They left the house and walked through a small but tidy walled garden to the back portal. On its other side, her carriage waited. She gave Althea a kiss. “I will return in time to accompany you to the race tomorrow.” She climbed into the carriage and Althea waved her off. She pulled the curtains halfway closed.
The carriage left the town and aimed west. The roads in this direction showed none of the crowding they had experienced coming down. That crush had slowed travel considerably, enough that at times passengers climbed out and walked to friends’ carriages and climbed in. When they had stopped to rest and water the horses, five of her brother’s Mayfair neighbors took air among the crowd in the coaching inn’s yard.
Stratton’s property was near Guilford, in the opposite direction. When they were well away from Epsom, she pushed back the curtains and enjoyed the passing countryside.
After an hour they turned off the main road and up a private lane. When the trees broke away and the house came into view, Clara had to laugh. Stratton’s small secondary property was probably one of the biggest houses in the county. Its size was its most ostentatious feature. Otherwise the gray stone and restrained design indicated it was not very old.
Stratton came out while the coachman handed her valise to a footman. After welcoming her and giving the footman instructions to seek out the housekeeper, he had a private word with Mr. Brady. Clara could not see what was said, but she thought she saw a coin being palmed from the duke to the driver.
“Did you tell him about tomorrow?” she asked when Stratton rejoined her and escorted her into the house.
“With tortured precision. He will meet us at a designated place outside Epsom and be waiting from nine o’clock on.”
“This will be an unusually lucrative employment for him, I think, since I also paid him extra for his silence.”
“Not enough. Nor did he misunderstand my expectations and my subtle threat when he took that guinea. He is not a stupid man.”
A guinea! Whoever knew that sin could be so expensive?
She had not known what to expect when she arrived. Not the formalities that engulfed her. She found herself treated like any guest. A housekeeper arrived to bring her to her chamber. A maid waited there to unpack her valise and to aid her undressing for a rest. Before leaving, the maid promised to wake her to prepare for dinner.
She checked her pocket watch and judged there to be at least three hours before the maid would return. Since she felt no need to rest, being stuck here annoyed her. In the least Stratton could have invited her to explore the house and garden on her own if he did not want her company right away.
She did not know how lovers were treated when trysts were arranged, but she had never guessed she would be bored.
* * *
The butler accompanied Adam upstairs. While he went through the predictable steps of being settled in, his mind timed how Clara’s own welcome was progressing.
“We have prepared the apartment for you, Your Grace. A footman, Timothy, will serve you. He is experienced as a valet.”
“Excellent.”They would be showing Clara her chamber now.
Adam turned on the landing to ascend to the next level, where his apartment spread.
The butler did not. “Your Grace, we moved everything to the duke’s apartment. I hope we did not err.”
Her maid is unpacking her valise now.
“Not at all.” He accompanied the butler to the door of the chambers last used by his father and steeled himself against an onslaught of memories.
He had not been to Kengrove Abbey since the day his father’s remains were transported north. He had not intended to enter these private spaces on this visit. Now, with the butler on his heels, he turned the latch with foreboding.
The doors swung wide, revealing a foreign place. He paced inside, accommodating his reaction. Nothing at all remained of the apartment he knew. Nothing of the last duke. These chambers might have been in another house.She is inspecting the chambers and the prospects from the windows now.
He had intended to avoid the memories, but now he felt robbed of them. “What happened here? Who made these changes?”
“The duchess, Your Grace. Letters came from France with her instructions, long ago.”
His own books now filled the shelves in the sitting room. His own garments filled the new wardrobe. He entered the bedchamber. Every item of furniture had been changed and the walls repainted and papered. The bed had even been placed differently.
“What did you do with my father’s things?”
“They were boxed and placed in the attic.”
“And his personal papers?”
“Sent to Drewsbarrow, Your Grace.”
