Nostalgia, overwhelming in the extreme, washed over him when his gaze finally came to rest on the huge, carved oak desk that dominated the room. More than any other item, anywhere in any of the Gillingham properties, Lysander associated this particular piece of furniture with his father. This was not just a place of business, it was also a retreat, a place where his father would sit by the fire, enjoying a nightcap or reading a book.
Not anymore. Though the duke had still been alive when Lysander had finally arrived at Malvern, he had not been conscious. Lysander had held his father’s unresponsive hand and whispered his goodbyes to ears that no longer heard. Death had come mere hours later.
A lavish funeral had been tempered by the bitter weather, and Theodore Cornelius Barton, the sixth Duke of Gillingham, had been laid to rest in the family mausoleum with a little less ceremony than might otherwise have been possible.
A sudden and fresh sense of loss brought the sting of tears to Lysander’s eyes. In his mind, he saw himself as a child, stealing into the office to clamber into his father’s leather office chair. At the time, he could barely see over the top of the mighty desk, but he’d play at being duke, giving orders to imaginary visitors, pretending to write important letters, and signing official documents.
There was no pretending now. The desk, and everything it represented, past and present, belonged to him. Not that he feared the responsibility of it. Since infancy, he’d been groomed and educated, prepared for what was to come. Today, though, he’d decided any official business could wait. His first responsibility would be of a personal nature. Once seated in that revered leather chair, he would take up his gold pen, and write a long-overdue letter to his future duchess.
Heaving a sigh, he closed the door behind him and wandered over to the desk. Before he’d even sat down, a knock came to the door and Pinksen entered, salver in hand.
Lysander groaned inwardly.What now?
“You have a caller, Your Grace,” the man said, and presented the small tray, upon which sat a calling card. “Apparently, the lady is in need of shelter and is hoping she might be allowed to stay here the night. I have placed the lady in the front parlor but have not said you are available.”
The lady?
Lysander took the card, eyes widening as he read the embossed name. “Good Lord. Miss Elliot is here?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Pinksen replied. “The lady is not unescorted. There is another woman with her. Her maid, I believe. And a coachman.”
Lysander glanced at the window and specifically the snow, blowing horizontally across the garden. “Damnation,” he muttered.
Pinksen’s brows lifted. “Your Grace?”
Lysander gave his head a slight shake. He was in no mood to receive Helena Elliot and her ever-present nurse. He was in no mood to receive anyone. Given the conditions, however, he could hardly turn them away. It struck him as rather odd that they’d sought shelter at Malvern rather than taking rooms at a coaching inn. They’d obviously made a detour from their intended route, and for some reason, that situation bothered him.
As he continued to ponder, the clock struck four, and Lysander resigned himself to the inevitable. Whether he liked it or not, he knew there could only be one course of action.
“I’ll see the lady, Pinksen,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Arrange for some tea, will you? And ask Mrs. Gates to prepare a guest room in the east wing. One room only, and as far away from my apartments as possible. The coachman can take a bed in the coach house.”
The hint of a smile came to the man’s face. “Right away, Your Grace.”
Lysander made his way to the parlor. The door stood slightly ajar and he paused, able to hear a quiet conversation taking place between Helena Elliot and Anjali. He understood none of it, of course. As he pushed the door open, the conversation ceased, and Helena rose from her place on the settee. Anjali remained seated with her hands clasped in her lap.
“Your Grace.” Smiling, Helena Elliot held out a gloved hand. “I trust this is not an inconvenience. We were on the road from Clifton when the snowstorm began, and by the time we reached the coaching inn, it was already full. I was in a bit of a fix when it occurred to me that Malvern wasn’t that far, so I decided to make a small detour and throw myself on your mercy. I really didn’t know what else to do. And may I offer my sincere condolences on the death of your father.” A softness came to her dark eyes. “I know what it is to lose a parent.”
He shook her outstretched hand. “That is very kind of you, Miss Elliot. And it’s not inconvenient at all. Sit, please. I have sent for some tea.”
She retook her seat, and Lysander settled himself into a nearby armchair.
The tea was served, and the time passed not unpleasantly. Miss Elliot chatted animatedly about her childhood in India and inquired politely about Lysander’s life and duties. Perhaps an hour or so later, she and Anjali, who had not uttered a single word, were shown to their room, and notified that dinner would be served at eight o’clock.
When the time came, Lysander readied himself. Being in mourning, he donned the applicable black attire and made his way downstairs to the dining room, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. He’d be glad when morning came, he told himself, and silently prayed that the weather would not hinder his unexpected guests any longer.
Miss Elliot and Anjali were already in the dining room, and before long, the meal was served. Conversation throughout the meal carried along pleasantly enough.
“I have something to confess, Your Grace,” Miss Elliot said, as the dessert plates were being cleared. “While we were waiting for dinner, I took the liberty of exploring some of the rooms in this magnificent house, and I notice you have a music room.”
Lysander smiled, already aware of where the conversation was leading. “Indeed, I do, Miss Elliot.”
“And in that music room,” she continued, “is a Bösendorfer piano.”
Lysander inclined his head. “It belonged to my mother.”
“Ah,” Miss Elliot responded. “Well, I was wondering if you would allow me to play it. I was so tempted to do so when I first saw it but thought it best to seek your permission.”
“You have my permission, certainly,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready, we can remove there.”
