Ihadgone mad. Talking to a barn cat. Watching him lure in felines and catch mice and sleep high in the loft in a patch of sunlight, all the while imagining the dramatics of his world,hissociety. Mercutio was certainly the king of cats.
I feared I would never feel sane again.
“Miss Wood?” a desperate voice called. Jane?
Still bundled, I rolled into a sitting position, my unmanageable hair poking out at every angle. “Yes?”
The wooden door swung open on a squeaky hinge, and Jane huffed a sigh too bone-weary for so young and small a stature. “There you are, Miss Wood. You must come quickly. Someone is here, and Mr. Wood sent for you straightaway.”
Peter knew I did not wish to be present for callers. Not since that first month, when our little country town was satisfied that the rumors were true, that I had scandalized myself and my family, and that I was, by all accounts, and out of Mrs. Beaumont’s own mouth,a trollop.
For a kiss that had lasted until the count of two with a boy I thought I loved.
I sat back in my spot. “No, thank you, Jane. Tell him I am indisposed.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Mr. WoodandMrs. Woodinsistyou join them. Indeed, they are speaking of you at this moment with the duke himself.”
Mercutio poked his head through the door hole, despite the entire door having been opened for him.
“The ... duke,” I spoke slowly, confused. An old familiartug of interest struck a kindling in my thoughts. Who had come? And why?
“Yes.” Jane’s round face was turning as pink as a peony. “You are required in the drawing room atonce.”
Well. I would certainly feel more shocked by our visitor were I not still reeling over Signora Udolpho’s true identity. I could not think of a single duke Peter knew well enough to entertain. Certainly none that had want ofmypresence. Unless there was a problem, andPeterneeded me. We both knew Amelia did not have spine enough to confront a duke. She hardly managed her late baron stepfather. What if this man was older, severe, demanding things he did not deserve? I was the only one of us with a free tongue, who could, at present, get away with murder and no one would be surprised. I stood, brushing hay from my blanket and thin muslin skirts with my free hand, weary already.
I met Jane outside the shed, which sat a short walk from the house. Instantly, Jane went to work picking straws out of my loose chignon, muttering unmentionable distresses, and prodding me with her cold fingers.
“Leave the blanket,” she directed.
“I haven’t a coat,” I said.
Jane was near to tears with worry. All this over a duke? Was Society really worth the stress? In my worst and loneliest nights, through endless tears and painful regret, I had asked myself that very question, and the answer was always unyielding—
Yes.
Acceptance. Approval. Alliances. I had not realized theimportance of social connections not just for marriage but for daily life until I’d lost them.
I would do almost anything to have a second chance. To be once again accepted by those who had ousted me by no fault of their own, but by my giving them no choice in the matter.
Loneliness was an ugly, bitter hag, and I was tired of her.
“Leave it!” Jane insisted, and with a huff of annoyance, I let the blanket fall from my shoulders with a light thud upon the cold earth.
Arms folded, I followed her to the house, up the stairs where so long ago Peter and I had descended from our carriage—him, separated from his new love, and me, freshly heartbroken and wholly unprepared for the social rejection that awaited me in the days and months to come.
How quickly life could change.
Figgs opened the door, and we entered.
Jane immediately rounded upon me, prodding me again and pinching my cheeks. “Flowers!” she snapped to Figgs, who came alive in his pursuit of the vase just behind me. He gave Jane a hothouse hibiscus, and she bit off the stem with her teeth before plunging the flower in my hair. “You smell like stale manure. And this dress?” She shook her head in distaste. The pink muslin was admittedly a year or so old, but so comfortable, and that was all I’d worried over of late. Jane pushed me toward the drawing room. “You must go in regardless. Mrs. Marcus said to remind you not to embarrass the family!”
The housekeeper warningme? I snorted, then froze at the sound of voices. Low, strong voices. Peter and someone else.And I remembered what I’d already forgotten—appearances and first impressions were everything.
“I should change,” I said, but it was too late. Jane was pushing me through the doorway and into the bright, airy sitting room of the house I’d grown up in. My father’s house until his death two years ago, and now Peter’s.
It did not feel like mine anymore.
Peter’s worried eyes found mine, and the nerves in my stomach tightened into knots. Where he was normally relaxed with Amelia at his side, nearly always at ease, my brother sat rigid in his chair. As I strode over, he stood, and the tall man across from him, his back facing me, slowly stood as well.
