Page 33 of Kathryn

Becky laughed. “Not in general. Besides, why would somebody want to eat alone?”

Katie could think of plenty of reasons but kept that to herself.

“Mrs. Kent says Mr. Court has been with the master since he was just a lad and that he even went to university with him.”

“Which one did he attend?”

“I don’t know,” Becky said in a tone that made it clear such information was of no interest to her. She smiled sweetly. “He is your husband. Why don’t you ask him, Your Grace?”

Katie ignored her pert response.

“Mrs. Kent says His Grace is almost eight-and-thirty,” Becky went on. “He was born when his father was two-and-forty and his mother only eight-and-ten. His mother was the last duke’s second wife.”

“I have learned more about Dulverton in the last thirty seconds than I have in the past two weeks,” Katie said drily.

Becky gave her a lofty look. “It is part of my duty as your dresser to gather information, Your Grace.”

“Ah, so you’ve been elevated to dresser as I’ve been raised to duchess, have you? You and Mrs. Kent seem to have become bosom friends in such a short time.”

There was a polite knock on the door and Becky hastened to open it.

It was Mrs. Kent, who curtsied to Katie. “His Grace said you would like a tour of Dulverton House, Your Grace.”

“Indeed, I would,” Katie lied. She had little interest in a house they would be leaving first thing tomorrow. Still, touring the house was better than enduring another scold from her maid or sitting in her room dreading the bridal evening ahead.

“I will begin the tour on this floor, if that suits you?” Mrs. Kent said as they left Katie’s chambers.

“I place myself in your hands, Mrs. Kent. Have you been at Dulverton House long?”

“All my working life,” Mrs. Kent said proudly. “His Grace’s father hired me when I was just a girl. A very kind master he was.” She paused and then said in a confiding tone, “If I may be so bold, His Grace is very much like his father, both in appearance and disposition.”

Dulverton was a kind master? Given the rude, abrupt, haughty way he behaved with his contemporaries, that seemed an unlikely claim. Well, at least the woman was a loyal servant.

Mrs. Kent opened the door to the suite of rooms at the end of the corridor. “This is the Blue Suite.”

The rooms beyond the door had clearly not been decorated by the same person who’d done the rest of the house. It was excessively feminine, and the word bower came to mind. The bed was a massive four-poster with powder-blue hangings and every inch of the floor was covered in carpets incorporating the same shade.

It was pretty, although a bit too cloying for Katie’s taste. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a beautiful blonde woman seated on a gilt, throne-like chair holding a pug in her lap. Her hair was dressed high with a cluster of blond ringlets cascading over one shoulder, the middle part effectively showcasing her wide-spaced, round blue eyes, which were stunning. Judging by the recent era of clothing, this had to be Dulverton’s first wife.

“These chambers belonged to His Grace’s first wife, Your Grace,” Mrs. Kent said in a hushed tone, as if the information was somehow profane. Which she supposed it was given that Christina Van Draak had eloped with another man. Katie was rather surprised the portrait had not been tucked away in an attic.

“If Your Grace would prefer to use these chambers—”

“I will stay where I am, thank you,” Katie hastily said, not wishing to occupy such a fussy room even for one night.

They visited several other rather sterile suites before moving to the floor below. There was a large drawing room that was part of an enfilade of four rooms which included a magnificent music room, complete with a gilded harp and one of the largest pianos Katie had ever seen. When the doors were all open the four rooms would form a generously sized ballroom.

“Do you play, Your Grace?” Mrs. Kent said as Katie lightly stroked the glossy piano case.

“Indifferently. Certainly not well enough to deserve an instrument like this one. Did His Grace’s first wife play?”

“No, not that I ever heard. This was a gift from His Grace’s grandfather to his wife, who I am told could have performed professionally, if not for her elevated status.”

“And what about His Grace’s mother? Does she play?”

“Er, as to that, I could not say.”

“The dowager does not come to London?” Katie knew she should be asking her husband these questions, but Dulverton was about as approachable as a medieval castle with arrows bristling in all its embrasures.