Mr. Steele confirmed that Katherine returned to Anya House. He said her dray looked like it had been pelted with garbage. Would Katherine tell me if she were in trouble? Like Lydia said, we can be mad at her and care greatly.
The knock on my bedchamber door sounds ominous.
“Your Grace, may I enter?”
“Da. Come, Steele.”
My steward enters and hands me a pile of correspondence. The one on top is from the Palmerses, Tavis’s parents.
As more footmen enter to clear dishes, I decide to read it later.After a servant stokes my fireplace, they all leave, and I ask Steele, “What don’t I know about Lady Hampton?”
My steward offers me an odd but familiar look, and points to the letter from the Palmerses. “Seems forces of ill are gathering again. I could do more research, but the current list of potential husbands has begged off.”
No candidates for Katherine. Deep down that doesn’t seem so bad. “A new list, Steele.”
“We solve the Palmers problem; we solve the list problem.” His lips curving across his wizened face remind me of all the times that his sharp countenance gave me confidence that whatever had been done wrong in the world would soon be righted.
But I can’t fall back upon old comforts or habits.
“Your Grace, command me. I can—”
“Nyet. I must consult with Lady Hampton. I’ll let you know what to do tomorrow.”
“No command? You feel well, sir?”
Stupid and useless—these fevers ravish my thoughts. “Well enough.” I lift from my chair. “Lady Hampton needs to tell me what happened. And why she and my mother are suddenly friendly. And why the Palmerses are out for blood. I must’ve missed too many things.”
The man chuckles. “The princess is probably trying to get information from her. Clever woman, clever son.”
I didn’t particularly feel that smart, realizing that my romantic overtures are missing the mark. I go to the vase of chrysanthemums sitting on my bed table. “Can you get rid of these, Mr. Steele?”
The man sweeps to them. “Ah, she didn’t like these? They are beautiful. She’s just being—”
“They remind her of death. Please remove all of them from Anya House.”
His thick eyebrows come together as he squints at me. “Everywhere?”
“Da. Death can’t be everywhere for her.” I’m enough of a reminder.
“The garden and maze, too?”
“Leave some in the maze. Replace everywhere else with roses. And hibiscus. That’s a nice touch.”
Mr. Steele’s blank look becomes a slight grin. “Yes. Something to do.”
Ordering him to follow Katherine would offer the man more.
But it would also make the secretive woman feel lesser. I won’t treat her like she can do nothing without me, even if I wish this to be true. Those are normal dreams. That’s not us.
My patience evaporates when the clock above my fireplace indicates ten minutes after ten. Sitting on my bed, with the copy ofPride and Prejudiceon the bedside chair, I feel anxious. My mistress is late for our appointment.
Could she be so tired from her duties at Wilcox Coal that she fell asleep? After a warm bath, that’s a possibility.
Taking up the correspondence again, I unfold it and read the Palmerses’ demand for restitution. They want a written apology from me, which is tantamount to admitting fraud. They’re fools. This will go unanswered, but I know they will not go away.
Crumpling the page exposes shakes in my hand.
Did Scarlett’s new tea do this? Is anxiety a new manifestation of illness? Perhaps my body needs time to adjust.
