“I’ll just be in my room,” Harry said from the other side of the door. “You know, for when you get around to shooting me.” Harry’s footsteps faded as they retreated down the corridor.
“Jack-a-napes,” Adam growled under his breath.
He turned. There was no sign of his wife in her sitting room. Adam crossed to the doorway to Persephone’s bedchamber. She’d be in there looking like some frightened rabbit, apparently.
He’d married a coward. That was worse than marrying a beauty. If they ever made an appearance in Town, she’d need more than a pretty face to survive the viciousness of theton.
Persephone needed backbone. He’d simply have to tell her to toughen up, to seize command of herself. Adam had done so even as a child. If he’d spent his life feeling sorry for himself, he’d be nothing more than his mother’s “poor boy” still.
Adam set his features and stepped across the threshold to Persephone’s bedchamber. He checked the shadowed corners first—that was where cowards tended to hide. He found her, however, curled in a ball on her bed. She was still fully dressed, wearing precisely what she’d worn that morning when bidding her family good-bye—what she’d worn in the gardens.
Persephone must have come straight from there to her room and promptly fallen asleep. She hadn’t even gotten under her coverlet. The room, he noticed, was not terribly warm, despite the low fire.
“Boil and blast,” Adam grumbled. He’d been ready to confront a quaking wife. Instead he’d found her sleeping, obviously exhausted, seeing as how she’d not even dressed for bed. The last thing he wanted was to feel sympathy for the woman. Emotions were best left out of any and all interactions—he’d learned that early on.
He crossed to the door, which, conveniently enough, led to his own chambers, but he stopped with his hand on the knob. It was entirely too chilly for her to sleep without at least a blanket to provide warmth.
“Now I’ve become a lady’s maid,” Adam muttered, crossing back to the bed.
He grabbed the coverlet on the side of the bed opposite Persephone. With a tug he pulled it loose then draped it across her where she slept.
Tomorrow night, he told himself, she’d simply have to remember to get under the blankets, as he had no intention of playing nursemaid again.
Chapter Seven
Persephone had decided on a few things. First, that she would shed no more tears for her former life. It was excusable, she had allowed, to feel some sense of loss, to shed some tears over the abrupt change in her situation. But the time had come to look to the future and not the past.
She’d washed her face quite thoroughly that morning, wishing her eyes weren’t puffy from a day of crying. She donned a simple but flattering morning dress in a lovely shade of blue, deciding she would prefer to have blue eyes, her eyes being that unusual shade of hazel that became whatever color she was wearing. She had always felt more confident with blue eyes. When they were green, she felt more cast down, no doubt due to the reminder of her emerald-eyed mother. And brown eyes did absolutely nothing for her whatsoever.
Today would be blue.
Blue and puffy,Persephone sighed. She’d tried, anyway.
Second on her list of absolutely necessary undertakings was that of learning to be the Duchess of Kielder. She would be the mistress of Falstone Castle, responsible for the staff, the menu, the household expenses, and she knew not what all. Persephone had absolutely no idea how to go on. Managing a small household was one thing. Undertaking the management of a four-hundred-year-old castle and a staff the size of a small village was quite another.
Nothing would do but to seek out the only other lady on earth who could tell her precisely what was expected of her: the Dowager Duchess of Kielder.
Her stomach turning as she descended the stairs, Persephone made her way to the breakfast room. She did not relish the coming minutes. No new bride enjoys confessing to her mother-in-law that she is incompetent. But, if this life Persephone had chosen for herself was to be anything but a dismal failure, confess she must.
Right after she figured out where she was.
Persephone glanced around. She stood in a long, narrow passageway, surrounded by stone walls hung with the occasional tapestry. Recalling what she’d seen of the castle thus far, Persephone knew she could be just about anywhere. It was not the capable beginning she’d imagined when she woke that morning.
Persephone retraced her steps, only to find herself in another passageway, or perhaps the same one—she couldn’t tell. Perhaps after a few more days, she would know the castle better. Two passageways later, or twice in the same one, Persephone amended her prediction to a few more years.
“Oh!” came a startled exclamation.
Persephone spun around. Standing with eyes wide in shock was a young maid, probably no more than thirteen or fourteen years old.
“Thank heavens,” Persephone breathed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace!” She bobbed a curtsy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your . . . your . . .”
“I was attempting to find the breakfast room.”
“But you’re halfway to the north tower,” the girl answered in obvious disbelief.
Persephone tried to shrug off her embarrassment.
