“If this list weren’t so funny,” the Duchess of Ashbey offered, “it would be terribly sad.”
“Sad? Your pity is wasted on him! I’d rather seek out a woman who fits this description, encourage her to set her cap at him, and then watch the rapscallion suffer.”
“You wouldn’t! Even if you could find this...this...”
“Figment?”
“...paragon, such a plan would be too unfair to the woman. Besides, such mischief would reveal we’ve seen the list.”
“If our husbands are going to drink to the point one of them drops asecret societydocument in the stairwell before crawling into bed half dead at first light,we’recertainly not to blame.”
“True,” Alicia agreed.
Hera took advantage of the subsequent lull to announce herself. She responded to the duchess’s bid to enter and then closed the door.
“I do not wish to disturb you, Your Grace.”
“Not at all,” the Duchess of Ashbey replied, discreetly wiping her eyes.
The Duchess of Ithwick set down her cup of morning chocolate. “We were just discussing our dear, deluded friend Hurtheven’s list of requirements for a wife.”
The attributes they’d been reading were Hurtheven’s wifely qualifications? He’d actually written down a list?
For a fleeting second, astonishment overtook her concerns.
“We are as horrified as you appear.” The Duchess of Ithwick shook her head. “Amused, yes. But equally horrified.”
Casting a significant glance at her friend, the Duchess of Ashbey folded the list and then tucked the paper into her desk drawer. “Tansy said you’d wanted to see me on a matter of urgency?”
“Yes, your Grace. I—I would appreciate your council,” Hera said to her employer even as her gaze remained fixed on the Duchess of Ithwick.
“Ah, then,” the Duchess of Ithwick touched a napkin to her lips, “I believe that is my cue to graciously take my leave.”
Hera studied the duchess as the duchess adjusted her fichu and then slid her dainty feet into slippers she’d retrieved from the side of the settee.
Could she, like the Duchess of Ashbey, be trusted?
Hera liked her easy, open manner—doubtless due to the fact she hadn’t been born an aristocrat. In their short acquaintance, the duchess had extended that confidence, as well as several others—the story of her youthful elopement, the quick addition to her marriage of a child, and the trials she’d faced while attempting to protect her son during the seven years her husband had been lost at sea.
Anyone who’d survived such experiences with grace and humor intact had to have untold resources of strength. Who could better understand the concerns of a mother trying to survive without a husband’s protection?
She could be an ally.
Right now, Hera needed all the allies she could find. But would she bewillingto offer counsel?
“I will not insist you leave, Your Grace,” Hera said quietly. “...Although I would request your full discretion concerning any matters we might discuss.”
The duchess held her gaze for a long moment. Then, she nodded. “You may trust me. I promise to treat any confidence of yours with the same gravity I would treat a confidence of Alicia’s and, of course, offer any assistance I am able. Please”—the duchess slid over on the settee—“sit with me.”
The concern in her voice pricked the corner of Hera’s suddenly dampened eyes. The Duchess of Ithwick and Duchess of Ashbey were good people. Kind mothers. Devoted friends. Women of understanding and tenderness.
In other words, creatures entirely beyond Hera’s experience.
How different her life might’ve been if she’d known women like them when she’d found herself alone, unwanted, and vulnerable following her father’s death! Instead, she’d been surrounded by people who’d seen her only for what she could give to them.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” the duchess ventured, “we do not stand on ceremony amongst ourselves. You must call me Penelope—Pen, if you are so inclined.”
She sat down by Penelope’s side, feeling slightly faint...and grateful. “Very well...Penelope.”Penwould not do at all.
