“Indeed. Always has been.”
“I envy him that.” There followed a few moments of silence, then, “I’m extremely fond of him, Julian.”
Julian didn’t respond, simply because there was nothing of value to be said. He understood fully what the duchess meant. He also understood why her declaration had an air of sadness about it. No one would argue she had gained much by wedding the old duke; status, untold wealth, a life free from hardship. Yet she had also become the embodiment of a bird in a gilded cage, allowed out now and then to stretch her wings, but always obliged to return to the one who owned her. At least, till death parted them. Then again, he mused, she had made her choice, and willingly. Did Josiah know of what lay in her heart, he wondered?
“I haven’t told him, nor do I intend to,” the duchess said, as if reading Julian’s thoughts. “And neither will you. Oh, is that lemon brandy?” This last referred to a passing footman carrying a tray of drinks, who nodded and paused. The duchess let go of Julian’s arm, helped herself to a glass, and arched a brow at him. “I trust I’ll not be drinking alone, sir.”
“No, of course not.” Julian took a glass for himself as his thoughts turned to his own future. Being a tad lower than her on the societal ladder, his familial obligations were not quite as rigid. Nevertheless, as heir to Highfield Hall and its estates, he was expected to marry responsibly. Marriage to the daughter of a viscount was a fine feather in his hat. And search as he might, he could find no fault with Miss Aitken. Quite the contrary, may his hesitant heart be damned.
“I trust your thoughts are worth a penny, at least.” The duchess’s voice drew him from his contemplation.
Julian winced. “Forgive me, Duchess, my mind wandered.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Would it have anything to do with Miss Aitken, by chance?”
He cleared his throat. “It would seem my aunt has kept you well-informed.”
“Not without a little prompting from me.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was curious to know more about you. Your aunt indicated an engagement to the young lady might be in your future.”
“It does seem likely, yes.”
The duchess appeared to study him for a moment. “Miss Aitken is very fortunate, I think.”
“Thank you, Duchess. I consider myself fortunate also.”
“Despite your uncertainty?”
Julian took a sip of his drink. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I pride myself on it.” She gave him a playful nudge. “You’re not difficult to read, sir. And please take that as a compliment.”
He grimaced. “But stay away from the gaming tables?”
She laughed. “Yes, probably wise.”
Seeking to change the subject, Julian looked to where the double doors of the long gallery stood wide open. Judging by the sunlight spilling through the gallery’s impressive line of windows, the rain had stopped. “I probably should have asked earlier. Have you been to Myddleton House before?”
A vague look of amusement came to her face. “No, regrettably.”
“Ah, then you are in for a treat, Your Grace.” In a dramatic fashion, he swept his hand through the air toward the gallery doorway. “Please allow me to escort you.”
“With pleasure, sir,” she replied, and took him by the arm again as they entered the gallery. “Are any of Josiah’s works on display here?”
“I don’t believe so,” Julian replied, pausing to gaze upon an impressive landscape scene. “He rarely comes north, and when he does, he never stays for very long. He prefers the city.”
“Yes, that he does.” The duchess studied the painting for a few moments before moving onto the next. “It appears to be a remarkable collection.”
“One of the best, north of London.” Both Julian and the duchess turned at the sound of Lady Hutton’s voice. “I trust my godson isbeing hospitable, Duchess?”
“He is, indeed.” Smiling, the duchess glanced up at Julian and released his arm. “Hospitableandcharming.”
“Glad to hear it,” his aunt replied. “I would have expected nothing less from him. But then, all the Northcott men are mindful of…”
The rest of his aunt’s remark sank into obscurity as Julian’s attention drifted to the figure of a solitary woman, standing some distance away at the rear wall of the gallery. Dark-haired, petite, and clad entirely in black, she had her back to him and looked to be busy arranging some flowers in a vase on the nearby table. Judging by the few blooms sitting askew in the vase, it appeared she’d barely begun her task. The remaining flowers occupied two large buckets at her feet.
The woman had a grace of movement that seemed oddly familiar, yet her approach to her task lacked efficiency. Or perhaps confidence. Even as he watched, she took a single flower from the bucket and placed it in the vase, only to remove it a moment later and return it to the bucket. Then she stepped back, head cocked as she appeared to study the vase. An odd little tingle crept across Julian’s scalp, causing him to frown.
His aunt’s voice, close to his ear, drew him from his scrutiny. “I used to do a lot of Myddleton’s flower arrangements myself, albeit with Catherine’s help,” she said. “Catherine is no longer at Myddleton, of course, but I still like to arrange the odd one now and then. It’s a very relaxing pastime.”
