"Yes, particularly the east wing." Louisa gestured vaguely toward the windows. "He wanted to ensure the castle would stand strong for generations to come."
June sipped her tea, noting the pride in Louisa's voice. "It's clear he loved Icemere deeply."
"As does Dominic, though he's tried to hide it behind that carefully cultivated air of indifference." Louisa settled back in her chair, studying June over the rim of her teacup. "Did he show you the library yesterday? I instructed the servants to ensure the fires were lit in anticipation of your arrival."
"He did." June felt a smile tug at her lips, remembering the almost-kiss among the ancient texts. "It's magnificent. I've never seen such a collection of works on Roman Britain outside the great universities."
"And did he tell you he's added nearly a third of those volumes himself? Hunting them down at auctions and through booksellers across Europe?" Louisa's eyes sparkled with a mother's pride. "He pretends his travels were solely for pleasure, but he would often return with some dusty tome tucked in his luggage, more pleased with that acquisition than any gaming win."
June's fingers traced the rim of her teacup, intrigued by this glimpse of a Dominic few seemed to know. "He challenges my assumptions at every turn."
"As you do his," Louisa replied with quiet certainty. "You have changed him, you know."
June looked up sharply. "But we've been married so briefly."
"Time matters less than impact," Louisa said, setting her cup down with a soft clink. "I have not heard my son laugh—truly laugh—in this house for years. Yet yesterday, his amusementechoed down these hallways three separate times." She leaned forward, her blue eyes intent. "This morning, he was whistling, June. Whistling, as he reviewed the estate ledgers—a task that normally plunges him into grim silence."
Heat rose in June's cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to her lap where her fingers worried at the fabric of her day dress. The assessment seemed too generous, the implied power over Dominic's happiness too overwhelming to contemplate.
"Surely that's merely the pleasure of returning home after travels," she demurred.
"I have known my son his entire life," Louisa countered gently. "He has returned from travels many times before, but never with this lightness about him. Never with this... hope."
The word hung in the air between them, laden with meaning June wasn't certain she was ready to accept. She had entered this marriage expecting, at best, a cordial arrangement with a man who might not live to see old age. She had not expected to find a partner who engaged her mind, who looked at her as if she were precious, who made her pulse race with a mere glance.
Louisa reached across the small table between them, her cool fingers patting June's hand with affection. "Forgive an old woman's observations. I do not mean to discomfit you."
"Not at all," June assured her, finding to her surprise that she meant it. Something about Louisa's directness made pretenseseem pointless. "It's only that our marriage was rather... sudden."
"The best unions often are," Louisa replied with a knowing smile. "My own included. Sometimes the heart recognizes what the mind is still struggling to understand."
June thought of the library, of Dominic's thumb brushing across her lower lip, of the way her body seemed to recognize his presence before she consciously registered it.Is that what this is?she wondered.My heart racing ahead while my mind scrambles to catch up?
"Now," Louisa continued, mercifully changing the subject, "let us discuss more practical matters. Winter in Yorkshire is not to be taken lightly, particularly in a castle of this age."
For the next half hour, the conversation turned to household management—which rooms were prone to drafts, which servants had been with the family longest, how the kitchens operated during the colder months when fresh provisions became scarcer. June listened attentively, grateful for the guidance as she settled into her role as mistress of Icemere.
"Mrs. Fairchild will be your greatest ally," Louisa advised, reaching for the teapot to pour them each a second cup. "She knows every inch of this house and every quirk of the staff. And she was very fond of my husband—she will appreciate that you take an interest in preserving the improvements he made to the estate."
"I shall certainly seek her counsel," June promised. "Though I fear it will take me months to learn all Icemere's secrets."
"Years, more likely," Louisa said with a soft laugh. "I'm still discovering new passages and hidden corners after all this time. The east wing alone has enough peculiarities to fill a book."
"Dominic mentioned the roof leaks there when the rain comes from the north."
"Indeed, though we've had workmen attempt repairs thrice in the last decade." Louisa stirred her tea thoughtfully. "Perhaps your fresh eyes will spot what we've all missed. I've always thought a woman's practical attention to detail solves more household mysteries than a man's grand theories."
"I shall do my best," June said, warming to this vision of partnership with Dominic in maintaining his ancestral home. "Though I must confess, architecture was never my primary scholarly interest."
"You'll learn as need arises," Louisa assured her. "As we all do when managing such an estate. The important thing is that Icemere feels like home to you both." She paused, her gaze becoming distant for a moment. "It gives me such comfort to know these walls will witness another generation of Blake laughter."
"Another generation?" June repeated, something catching in her throat.
"Of course." Louisa's eyes refocused on June's face, a smile playing around her lips. "I may be getting ahead of myself, but I cannot help hoping this castle gets filled very soon with the pitter-patter of small feet. These old rooms have been quiet for too long, and nothing would please me more than to hold my grandchildren here, where their father and grandfather before them grew up."
June's teacup froze halfway to her lips, her mind racing to process the implications of Louisa's words. The dowager duchess spoke not of a distant possibility but of an imminent hope—as if she fully expected Dominic to live long enough to father children, to see them grow, to be a true father rather than merely a memory preserved in portrait form.
"You seem surprised," Louisa observed, her perceptive gaze missing nothing.
