Cori wished she felt just as certain of that as the duchess seemed. Of course, Her Grace hadn’t seen Cori sitting in the middle of Linthorpe’s corridor, either. A groan must have escaped her because the duchess’ brow lifted once more in question.
“No recovering from a poor first impression, is there?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Her Grace began. “And I would say that you made a wonderful impression on everyone tonight.”
Well, then a poor impression immediately following a decent first one, Cori supposed.
“Whatever you think cannot be surmounted, you’re wrong.” The duchess patted Cori’s knee. “You’re Bernard Beckett’s daughter. You’re capable of anything.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Cori admitted.
The old lady winked at her. “I have enough for both of us,” she assured. “Whatever it is you’re worried about, I promise that it will look better in the morning,”
“Thank you,” Cori said quietly.
“Now ring for your maid.” The duchess pushed back to her feet. “That dress is too lovely to sleep in.”
Once alone, Cori rang for her maid and then changed out of her gown. She did all the sensible things a sensible woman did at the end of an evening.
And then she lay in the dark and thought about the incident in Linthorpe’s corridor and the way the duke had looked her. She thought about the way he had held the kitten, and the way he had glanced back at her before he rounded the corner. Dukes didn’t generally glance back, did they? Cori didn’t think so. Linthorpe had done so, however. Of course, the fact that he had looked back didn’t necessarily mean something monumental.
Even with that thought, Cori couldn’t get to sleep and she couldn’t will the incident from her mind. It just replayed over and over and over some more. She was still thinking about it when the clock chimed three o'clock.
Chapter 3
Linthorpe travelling carriage,
near Acklan Castle
North Riding, Yorkshire
August 1816
James Westham rarely visited Acklan Castle since Alice died three years ago.
When he did have to visit, the trips only lasted as long as they needed to and not a moment longer. He had developed a thorough system for managing Acklan from London, for ensuring the estate ran efficiently in his absence, for trusting Turlow with matters requiring decisions and writing detailed instructions for those that did not. It was, by any reasonable measure, an adequate arrangement.
Of course, Daniel thought it was a damned shame to stay away and said so at every available opportunity.
James pulled back the carriage curtain as they turned through the gates and looked out at the long drive. He had prepared himself thoroughly for this. He had been thorough, and organized, and sensible about it all the way from London. It was only now, with Acklan actually in front of him, that he discovered thorough preparation and actually being ready were not quite the same thing.
Summer had refused to arrive that year. The moors looked less purple than pewter, and the sky above Acklan pressed down low, flat and white. It should have looked bleak, but it didn’t. The castle sat in its shallow valley the way it always had, solid and unhurried, the north turret catching what thin light there was, and the long windows of the west wing reflecting the pale sky back at him. The grounds were immaculate. Turlow had seen to that.
Beside him, Hannah had her nose pressed to the glass.
"There it is," she announced as though she was personally responsible for the castle's continued existence.
"There it is," James agreed.
Across the carriage, Miss Roseberry looked up from the basket in her lap with the expression of a woman approaching the outer edge of her patience. Biscuit had not taken to carriage travel and had been making her feelings about the situation known, rather loudly. Marmalade, for his part, had quietly escaped the basket four times under the cover of his littermate’s raucous complaints. Both kittens had been Hannah's very persuasive idea, and James had acquiesced. He’d been regretting it since approximately Islington. Luckily, the other two kittens had made the journey with the luggage or Miss Roseberry might have jumped from the carriage some time ago. As it was, the governess would probably ask for a raise in her wages before they reached Acklan and James wouldn’t blame her one bit.
The carriage drew up to the front steps and the housekeeper, Mrs. Fenwick, appeared at the door before James had finished descending. He helped Hannah down, and she immediately squirmed free, bolting in the direction of the stables. He let her go because some things did not change.
"Your Grace." Mrs. Fenwick curtseyed. "Welcome home."
Home.
He said nothing, simply nodded his thanks and went inside.
