Chapter 8
William stared at the space where Mrs. Shaw had been sitting, still trying to understand her sudden departure. She and her daughter were already halfway to the house, their figures moving quickly along the path. Henry looked up at him, waiting.
“We should go inside,” William said. He still could not understand why she had left so quickly. The space she had occupied felt strangely empty, as if he had missed something he should have noticed.
Henry nodded, and they started toward the terrace. Lady Spencer stepped into their path before they reached the doors.
“William,” she said, her voice controlled, “I would like a word.”
William recognized her tone, and he did not want Henry to hear anything she had to say. He glanced down at the boy. “Go inside,” he said quietly. “I will join you shortly.”
Henry gave a small nod and walked toward the house, his steps quick.
Lady Spencer turned toward the corridor, expecting William to follow. William glanced briefly toward the terrace, then stepped after her. She did not slow her pace, and he matched it, their brisk steps clacking against the floor.
They passed a pair of maids carrying linens, who paused and dipped their heads. Lady Spencer did not acknowledge them. William did, with a slight nod, then continued beside his aunt.
When they reached Lady Vane’s study, Lady Spencer pushed the door open and walked in hurriedly. William followed her across the threshold. She turned once he was inside and closed the door behind them, the latch clicking softly in the quiet room.
“You have been spending an unusual amount of time around Mrs. Shaw,” she said. “It is not appropriate.
William kept his eyes on her. “She is Lady Vane’s companion. Our children spend time together. I speak with her when circumstances place us near one another.”
Lady Spencer moved a few steps deeper into the room, her hand brushing the back of a chair as she turned. “That is precisely the problem. A duke does not involve himself with a companion. Widow or not, her position is fixed.”
William’s jaw tightened. “Mrs. Shaw has conducted herself with complete propriety. As have I.”
Lady Spencer lifted her chin slightly. “That is not the issue. You should be attending to the matter of finding a suitable wife, not allowing yourself to be drawn toward a woman who depends on another household for her livelihood.”
William exhaled once, slow and controlled. He walked a short distance toward the window, stopping beside the small table where Lady Vane kept her writing things. He rested his hand lightly on its edge, not looking back at his aunt.
“William.”
He kept his gaze on the window, the sky outside already darkening. He did not answer.
Her voice sharpened. “William, do you understand me?”
He turned away from the window at last. “I have nothing further to say.” He crossed the room without hesitation, leaving her standing where she was.
William left the study and quickly moved down the corridor, listening for Henry’s voice. The house was quiet, aside from the faint murmur of conversation coming from the drawing room. He followed the sound and paused at the doorway.
From his vantage point, he saw Lady Vane seated near the window with a small box of dried leaves open before her. Mrs. Shaw stood beside her, a slip of paper held lightly between her fingers as they spoke in low voices.
Lady Vane noticed him first. “Your Grace,” she said, offering a composed smile before touching the edge of the box. “We were looking over a remedy I must send for.”
Mrs. Shaw straightened slightly, the paper still in her hand. “Lady Vane requires something from the apothecary.”
Lady Vane lifted the slip of paper and held it out to William as he walked into the room. “I had hoped to send for it today, but the household carriage is already out. The weather is turning, and I would prefer not to wait until tomorrow.”
Mrs. Shaw glanced toward the window, where the sky had begun to darken. “If the remedy is needed today, My Lady, I can go. It is not far.”
Lady Vane looked at the clouds again, her expression tightening. “I would rather you did not walk in this weather. It will break soon.”
William stepped a little closer. “I am riding into the village this afternoon. I can take you in my carriage.”
Mrs. Shaw hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the slip of paper. “Your Grace, that is considerate, but I would not wish to trouble you.”
“It is no trouble,” William said. “I am going regardless.”
Lady Vane looked between them, her tone practical. “It is the simplest solution, Mrs. Shaw. If you prefer, I can send one of the maids with you.”
Mrs. Shaw lowered her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “If you are certain, Your Grace.”
“I am,” William said.
Lady Vane closed the box of herbs. “Then it is settled. The remedy will be fetched, and you will both be back before the rain begins.”
Mrs. Shaw gathered her shawl from the back of the chair. As she lifted it, Henry and Clara’s voices carried down the corridor. There was a burst of laughter, then Clara called Henry’s name. Mrs. Shaw looked toward the doorway, her concern clear.
Lady Vane followed her glance. “The children will be quite well,” she said. “I will have the maids take them to the terrace room. There are paints laid out from this morning, and they can work at the table until you return.” She rang for the butler to fetch the maid, who entered the room promptly.
William looked once toward the corridor, then back to Mrs. Shaw.
“We should go,” he said.
The rain held off as they hurried out of the house, crossed the gravel path, and reached William’s carriage. The maid climbed in first, settling on the small bench near the door. Mrs. Shaw followed, and William took the opposite seat, giving her space.
Once they were settled and the carriage began to move, William leaned back comfortably. The horses found their pace, and the road opened ahead of them.
“Lady Vane seemed in good spirits. Has she been well?” William asked, breaking the silence.
Mrs. Shaw kept her voice low. “She has been well these past days. The headaches return when she reads too long, but she manages them.”
William nodded. “She mentioned them once before. I hope the remedy helps.”
“It usually does,” Mrs. Shaw said. “She dislikes asking for assistance, but she will take it if it eases her discomfort.”
The carriage continued along the lane, the countryside stretching out on either side. The maid sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap.
William glanced toward the window. “Henry enjoys his time here. Clara keeps him occupied.”
A faint smile touched Mrs. Shaw’s face. “She likes having someone her own age. It has been good for her.”
“It shows,” William agreed.
The conversation then moved easily from the children to the countryside.
Mrs. Shaw looked out at the fields. “It is quieter than I expected. I thought the estate would feel more crowded.”
“It rarely does,” William replied. “Most of the tenants keep to their own work. The village is where you see people.”
She nodded once. “I have noticed.”
The carriage slowed as they reached the main street and a few villagers paused to look their way. William felt their eyes on him; sharp and curious, but he kept his expression even. He reminded himself that he seldom appeared in town during the day and their attention meant nothing more than that.
The horses came to a halt before the apothecary. The building stood close to the road, its front marked by a narrow set of windows with small panes and a wooden sign hanging above the door.
Shelves were visible through the glass, lined with jars and folded papers, and a faint scent of herbs drifted out each time someone passed through.
William stepped down first and turned back to Mrs. Shaw.
“I will retrieve the remedy,” he said. “You may stay here.”
Mrs. Shaw shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I should go in. Lady Vane will want me to confirm the measure.”
William hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.”
They walked side by side toward the apothecary door, the maid following a step behind. William pushed the door open for Mrs. Shaw, following close behind.
The apothecary was crowded, the air thick with the scent of dried leaves and tinctures. William navigated his way through the people, and Mrs. Shaw moved to stand beside him at the counter. The maid stayed near the door, keeping out of the way.
The man behind the counter looked up. “One moment, Your Grace.” He turned to search through a row of small boxes.
Mrs. Shaw kept her hands folded, her attention on the counter. The room was narrow, and people passed close behind them as they waited. Someone brushed past her, catching the edge of her skirt and forcing her slightly off balance.
She reached out without thinking, her gloved hand closing lightly around William’s arm. The touch was brief, no more than a second, but her fingers curled just enough to steady herself before she stepped back.
“I beg your pardon,” she said quietly.
William nodded. “It is nothing.”
She withdrew her hand, adjusting the fold of her glove.
William tried to return his attention to the counter, but the man’s words blurred together, each one slipping past without meaning.
He could still feel the faint pressure of her fingers through the fabric of his coat, and it held his focus far more than anything being said in front of him.
The store clerk finally found the small box he had been searching for. He set it on the counter and opened it, checking the label.
“This should be the measure your lady requires,” he said.
Mrs. Shaw stepped a little closer. “May I see it?”
He handed her the folded paper. She compared it to the slip she carried, her eyes moving carefully over each line.
“It matches,” she said.
The man closed the box. “Will that be all, Your Grace?”
William nodded. “Yes.”
Mrs. Shaw thanked him, and the clerk handed her the box. She checked the measure once more, then gave a small nod. The maid stepped forward to take it, holding it securely as they left the crowded shop.