***
“She’s an odd duck, isn’t she?” Violet whispered.
Standing by the sideboard with her sisters, Emma shot a worried glance at the dowager. Luckily, Lady Patrice was chattering away feverishly with Marianne and didn’t seem to have overheard.
“Alaric says his aunt is a bit high strung,” Emma replied in hushed tones. “But she’s a good sort and looked after him when he was a boy.”
“I’m sure she’s just anxious about the men’s mission,” Thea said softly. “As we all are.”
Vi snorted, piling an assortment of cheeses and sliced meats on her plate. “She’s abithigh strung? She makes the horses at the Ascot seem sedate by comparison.”
Emma had to admit Lady Patrice’s conversation was an unending ricochet, a fusillade of words that bounced from topic to topic with no apparent connection. Seeing Marianne discreetly hide a yawn, Emma felt a prickle of guilt. Little Edward’s nightmares had kept his mama up last night, and Marianne showed signs of being peaked, which was unusual for her.
Going over, Emma said, “Marianne, don’t you have an appointment this afternoon?”
Marianne’s emerald eyes lit up . “My… appointment. Yes. I nearly forgot.”
“Don’t let me keep you, Mrs. Kent,” Lady Patrice said generously. “The girls can keep me company. I’ve yet to talk about Strathmore Castle, which Miss Emma has expressed interest in.”
As Marianne made a graceful exit, she paused behind their guest. She mouthed to Emma,Thank you.Emma managed a discreet wink in reply.
“Now what would you like to know about Strathmore?” Lady Patrice said.
“Is it really a castle?” Vi said, popping cheese into her mouth.
“Indeed. It has grand towers and turrets, a magnificent crenellated profile, not to mention a lovely drawbridge,” the dowager said proudly.
Emma tried to think back to her father’s history lessons, when he’d taught them about the tumultuous relationship between the English and the Scots. “Was it built as a fortress to defend against border invasions?” she asked.
“No, my dear. It’s not that kind of a castle.”
“Oh. What other kind is there?”
Lady Patrice’s azure eyes blinked at her. “Well, the kind thatlookslovely, of course. Strathmore embodies the majesty of a bygone era and was designed by one of the foremost architects of the Romantic Revival.”
“It’s a… fake castle?” Vi said.
“Young lady, there isnothingfake about Strathmore.” The lace on the dowager’s bosom quivered. “The papa of my own dear duke spent a king’s ransom building it. It is the noblest house in the county—I daresay in all of Scotland.”
Vi looked unimpressed. “But there’s never been any sieges there? No battles or bloodshed?”
Thea nudged her. “Your home sounds very grand, your grace.”
“I can’t expect you to understand,” the dowager sniffed. “Coming from Chuffy Creek…”
“Chudleigh Crest,” Emma said. “It’s a small village in Berkshire.”
“Yes, well, you can’t be blamed for not comprehending the grandeur and sophistication of our family seat. Not everyone can understand—unlike my dear Alaric.” The storm left her eyes as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a misty, faraway look. “He took to life at Strathmore like a fish to water. He adored it at first sight, and well he should: ’tis in his blood, after all. Coming to my dear duke and I—well, it was like coming home.”
“It was kind of you to take Strathaven in,” Emma ventured.
“It was my husband’s idea. He knew how terribly I missed our son and wanted to give me comfort.” Lady Patrice’s bottom lip quivered. “Alaric filled a void in our lives—and, I like to think, we in his. He suffered a grave illness, you know, and I nursed him through it.”
“He speaks of your great care and devotion to him,” Emma said sincerely.
The dowager gave her a beatific smile. “Does he?”
“Most definitely.”
