At that, Edith’s mouth opened to show a grin she suppressed just in time. “Da told me he’d heard the new Duchess knew her head from a hoof.”
“Keep your da,” Isla said. “He has more sense than most of the ton.” She tipped her head toward the door. “Do you know who occupies this room?”
Edith’s eyes went right to the latch and then away as if the brass might accuse her. “Nobody, m’lady. Or … that is, no one now.”
“And before now?”
A silence that tasted of loyalty. Isla did not press, she waited. Edith’s eyes flicked again, then settled.
“Now they’re just …” Edith worked her hands together. “Closed. By order of His Grace. Begging your pardon. He turned the key himself. I saw him.”
“When?”
“Last month, when the carpenters were up to mend the roof over the long gallery and the rain came in. He came here after. I was beating a rug yonder, Mrs. Hargrave said I’d the arm for it, and I saw him come out from the library with the keys. He stood with his hand on the latch a long while. Then he put the key in. He turned it.” She swallowed again, as if the memory itself were sharp. “Then he stood some more, like he’d run out of the reason he’d come. And he walked away without … without going in.”
Isla kept her breath even. “You have a good eye, Edith Godwin.”
“I’ve two, m’lady.” Edith glanced over her shoulder. “I had them on Lady Eleanor once and she felt it from the far end of the hall, so I am trying to be more … selective.” Her eyes sparked, then sobered. “Will you get me in trouble for saying so?”
“I will get you a cup of tea if I can,” Isla said. “And perhaps a rosemary sprig to wave under Mrs. Pike’s nose as evidence you meant to go there all along.”
Edith beamed and then remembered to be a servant. She dipped a clumsy curtsey. “You’re very kind, Your Grace.”
Edith bobbed a curtsy, then took three steps and returned on the fourth, emboldened by a thought. “Only, if I might, if you want to find your way in this house, there’s a trick of it.”
“Tell me.”
“When the floorboards change under your feet, you’re going from one century to another. If you keep to the ones that are quiet you’ll come out at the west stair and Mrs. Hargrave’s pantry. If you follow the ones that creak like old men, you’ll fetch up at the long gallery where the windows stick. And if it smells like beeswax and coal together, you’re close to the family rooms.”
She nodded at the locked door. “That always smells clean. On account of not being used.”
Isla folded these maps into the part of her that made use of such things. “You are worth more than rosemary.”
Edith’s blush deepened until even the apples on her cheeks seemed surprised. “I’ll be off then, Your Grace. Welcome to Wexford.” She hesitated. “Most of it, anyway.”
Chapter 11
The estate accounts blurred. Columns, figures, lines of expenditure. Everything smudged as though water had been spilled across the ink. Edward sat back, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. The study was quiet but for the ticking of the mantel clock and the low groan of the house settling on its ancient bones. Outside, late-afternoon sun fell in slanting gold through the window, warming the edge of the desk and nothing in him.
I should have made much more progress by now.
After the wedding breakfast and the endless parade of smiling mouths, he had meant to resume normality. Return to work, the unending work of a dutiful Duke. A service of a different kind. Not to ship or shipmates but to house, land and lineage. Things should have slotted into neat pigeon holes.
Marriage, completed. Transaction, agreed by bride and groom. Reputation, secured. Life, restored. Instead, his mind betrayed him. Every time he bent over the ledger, her face ghosted up from the page. Not the composed bride she had been at the altar but Isla as she had stood in his private rooms the night before.
Cheeks flushed from haste, hair loosened, eyes wide as she caught him half-undressed. He had expected embarrassment. What he remembered was the quickness of his breath, the racing of his pulse. Even thinking about it made his heart beat in histhroat. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he could rub the memory out.
These daydreams are ridiculous, improper and dangerous.
He leaned forward again, but his father’s voice rose from the past like a lash.
A duke keeps his house in order, not in want. If you cannot manage a desk, you cannot manage a title. Running away to sea solved nothing. Duty does not wait on your comfort, boy.
Edward’s jaw clenched until ache spread into his temples. He pushed the ledger aside. The neat lines blurred again, this time because his eyes refused to serve him. The ghost of his father was intolerable company and so, he stood.
Riding will clear my mind if anything can.
He left the study with a curt stride. The servants he passed dipped their heads. Outside, the air sharpened pleasantly. The sun had begun its descent, warming the gravel drive and burnishing the edges of the stable roof. He breathed deeply and felt the pressure ease, if only a fraction. He stepped into the stables and stopped dead, heart sinking but pulse quickening at the same time.
