Sophia said to Mrs. Kettle, “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to have met you and Mr. Kettle.”
Mrs. Kettle reached for her hand and squeezed. “Likewise, my dear.”
Sophia said, “Seeing his Grace with the two of you…well, it’s allowed me to see an aspect of him I’ve not seen before.”
“He’s quite imposing isn’t he? More like his father, in that respect, than I expected. But may I say, madam, that the two of you seem very well suited.” Mrs. Kettle crossed to their chairs and refilled both of their teacups. “His dear mother, the duchess, could not have hoped for better.”
“Thank you for saying so.” Sophia bit her bottom lip and lowered herself into the chair. A sudden rush of tears stung her eyes, and she attempted to blink them away before Mrs. Kettle saw.
“Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Kettle sat down beside her, her brow creased with concern. “That doesn’t appear to be a wholehearted expression of agreement.”
Sophia cleared her throat. “Things have been difficult of late.”
“The marriage is still young.” Mrs. Kettle nodded reassuringly. “And from what we’ve read in the papers, his Grace has traveled much this past year. That can’t have been easy, being apart.”
“We lost a baby last March,” Sophia blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Forgive me for being so familiar, but being that you are a midwife, I thought perhaps—”
“No apologies, please.” Mrs. Kettle reached for her hand and gently squeezed before releasing her. “I’m so sorry to hear. The loss of a child is never easy.”
“Afterward everything became strained. We’ve never quite recovered.” Sophia looked into her lap, tracing the seam of her glove with her index finger. “I don’t know how things will turn out.”
Mrs. Kettle’s eyebrows went up. “He would not have learned gentleness or sensitivity from his father.”
“No, he wouldn’t have, from all I’ve heard.”
A long moment of silence passed, during which myriad emotions passed across Mrs. Kettle’s face. “I’ll never forget the looks of bewilderment on those boys’ faces the day he took them away after their mother’s funeral. Even now that memory haunts my dreams. I knew if their lives were anything like what the duchess suffered in the first years of her marriage, they’d be forever changed. The duke might have boasted the finest address in Mayfair, but there were nights when that house saw more depravity than the lowest of dockside bawdy houses.”
Sophia felt as if she might be sick. She’d known Claxton hadn’t told her the worst of it. She supposed now she could at least imagine.
“It must have been terrible for you and Mr. Kettle to lose the duchess and the boys all at once, and likewise for the boys to lose you. Claxton told me that sometimes he snuck away to visit you and Mr. Kettle at Camellia House.”
Mrs. Kettle’s gaze held hers unwaveringly. “Then you also know that after his father found out about those visits, he terminated our employment and boarded up the house.” She laced one of her wrinkled hands over the other and sighed. “Not long after, we learned Vane had disappeared. Run away! His father’s investigator came here looking for him, and I told the man all for the better, that if that dear boy came here, no, thank you very much, I wouldn’t be so kind as to let him know.” She rocked back into her seat. “He thought I was a horrible woman, but what did he know of the duke and his cruelties? From the time Vane was sixteen, we never saw him again. Until yesterday.”
Sophia nodded jerkily. “He seems to believe that he changed in such a manner that he couldn’t come back. That he no longer belonged here because he isn’t the same person. I think also, in some way he believes his mother would have been disappointed with the life he lived and the man he turned out to be.”
“She raised them to be sensitive, caring boys. The duke would have done his best to destroy that.” Mrs. Kettle glanced down and shook her head. “But what I would like to tell you, madam, is that within one week of the duke’s death we received a letter from the
Sophia’s heart swelled with a sudden rush of emotion. “Mrs. Kettle—”
“All that time, you see, he’d waited until he could make things right. As right as he could. He is still that same dear boy at heart.” The handkerchief again appeared for a swipe to both eyes—and then across for a dab at Sophia’s. “He just needs time to remember.”
The sound of a door and men’s voices ended their conversation. Mrs. Kettle gave her hand another squeeze before disappearing again into the kitchen.
Vane entered the room and the first sight of him took Sophia’s breath away. Snowflakes glistened in his hair, but warmth glowed in his eyes as he laughed in response to something Mr. Kettle said. Even if she and the duke never found true happiness together, she hoped their time in Lacenfleet would bring him some peace from the difficulties of his past.
“Duchess,” he said upon seeing her. “We’d best be on our way if we hope to complete this quest of baking cakes today.”
Mrs. Kettle emerged from the kitchen, a small bag in her hand. “More sugarplums for the trip to the house! And your dear mother’s book of cookery, where you can find the recipe for the cakes.”
Before traveling to the house, Vane steered the horse and sledge to the village grocer for the purpose of purchasing the necessary ingredients listed in the recipe book. Outside the shop, furrows from other horses and wagons marred the snow, as did a host of footprints coming from all directions in the village.
When they crossed the threshold, the grocer, a Mr. Gilmichael, left the customers he had been assisting, two elderly ladies, and rushed forward to welcome the duke and duchess and introduce himself. Everyone else present gave a respectful bow or curtsy.
“How may I help you today?”
“Please do complete your business with your customers,” Vane insisted. “We will wait until you are finished.”
The two gray-haired ladies, dressed in heavy caps and dark wool clothing, nodded their thanks, and the grocer returned to his place behind the counter.
In a low voice, he counseled, “Now, you must understand, this is the last I can offer to you on credit with your account being so much in arrears.”
“Yes, Mr. Gilmichael,” one of the ladies answered with a nod. “We thank you for being so generous today.”
Vane sensed Sophia’s rapt attention to the conversation, and indeed, when he glanced down, he discovered her green eyes to be twin reflections of sympathy.
A moment later, the grocer presented the two old women with a small crate of coal, which they struggled to lift from the counter.
Sophia jabbed him with an elbow. “Offer to deliver the crate to their home.”
“Me?” he inquired. He was not in the habit of playing delivery boy.
The ladies held the crate between them and struggled with its weight toward the door.
“Don’t be haughty. Just do it,” she urged.
Just then, the door opened and damn his eyes if Lady Meltenbourne did not enter.
Sophia nudged him.
“Ah—pardon me, ladies.” He stepped toward the two, which appeared to startle them because their eyes widened and they dropped the crate to the wooden floor with a loud
“Yes, your Grace?” they responded in unison, voices hushed.
“It would give the duchess and myself great satisfaction if you would allow us to convey your purchase to your door.”
“Oh no,” said the taller of the two, clearly mortified. “We couldn’t ask it of you.”
Sophia stepped forward. “It’s no trouble. We’ve a sledge, you see. If you’ll just provide us with your address, we’ll bring your parcel around once we’ve finished our shopping.”
The two glanced at each other. Again, the same woman spoke. “We’d be very grateful, then, if you’d deliver the crate to the orphan house.”
She provided them with detailed directions. After a profuse round of thanks, the two ladies disappeared through the door. Lady Meltenbourne, by now, had wandered off to the opposite side of the establishment and presently perused the offerings there.
