"The oldest part of the castle dates to the Norman Conquest," Dominic said quietly, noticing her wide-eyed gaze. "Though most of what you see was rebuilt in the fifteenth century after a rather unfortunate disagreement between my ancestor and a neighboring baron. Apparently, artillery was involved."
"How civilized," June remarked, earning a chuckle from her husband.
"Quite. The Blake men have never been known for their restraint." His hand pressed slightly more firmly against herback, guiding her toward an archway that led deeper into the castle. "That portion there—" he pointed to an elaborately carved doorframe "—was added during Elizabeth's reign. The stone was quarried from our own land, and the carvings represent the various flora found on the estate."
"You know a great deal about the castle's history," June said, impressed by his evident knowledge.
"When one might not have much future, the past becomes rather important," Dominic replied, his tone light despite the weight of his words.
Before June could respond to this painful reminder of his condition, movement at the far end of the hall caught her attention. A slight woman with silvering dark hair had appeared, her posture erect despite her evident age, her pale blue eyes—so like Dominic's—fixed on them with undisguised joy.
"Mother," Dominic said, his voice warming noticeably. "Allow me to present my wife, June Blake, Duchess of Icemere. June, this is Louisa Blake, Dowager Duchess of Icemere."
The woman glided forward with a grace that belied her years, her arms outstretched in welcome. "My dear, at last we meet. I've heard so much about you in Dominic's letters," she said, taking June's hands in her own. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her skin soft and scented faintly with lavender.
"Dowager Duchess," June began, but Louisa waved away the formality.
"Please, call me Louisa. We are family now." She linked her arm through June's with comfortable familiarity. "And I insist you tell me everything about your journey. Dominic's letters mentioned an inn and some dreadful weather, but little else."
June shot a questioning glance at Dominic, who merely shrugged. "I wrote while you were arranging for fresh linens," he explained. "I thought Mother should know of our delay."
"The weather has been increasingly cold," Louisa continued, leading them toward a doorway on the right. "Especially for late autumn. Mr. Winters says we're in for a harsh winter."
"The servants at the inn said the same," June replied, allowing herself to be guided through the doorway into a surprisingly cozy drawing room.
Unlike the grand, echoing entrance hall, this chamber felt warm and lived-in. A fire crackled merrily in a hearth of polished granite, and comfortable chairs upholstered in rich blue velvet were arranged invitingly before it. Bookshelves lined one wall, their contents suggesting actual use rather than mere decoration. A tea service had been arranged on a low table, steam already rising from the silver pot.
"Please, sit," Louisa urged, directing June to a chair near the fire. "You must be chilled from your journey."
June sank gratefully into the seat, the plush cushions enveloping her tired body. Dominic took the chair opposite, stretching his long legs toward the hearth. He still moved with a hint of thecaution she'd observed during his recovery, but some color had returned to his face after the pallor of illness.
Rather than summoning a servant, Louisa poured the tea herself, her movements deft and practiced. She handed a cup to Dominic first, studying his face with the keen attention only a mother could employ.
"How are you feeling, my son?" she asked, her light tone not quite masking the concern beneath.
Dominic's eyes shifted briefly to June before he answered, "Much better, Mother. June took excellent care of me." The genuine gratitude in his voice made June's cheeks warm unexpectedly.
"Did she indeed?" Louisa turned her gaze to June, assessing her with new interest as she passed her a cup of tea. "I'm not surprised. You have a certain steadiness about you that I admire."
June accepted the cup, unsure how to respond to such direct praise from a woman she'd just met. "It was nothing extraordinary," she demurred. "Merely what any wife would do."
"Oh, I think not," Louisa replied with a knowing smile. "Many wives of my acquaintance would have summoned a nurse and retreated to safety at the first sign of illness. Particularly one so... unexpected."
"It was merely a severe cold, Mother," Dominic said smoothly. "Though admittedly ill-timed for our wedding journey."
Louisa's expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Well, whatever it was, I'm grateful to June for seeing you safely home."
"The weather seemed determined to stall our journey," June said, eager to lighten the moment. "I began to wonder if we'd ever reach Yorkshire. Each day brought a new deluge or fierce wind."
Dominic chuckled, the sound warming the room more effectively than the fire. "June threatened to abandon the carriage and proceed on foot at one point. I believe the exact phrase was 'even a tortoise would make better time.'"
"I said no such thing," June protested, though her lips quirked in amusement. "I merely suggested that perhaps walking alongside the carriage might warm us better than sitting within it."
Louisa laughed, a bright sound that reminded June startlingly of Dominic's own laughter. "Oh, I can see why you chose her, Dominic. She's not one to mince words."
As mother and son shared their amusement, June found herself studying the dowager duchess more carefully. Behind the warmth and welcome, she glimpsed something else—a shadow of weariness, perhaps, or a guardedness that seemed at odds with her open manner. Louisa's eyes followed Dominic's movements with the same acute attention June had observedin herself since his illness—watching for signs of weakness or strain, cataloging each cough or wince.
Did she know? June wondered. Did she live with the same fear that gnawed constantly at June's heart—the dread that Dominic might be taken from them too soon? If the Blake men truly were cursed to die young, then Louisa had already lost her husband to the same fate that now threatened her son.
