He stepped away and the duchess entered the room. She was wearing a simple gown, one he noted she could likely fasten and unfasten herself. Why didn’t she have a maid with her? What was the story? For the first time in a long time, he wished he was more aware of his grandfather and father’s world. They would have known every detail of this lovely woman’s fall. They would have cackled about it over supper even while they made lewd comments about her.
On second thought, Ezra was perfectly happy not having their words about her in his head. He would find out in his own way.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice strained. Her gaze moved over him swiftly and her open face was entirely readable. She was interested in him. Perhaps because of the situation they found themselves in. But also because of something deeper.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” he said, nodding Iverson away before he crossed to the sideboard and motioning to the plethora of fine spirits and wines gathered there. “What can I get you?”
She swallowed hard. “Sherry?”
He smiled. “Are you sure?”
She drew a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed a little at the gentle teasing. “Sherry,” she repeated, this time with certainty.
He poured her drink and handed it over, noting how she shifted constantly in her discomfort. Like butterfly wings. “Supper will be ready in a short while,” he said, and motioned to the settee before the fire. She took a seat and he chose to sit across from her in one of the leather chairs. The distance seemed to steady her a little and she gulped her drink restlessly.
“Again, I must thank you for your kindness in accommodating me at your home,” she said.
He waved a hand. “You have thanked me enough, Your Grace. I couldn’t let you and your driver freeze. You are most welcome here.”
She nodded and stared into her glass. She seemed uncertain of what to discuss. Which left the topic up to him.
He leaned forward. “You were married to the late Duke of Sedgewick,” he said.
She shifted again. Pain fluttered briefly over her expression. “Yes. He died a few months ago.”
Ezra tried to read her emotional response to that fact, but it was the one thing she hid well. He couldn’t tell if her pain was grief or something else. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He tilted his head and tried to snag her gaze. “It does leave me to wonder what makes you trek across the countryside in such weather with only a driver to accompany you.”
Now her gaze jerked up to his, panicked. God, but she was lovely. He could only imagine she’d only be lovelier when she wasn’t pulsing with fear.
“You are under no obligation to tell me,” he said, leaning back and trying to make his own posture more relaxed so that she might follow suit. She ducked her chin and he wondered what was in that pretty head of hers. “And what about him?”
She looked at him again. “Him?”
“Your driver,” he said, even though he thought they were both perfectly aware of what he meant.
“Oliver,” she whispered. There was so much emphasis she put on those three syllables. So much weight to his name, like it meant something to her.
“Oliver,” he repeated, tasting the name on his own tongue.
“He was my husband’s driver.” There was a faraway look to her expression suddenly. “He is…he has been my friend. My very dear friend since His Grace’s death.”
Ezra arched a brow at that admission. Not one many duchesses would make about a servant, he didn’t think.
“A friend,” he repeated slowly. “Then perhaps I should invite yourfriendto join us for supper.”
Her eyes went wide. “I—what?”
“Would it make you more comfortable?” he pressed.
She shifted and the answer was clear on her face. It was yes. It was no. It was fascinating. He wanted to know more about it all. He wanted to peel the edges of this away until he understood it.
“I…”
The bell rang at that moment, signaling supper. He stood and motioned his hand toward the direction of the attached chamber. “Go into the dining room, my dear,” he said gently. “And I will return shortly. With your friend.”
