That bright excitement, that bittersweet hope, returned to Rowena’s eyes. “At once, Your Grace!” She hurried to the door, only to pause and hurry back. “Can I get you anything else? I didn’t stop to think that you might prefer something different for your breakfast. Something you remember liking.”
The gesture thawed the frosty discomfort in Thalia’s chest just a little, touched by the maid’s thoughtfulness.
“No, thank you; that will not be necessary,” she replied. “I will try this porridge. Who knows, it might provoke a memory or two.”
Rowena dipped her head in a small bow. “Very good, Your Grace. I shan’t be long.”
The maid rushed out as if she had been asked to deliver a most urgent message, leaving Thalia to inspect the unusual breakfast. It was not something she would have chosen before, but the sweet scent of the honey and the warming aroma of the milky oatsdidprompt her stomach to rumble. Her mind might not have remembered anything, but her stomach assuredly did.
Gingerly, she took up the spoon, scooped up a large dollop of jam, and began to mix it into the glistening porridge without thinking. Like a habit she had performed a hundred times before. And when she took her first taste of the porridge, that sweet, creamy flavor, combined with the somewhat tart jam and fragrant honey, tasted so much like… home.
“I truly decorated all of these rooms?” Thalia asked, casting a keen eye across the music room.
Fuzzy sunlight filtered in through tall French doors like a heavenly vapor, illuminating a beautiful pianoforte and an exquisitely crafted harp. On oak shelves were countless leather binders that undoubtedly held sheet music, the room simply decorated with cream-colored walls and pale wooden wainscoting, presumably to avoid detracting from the instruments and whoever might be playing them.
“You did, Your Grace,” Mrs. Fisher said encouragingly.
Wandering to the pianoforte, Thalia touched the piece of music arranged on the stand. She did not know it, but then she had never been a great musician, preferring to listen to others and their talents.
“Am I any good?” she asked, glancing at the housekeeper and the maid.
The two women looked away from each other, and certainly did not dare to look at Thalia herself. In that moment, the ghost of a grin attempted to tug at Thalia’s mouth, the whisper of a chuckle bubbling up from her chest.
“So,thathas not changed then?” she said, permitting herself to smile, so that the two other women would know that they could relax.
Mrs. Fisher cleared her throat. “You occasionally play something, but you prefer to have guests play. In the summertime, and when it is Christmastide, there are constant parties and gatherings here, and there is always someone readyto play and sing and whatnot.” She paused. “But it is your sister’s talents that you favor above all.”
“Dorothy plays so well,” Thalia murmured, gently stroking the keys. “Does she visit me often?”
How old must she be now? Seventeen?A faint flicker of relief moved through her, that she had not missed her sister’s debut.
“As often as she can,” Mrs. Fisher replied with a somewhat tight smile.
Thalia frowned. “Mrs. Fisher, you must be entirely honest with me. I cannot hope to start remembering anything if people withhold things from me. Please, be as blunt and direct as you can. Speak to me as if I am not a duchess, but someone you are gossiping about a duchess to.”
Rowena hid a smile behind her hand for a moment, while Mrs. Fisher seemed to briefly cease functioning, as if she had just been told to pick up a pistol and duel Thalia.
Blinking rapidly, the housekeeper finally gave a small bow of her head. “I will do my best, Your Grace. Although, you should know, wenevergossip about you.”
“We have no reason to,” Rowena chimed in, nodding effusively.
Thalia drew away from the pianoforte and went to stand in front of the French doors, gazing out at a beautiful terrace. Beyondit, lawned gardens with a fountain in the center, and pretty limestone walls that suggested more gardens.
“So,doesmy sister visit often?” she repeated.
“Once every few months,” Mrs. Fisher replied, “when your father permits it. She stays for several weeks and is always very upset when she has to leave again. I think she’d prefer to stay here forever, and we would all be delighted by it, but that is none of my business.”
Thalia turned. “Why would my father not permit it?”
“I can’t say,” the housekeeper replied, adding in haste, “Not because I’m withholding anything, but because I don’t know; I’ve never understood it. He barely seems to tolerate the girl. Although, once again, that is none of my business.”
Sadness welled like a single great tear in the center of her chest, unable to bear the idea that she had agreed to leave Dorothy behind. Even if shehadconsented to a marriage of convenience with Henry, surely she would have requested her sister’s constant companionship?
“My father has never much cared for his daughters,” she admitted quietly, more to herself than to the housekeeper and the maid. “His son, on the other hand…”
“Mr. Carter?” Rowena blurted out.
When Thalia turned, she caught sight of a bashful pink spreading across the maid’s pretty face.
