“Persephone.” Adam rose as she entered. “Come and meet our cousin, Mr. Hewitt.” He motioned her into the room.
She moved a little warily to where Adam stood, his arm extended to her. “Persephone, may I present Mr. Gordon Hewitt of Yorkshire, eldest son of my father’s cousin. Hewitt, this is my wife, the Duchess of Kielder.”
The look of shock on Mr. Hewitt’s face was unmistakable, as was the satisfaction that turned up the side of Adam’s mouth that she could see.
“How long ago were you married?” Mr. Hewitt asked Persephone after Adam had filled a plate for her and she had seated herself, at Adam’s insistence, directly beside himself.
“On the first of the month.” Persephone proceeded to feign a great deal of interest in her toast.
“Forgive me for not attending,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I fear my invitation must have gone astray in the post.”
“Tragic,” Adam answered with obvious sarcasm.
“And where do you hail from, Your Grace?” Mr. Hewitt asked Persephone.
“Shropshire.” Her determination to be courageous failed her miserably, leaving her response quiet and uncertain. She was confused. Adam’s obvious dislike of his cousin bewildered her, though not nearly as much as her husband’s sudden attentiveness.
Mr. Hewitt seemed quite pleased with her answer. “My mother’s family are in Wales, and so I have often passed through Shropshire. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful of counties.”
Persephone smiled at that. “It is, indeed, but then, my opinion is terribly biased.”
“Biased, it may be,” Mr. Hewitt replied, looking kindly at her, “but it is also entirely accurate.”
Images of her home and environs passed quickly through her thoughts, and Persephone found herself sighing. “I shall miss the River Severn.” She hadn’t admitted as much out loud since leaving her childhood home.
Mr. Hewitt was all empathy. “And, in another month or so, I fear you will miss the milder weather of Shropshire as well.”
“Milder? The weather in Shropshire can be quite extreme.”
“Canbe,” Mr. Hewitt acknowledged. “The weather at Falstoneisextreme. Especially in the winter.”
“Have you been here often, then?” Persephone felt herself warming to Mr. Hewitt’s easy conversational style.
“Actually, no.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I came several times as a young man. But only once in the past ten years.”
“Only once?” He was the heir presumptive. It seemed strange that he would visit so seldom.
“Yes. After another cousin’s passing placed him in the role of heir presumptive.” Adam made the observation in a tone of obvious disapproval.
Mr. Hewitt shook his head. “My family had not returned to Falstone Castle after my father died,” he explained. “As he was our connection to the Boyces, we felt it would be rather presumptuous to visit without him.”
That confession struck a chord with her. “My mother passed when I was young, and we do not see her family as often as we once did.”
Mr. Hewitt nodded. “Precisely.”
“Were you planning to ride again this morning?” Adam interrupted the exchange, addressing her with less of his earlier pleasure and a great deal more of his usual shortness.
“Yes, I was.” Though she was still sore from the previous day’s attempt, Persephone intended to give it another go.
“I will accompany you to the stables.” The offer sounded more like an order.
Do not be intimidated,she reminded herself. “Thank you.”
“Do you ride, Your Grace?” Mr. Hewitt asked.
“I certainly hope so,” she answered.
Adam cleared his throat in what sounded like a stifled laugh. Persephone turned and looked at him, knowing she was smiling and hoping he was as well. She’d made him laugh, certainly he could appreciate that.
