The duke’s pacing began again.
I decided to give him some. “That little girl loves you. We all do. And I must tell you, Lydia had decided to marry you before she gave you to one of us. Don’t take the child’s suggestions so literally. Or, if you can’t change things with Katherine, wait twenty or more years, Lydia will accept you.”
Deep, baritone chuckles—the duke laughed with his whole chest. “You, Georgina, are a treasure. But rest assured, I do not plan to be alone for the next twenty years. I’ll claim a duchess.”
He didn’t say anything about love or loving again. That was tragic.
“Why haven’t you tried to win her again?”
His chin dipped. “Reasons. Far too many of them.”
With his slippers, he smoothed a wrinkle in the rug. “This is a rya. My mother weaves them on large looms. She also creates tapestries for the walls. The rya keeps the home warm. I find the polished floors very cold.”
“In the absence of love, you have a rya? What is stopping you, Your Grace, from telling my sister that you’ve never stopped loving her?”
Head craning to the ceiling, he stretched his arms wide. “When you find art, you have to hold on to it. But the artist has to want you to claim it. She wants nothing to be mine.”
“Is that what happened, Your Grace? You couldn’t hold on to Katherine, and Tavis stole her away?”
The door to the bedroom opened. Mr. Carew came out. I saw a picture of him in my mind—Mama’s last doctor, and then him leaving Tavis that final time.
And I prayed this wasn’t another of those moments. “Mr. Carew, please.”
“Miss Wilcox, Lydia is resting easier. We shall try the bloodletting. Where’s Miss Scarlett? She should be here.”
“Changed your mind on leading strings, Carew?”
He flashed a smile of perfectly white teeth. “A learned man can learn. And Miss Scarlett Wilcox should witness the results which she also advocated.”
“I’ll go get her.” I turned in the direction of the bedchamber Mr. Steele had assigned us. “Then I will run . . . and make some biscuits.”
“His Grace’s kitchen could save lives from his spice wall alone.” Carew’s voice traveled down the corridor.
I wanted to ask him about his favorite treat, the kartoshka. “Your Grace—”
But he was already half inside. I watched him slip behind Katherine. She’d barely moved from her spot at the side of Lydia’s bed.
Like a pendulum swinging, the heavy door closed.
Nothing could be heard, not even arguing.
That feeling of helplessness surrounded me like a heavy shawl, the sobering pianoforte’s music playing in the atmosphere.
“This is going to work,” Mr. Carew said. “Hurry your sister.” He went back inside.
I ran to Scarlett’s room, wishing for favor and time.
Yet neither waited for anything, not deadlines or patience or passion, or even love.
Chapter 24
MARK—LET THEMUSICPLAY
Iput my hands on the keys, closed my eyes.
The piece should be there.
It wasn’t.
