“I’m worried about you. Your fingers are shaking.”
She made her hands into fists, so he couldn’t tell whether they trembled or not.
“I must do this, Douglas. You’ve taken care of everything else, but I must do this.” She forced a smile to her face. “Besides, the scones you found for us were not nearly enough.”
“Are you hungry?”
How strange that he looked happy about that.
Before she could answer, his glance swept to a spot behind her. He stepped forward and would have placed himself in front of her had she not recognized the person in the shadows. She put her hand on his arm.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Lady Sarah,” Simons said.
“What do you want, Simons?” Douglas asked.
She shook her head at Douglas. Her really shouldn’t be so protective of her.
“Simons, what is it?” she said, turning to her father’s majordomo.
“Your father…”
“Was not in attendance at my mother’s funeral,” she said flatly.
Simons looked down at the floor, then up at the expanse of steps. “No, Lady Sarah, he wasn’t.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Lady Sarah, your father sent me for the jewel case. Your mother’s jewelry.”
“My father sent you for my mother’s jewelry,” she repeated, very calmly.
Douglas moved to stand behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body.
“Yes,” Simons said.
To his credit, the man looked uncomfortable.
“By all means,” she said, and turned to walk up the staircase. Halfway up the steps, she turned and looked back at Simons.
“I shan’t wait on you, Simons. If you want my mother’s jewelry, you’ll have to come and get it.”
Simons mounted the steps slowly, followed by Douglas. Sarah led the way down the corridor to the Duchess’s Suite, and without waiting for either man, opened the door and swept inside. She’d not entered the room since her mother’s death, and she was instantly assailed by dozens of memories, all of them of a happier time.
Deliberately, she pushed the memories away. She didn’t have time for grief right at the moment. She walked to the armoire where her mother kept the small casket of jewelry, opened the door, and retrieved a small wooden box. The casket, with its rounded lid andornate iron banding, was never kept locked. There was no reason to fear thievery at Chavensworth—unless it was from the duke himself.
As Sarah opened the rounded lid, she was prepared for the onslaught of memory and numbed herself to it. She withdrew a rectangular piece of vellum and slowly opened it, showing it to Simons. Inside was a chain of daisies, now desiccated and brown. Her mother had told her once that she’d considered it one of her prized jewels.
“I made this for my mother when I was six,” she said. “It has no worth to my father, and I’d like to keep it.”
Simons only nodded. She tucked the vellum packet into the pocket of her dress and handed the open casket to Simons.
“There,” she said. “Take them all. Couldn’t he at least wait until my mother was buried for a day?”
Simons looked as if he would like to say something, but then he merely shook his head. What could he say? His loyalty was reserved for the Duke of Herridge, not for her, and, regretfully, not for her mother.
He bowed, lower than was necessary. “Lady Sarah,” he murmured.
“You mustn’t look like you want to pummel the man, Douglas,” she said after he’d gone. “It is not his fault. He is simply following the orders my father gave him.”
Douglas, who had been silent during the exchange, moved to close the armoire doors behind her.
“Are you certain you don’t wish to rest, Sarah?”
