves and most of the others seem newly placed here. They cannot have much authority beyond what the duke allows them. What they are used to stems from society norms, which you have to admit… we do not follow very closely when it comes to me and Elise.”
Adelaide slowed. “New? How have you determined that after scarcely a day?”
Violet’s step faltered, though only slightly. “The servants speak.”
“To you?”
She adjusted the cuff of her sleeve. “Certainly not, but one overhears things.”
Violet had always possessed an odd talent for learning what others overlooked.
She remembered names after hearing them once, recognized tension before a word had been exchanged, and occasionally answered questions Adelaide had not yet asked.
Pressing her about it generally produced very little beyond an enigmatic smile and a change of subject.
Adelaide allowed this one to pass.
“For what it is worth,” Violet added, “I think whatever happened between you and Mrs. Graves was effective. She came to your chambers rather pleasantly shortly after you left us.”
“Did she show you to your rooms?”
“She did.” Violet smiled, though the expression vanished as they entered the final gallery.
Adelaide walked several steps before realizing her friend had stopped. Her gaze caught. “Violet?”
She was standing before a portrait concealed beneath a heavy length of gray cloth. Both hands had closed around her skirts so tightly that the fabric twisted between her fingers. The color had drained from her face, and she stared at the covered frame as though the linen concealed nothing at all.
“Violet?” Her friend startled. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
The answer came too quickly, but Violet released her skirts and smoothed them with trembling fingers. “The passage is colder than I expected.”
Adelaide looked toward the nearby windows. They were firmly closed. “You look suddenly unwell.”
“I’m only tired from the journey.” Violet stepped away from the portrait. “I should find Elise before she convinces someone to let her into the kitchens.”
She smiled, but the effort did not reach her eyes. Then she turned and left the gallery before Adelaide could stop her.
Adelaide stood frozen and confused, listening until Violet’s footsteps disappeared. In two years, she had never seen her act thus out of fear.