If she cannot play, sing or do needlepoint what place will the world have for her? She will be rejected without cause. The same cannot be said for me. I have burnt many bridges and made my own mistakes.
Louisa leaned against him, content, while the household beyond trembled. Winston's temper was infamous in Greystone. His bark was equal to his bite. He was sharp, quick, unrelenting. Servants came and went like leaves in the wind. Few stayed long enough to learn that beneath the fire was a man hollowed by grief, his trust splintered, his spirit bound by chains no one could see. Even if they did, Winston could not show such things. Not to anyone, except for his precious daughter. For Louisa, he tried to be a kinder, gentler Duke. But oftentimes, he struggled with the duplicity of it all.
Strength is all important. A man must be the match of his walls. Weakness is sin. A betrayal of all who rely on a man for his fortitude.
“Go upstairs, child,” Winston said as he pulled away from Louisa and motioned for her to climb the staircase. “I will put things in order down here and join you later.”
But Winston did not seek out his child again that day.
When Louisa had gone up to bed, Winston retired to his study where he spent long moments staring into the dying fire. The room still smelled faintly of lilacs, though the vase upon the mantel had been empty for two years. Sometimes he swore he felt her there, the reason for his guilt, hovering just beyond thecorner of his eye. A shadow in the mirror, a whisper at the edge of hearing. The ghost of her clung to him, relentless as guilt. The rap of knuckles against the study door drew him from his reverie. The butler entered, carrying a sealed note upon a silver tray.
“From the Dowager Duchess, sir. Marked, urgent.”
Winston broke the seal and read, his eyes narrowing as they tracked the graceful script. A fire at Briarwood. His mother and her household coming to Greystone at once. He read the final line twice.
I shall be bringing my Lady-In-Waiting, a most dear companion, who has proven herself indispensable.
Winston set the letter down slowly, the muscle in his jaw tightening.
A Lady-In-Waiting? A companion?
Words that could mean anything. Positions with no real responsibility except to flatter an old woman. Take advantage of her generosity.
How could my mother have hired such a person two years ago? Has it been so long since we last saw each other?
Winston searched his memory, trying to recollect the last time his path crossed his mother’s, but nothing flew to the forefrontexcept thoughts associated with this supposedly indispensable companion.
Exploitation, manipulation, flattery for gain.
His mother, for all her wit, was not immune to folly. Winston saw all of this in a few words. He leaned back in his chair, scowling into the shadows.
“Whoever this woman is,” he muttered, “I’ll see for myself what game she plays.”
And in the hollow silence that followed, the ghost that haunted him seemed to stir. There were shapes in the periphery of his vision. The guilt came, the crushing remorse, the sense that he could have done more. He suppressed it brutally. Winston sought to bury the emotion and pretend it did not exist. Soft laughter from somewhere behind him echoed mockingly.
Chapter Three
“My son is mercurial. And unused to or unwilling to accept company. He likes to portray a hatred for humanity. Except for his daughter and me,” Cordelia explained as their carriage churned its way along muddy roads.
The journey to Greystone had been long and miserable. The roads were still slick from the storm that had broken the fire at Briarwood, and the wheels of the carriage carved through the slop in sullen rhythm. Adeline sat opposite Cordelia, who, though as elegantly dressed as ever, looked wearier than she cared to admit.
“He is harder than iron, most days. People seem to fear him,” she continued, blithely unaware of the tension her words were building within Adeline.
“Do they have reason?” Adeline asked.
“For what, dear?” Cordelia replied innocently.
Adeline took a breath. Cordelia’s flighty manner could be frustrating when one wanted to get to a point quickly.
“For being afraid of him,” she replied.
“No. Of course not,” Cordelia replied, instantly.
But then she gazed out of the window, brow furrowed. That did not inspire confidence.
“Is that why you have never taken me to Greystone before?” Adeline asked.
Cordelia’s eyes softened.
