He came to a halt. The earl’s mother, he knew for certain, would have servants show him the door, baronet or no baronet, and, in any case, the Whitaker woman implied that she resided in London also.
The earl’s wife would be there, too, wouldn’t she? But the Dowager Duchess of Glenmoor was in residence in the dower house… Why would a Glenmoor relict be at Caulfield Hall? Rob vaguely remembered seeing Glenmoor in Paris, a popinjay with more hair than wit come to irritate those working to establish—and secure England’s interests with—the new monarchy. But dowager. The popinjay’s mother? He could think of no connections between Glenmoor and Clarion. A great-aunt or cousin, perhaps? God knew the aristocracy was inbred in hopeless tangles. The woman might at least explain the Whitaker woman’s role at Willowbrook.
He turned Khalija onto the road that rose to the hall, and then off to the right toward the dower house, grateful it stood at some distance from the manor.
… she might condescend to speak with you.The last thing Rob needed after his morning with Spangler was more condescension. He rode slowly, tempted to turn around at every bend.
The Clarion dower house, a simple square cottage, came into view around one final turn in the tree-lined road. Rob remembered it as empty and in need of repair, but the sun reflected off freshly painted white walls and a riot of flower-filled beds once choked with weeds and brambles. The charm of it slipped under his guard, and he smiled, prepared to admire the resident who cared for the old place so carefully.
A figure bent over a bower of rose bushes, clipping blooms. The woman, dressed in a plain blue gown and a wide-brimmed hat, snipped roses and laid them in a basket at her feet, her movements slow and graceful.
Though he could neither see her face nor gauge her age, the sight held Rob transfixed, reluctant to disturb her. Staring at her unseen would not do, however, and he called to her to alert her to his presence. “Good morning, ma’am.”
When she rose, he admired her tidy gown, an attractive gun-metal blue, buttoned up the front to a modest neckline and lace collar. She put up a hand under the brim of her hat to shade her eyes and peer at him.
Dismounting, Rob spoke to reassure her. “I’m sorry to disturb your work, but I’ve come to speak with the dowager duchess. Is she in?”
The hand came down to the woman’s side. “You’ve found her, sir. May I ask your business?”
This is a duchess?Surprise left him mute.
It didn’t matter. She gave a start and spoke before he could. “Robbie?” she gasped. “Is it you?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she walked toward him, shaking her head. “I’m sorry for my words, sir. For a moment, you reminded me of someone I knew.”
Her deep throaty voice unearthed memories, sweet and painful. He hadn’t recognized her under that hat, but the last time he heard her voice lay riveted in his mind. Her presence here now made sense.
“Hello, Maddy,” he choked out. She called him Robbie, and he responded in kind. He had known the Dowager Duchess of Glenmoor as Lady Madelyn Caulfield, and she would always be Maddy to him, his childhood playmate.My first love, he thought, staring into her green eyes.My sister.
“I’m sorry—Your Grace.” He gave a proper bow. “I didn’t expect—That is, I had no idea.”
“You expected a doddering old dowager?” A hint of laughter seasoned her comment. He recalled her age as a year or so older than his, just past thirty. She glanced down and picked up her basket.
“You’ve come about Willowbrook, I expect. You’d best come inside.” She brushed past him and up the front steps.
The Maddy he knew could be counted on to be honest and straightforward. The Maddy he knew wasn’t a duchess. Reeling with another shock on a day that seemed thick with them, he trudged up the steps behind her.
Chapter Six
Amaid bobbeda curtsy when summoned to the drawing room. Rob saw no sign of butler or footmen. Maddy ordered tea and took her leave to tidy up.
He suspected she needed a moment to recover from the unexpected encounter. He knew he did. Drawing breath, he took stock of the room—comfortably but not luxuriously furnished, rather like Maddy’s appearance.Glenmoor provided poorly for her, he thought. Questions buzzed in his head like Lucy Whitaker’s bees, his original mission forgotten.Why does a duchess live in her brother’s dower house? The Whitaker woman said the dowager countess—David’s dragon of a mother, I assume—resides in London. At least Maddy is spared living with her.
She didn’t leave him much time to ponder. Floating back into the room alongside the tea cart, her serenity and grace contrasted so sharply with his agitation that he felt like a brute of a peasant.Perhaps that’s what I am,but I damned well won’t apologize for it to a Caulfield,he thought, pulling out old resentment to ease his discomfort.I managed to find my way around the finest salons in Paris. I can manage a country parlor.
The expected ritual of seating and serving filled the awkwardness for several minutes. When she handed him an eggshell-thin teacup, he balanced it skillfully enough and began to relax until he caught her piercing glance, and her eyes, every bit as green as he remembered, made his heart lurch.
For months after he left Ashmead, he couldn’t bear to look in a mirror because, when he saw his own eyes, he saw Maddy’s. The horror of it lasted until he survived the attack on Alexandria and the Ottoman brothel in Aboukir, when he finally buried it. Caught in the memory, he missed what she said.
“Robbie—ItisWillowbrook that brings you here after all these years, isn’t it?” she repeated more forcefully.
He pulled his scattered thoughts together and set the cup down with a shaking hand.
The duchess glanced away. “I can’t think what else. You’ve done well for yourself. You are quite the pride of Ashmead. I expect they’ll organize a parade for the returning hero.”
“Dear God, have mercy on this weary soldier! I would throttle Emma if she tried it!” The words were out before he could think.
The duchess’s lips twitched in amusement, and for a moment, he saw the old Maddy.
He drew breath and quieted his voice. “I suppose Willowbrook did bring me home. Emma dragged me here to fix some imagined catastrophe. I only found out about the bequest this morning.” He shook his head. “I just don’t understand it—and I don’t want it. My life is elsewhere.”
