“You are thinking.”
“I often do.”
“About the house?”
“No.”
“Then about what? If I were you, I would be thinking of the fact that you would be running that household one day. It is magnificent.”
“I am thinking of Miss Eliza, whoever she is.”
Her mother’s expression did not change.
“It was a servant’s mistake and nothing more.”
“It did not sound uncertain.”
“Servants are frequently certain about the wrong things.”
Margaret looked down at her hands. She wanted her mother to be right, but something had remained with her that she wished had not.
“He interrupted very quickly. The Duke, I mean. It was as though he felt a need to stop it before much could be said at all.”
“He maintains discipline.”
“Yes, but–”
“Margaret.”
“I am only asking.”
“And I am answering. We will not doubt the gentleman that is taking care of us so well.”
The carriage turned a corner; the wheels struck a rougher stretch of stone before smoothing again.
“It could have been anyone,” her mother continued. “A cousin, or a neighbor, or a former guest that he had thought of in a moment of confusion.”
“He said she was not expected.”
“That seems clear enough.”
Margaret leaned back against the seat.
“But he did not explain who she was.”
“He was not required to.”
“He is courting me.”
“Yes.”
“And yet there are names in his household I have never heard. Surely if it was of importance, he should tell me?”
Penelope’s voice softened, though it remained firm.
“You are not yet mistress of that house. Besides, it only proves that she is not of any importance, does it not?”
The words settled heavily. She wanted her mother to be right. She did not want to think badly of the Duke, for he had been so kind to her. She wondered, for a moment, if she was simply trying to find a flaw in him so that she did not feel so intimidated by him. She wanted to be more human, but a mystery woman was not quite the problem that she wanted to discover.
