***
It had been three years since Lenora had traveled up the long drive to Danesford, the Duke of Dane’s sprawling estate and Hillram’s childhood home. The towering Elizabethan brick house with its sharply peaked gables was the same as it used to be, and had no doubt remained for centuries:an ageless, elegant home. And it would have been hers had she married Hillram. For a moment, she expected him to bound down the front steps as he used to, that wide, open smile on his too-handsome face.
She shook her head, desperate to dispel the image. God, she didn’t want to be here.
On the opposite bench, Lady Tesh and Margery talked quietly, sending her worried looks now and again. Lenora could not manage even a smile to ease their minds. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they were worried about her for all the wrong reasons. She was not overwhelmed by grief over a lost love as they thought, but by a horrible guilt over not loving Hillram as she ought to have done. And worse, for wishing for a way out of their marriage before his death.
Matters were not helped by Mr. Ashford. He was seated at her side, his taut thigh pressed into her own, his clenched fist mere inches from her skirt. His proximity had her body drawn as tight as a bow. It did not escape her notice that she had never felt anything even remotely close to this heated, aching awareness with Hillram. A painful realization that sharpened her guilt tenfold.
Relief flared as the carriage finally rocked to a halt. When a footman opened the door, it took all of Lenora’s willpower not to leap from the conveyance and out of the tense miasma that currently filled it.
Clara and Phoebe were waiting for them on the front steps. “We’re so happy you’ve come,” Clara said with a smile. “Father is having a good day; you could not have picked a better time for your visit.”
Even with the hopeful news, Lenora could not help being aware of the unnatural quiet that enveloped them as they moved through the great hall. When last she’d been here, it had been just as silent and heavy with the dark cloud of mourning. Though then it had been made sharp by the stunned grief of a young life cut short. Now the sadness was gentler, waiting for a long life to pass into the next.
They made their way to the rose drawing room, a bright, cheerful room on the ground floor with towering east-facing windows. It was there they found His Grace awaiting them.
Lenora just kept herself from gasping at the sight of him. Gone was the robust man of her memories. In his place was a pale, skeletal man seated in a high wingback chair that made him appear even more shrunken and emaciated.
“Dane,” Lady Tesh said, taking a seat at his side. She reached across the space separating them to lay a gnarled hand over his. “It’s good to see you, my boy.”
He smiled warmly, though his eyes were dulled with pain. “It’s good to see you, too, Aunt. Forgive me if I don’t rise.” He chuckled and turned to their small group. “Margery, it has been too long. How are you?”
Margery smiled. “Very well, cousin. And I have brought Lenora with me as well,” she said, placing a gentle hand on Lenora’s arm.
“My goodness,” the duke breathed. “It truly is you. My girls told me you were here, but I would not believe them until now.” He held out a trembling hand to Lenora. “It’s good to see you, child. And what a beauty you’ve become. I only wish Hillram could see you.”
Lenora’s breath left her at the man’s words. Unable to speak, she forced a smile and moved close to grasp his hand and plant a kiss on his sunken cheek.
Lady Tesh motioned to Mr. Ashford. “You remember Peter, of course?”
To Lenora’s surprise, the smile left His Grace’s face in an instant. He looked on Mr. Ashford with sober eyes. “Peter. Thank you for coming to see me.”
Even more disconcerting than the man’s reaction, however, was Mr. Ashford’s response. He glared so ferociously, Lenora was surprised the duke did not burn up on the spot. In the end, Mr. Ashford inclined his head, but even that seemed reluctantly done.
There was a moment of tense silence. Clara quickly stepped in to seal the breach. She smiled brightly on the assembled guests, indicating the seats before her father. “I’ve ordered up a light repast,” she said as they all settled themselves, “after which I thought perhaps we could leave Father to rest while we take a walk in the gardens. The summer roses are blooming and are looking their finest.”
Her cheerful chatter provided much-needed distraction. Soon the majority of the assembled were talking and eating. Yet Lenora could not be easy, for as was becoming frustratingly typical with her, she was horribly aware of Mr. Ashford. Seated where she was across from him, she could not help noticing that he never, not once, let his furious gaze stray from His Grace.
Why did he appear to despise the older man? So intent was she on puzzling it out that the touch of a hand on her arm had her jumping in her seat. She looked up to find the entire party minus the duke on their feet.
“Lenora, are you coming?” Margery asked. When Lenora continued to look at her in confusion, her eyebrows drew together in worry. “We were headed out to the garden,” she continued, her voice lowered so the others might not hear, “but we can leave immediately if this is too painful for you.”
Lenora flushed, her eyes dropping from the kindness in her friend’s gaze. She didn’t deserve it. “I would love to visit the gardens,” she declared with much more confidence than she felt, turning to join the others. His Grace’s voice, however, made her pause in the process of donning her shawl.
“Peter, I wonder if you would stay behind?”
The room went still. Everyone looked at Mr. Ashford with wide, worried eyes. It was then Lenora knew, without a doubt, that the tension she had sensed between the two men had not been fabricated by an overactive imagination. Suddenly every word, every concerned glance, from the people around her took on a new meaning. They all knew what was going on, every one of them. Feeling more an outsider than she ever had here, Lenora followed the rest into the garden, willing herself not to look back as they left the two men behind.
Chapter 7
As the rest of the party trailed out into the gardens, Peter kept his gaze fixed on the duke. The fury and frustration that had taken hold of him upon seeing the man again had not abated, instead only growing. Yet not for the reasons he would have thought.
Thirteen years had done much to Dane, and none of it good. The illness that ravaged him had made him a pale copy of the larger-than-life man Peter remembered. His skin was yellow and almost translucent, like waxed fabric, pulled tight over the bones of his face. His body was skeletal in its thinness, his clothing hanging off his once robust frame.
But it was not the physical changes that were the most disconcerting to Peter. It was the man’s entire personality. He was nothing like he had been that long-ago day when Peter had come begging for his mother’s life.
The man looked at him now out of eyes glazed with pain, with a sober humility that might have tugged at Peter’s heart. If he’d been in possession of one.
