Charlotte cleared her throat loudly behind her.
Norman stepped forward. “Your Grace.”
The title sounded strange from his mouth. Not respectful. Not warm. A label forced onto his tongue by necessity.
Eleanor inclined her head. “Lord St. George.”
Charlotte’s lips curved. “Your Grace,” she said, and the word dripped like honey. Sweet. Sticky. Not quite clean.
Eleanor held Charlotte’s gaze calmly. “Miss Charlotte.”
If Charlotte noticed the lack of affection, she did not show it.
Norman’s attention shifted past Eleanor, toward the hallway beyond, his voice turning pointedly polite. “Is His Grace at home?”
“He is,” Eleanor replied. “He will be joining us shortly.”
Norman’s eyes brightened, as though that was the true purpose of his visit.
Eleanor’s fingers tightened around Arabella’s for a moment before she released her.
They were barely seated before Norman began speaking his business. “I understand, Your Grace,” he said, “that the Duke’s properties are quite extensive.”
Eleanor’s gaze remained steady, “They are indeed, though I find it more accurate to say that our properties, or both of our interests, if you will, require a great deal of our shared attention. But we find the mere extent of the acreage to be a bore; it is the employment of the tenants that truly occupies our minds.”
Charlotte’s smile widened. “We heard you were at the menagerie with Lady Tamblyn,” she remarked, conversationally. “How thrilling for you! I confess I did not know a duchess had the time to stare at animals in cages.”
Arabella shot her a glance. “Charlotte.”
Charlotte fluttered her lashes. “What? I meant it kindly.”
Eleanor turned toward Arabella deliberately, refusing to feed Charlotte’s appetite for friction. “How are you?”
Arabella’s expression softened. “I am… well. As well as can be expected.”
Norman leaned forward slightly, directing the conversation back to where he wished it. “The duke’s lands,” he said, “must yield considerable income. I imagine the rental streams alone –”
Eleanor answered without missing a beat, “We have been reviewing the steward’s plans for the new drainage works and the stone cottages. It is our aim that the estate be viewed not merely as an extensive holding, but as a productive asset to England and a source of industry for the people. After all, a titleis but a hollow thing if the land beneath it does not flourish for the Crown.”
The door opened.
James entered without hurry, dressed in a dark coat that made him look severe and immovable. He paused for the briefest moment as his eyes took in the scene, then stepped into the room with controlled ease.
“Lord St. George,” James said, voice even.
Norman rose at once, nearly eager. “Your Grace. An honor.”
James inclined his head, then glanced to Arabella. “Miss Barker.”
Arabella rose, curtsying. “Your Grace.”
James’s gaze moved to Charlotte. “Miss Barker.”
Charlotte curtsied lower than necessary, her smile bright. “Your Grace.”
James’s expression did not soften. He took his seat beside Eleanor, close enough that the warmth of him steadied her without her wishing it.
Norman resumed at once, as if James’s presence had merely opened the door to the true conversation.
