“No.” I shook my head. “He merely showed me around the chapel and expounded on some of the history.”
“And he said nothing that might explain why he invited you? Had you expressed some interest in old churches he might have overheard?”
I shook my head again.
The space between her eyebrows pinched together. “What can be made of such attention?” she mused when my answer shed no light on the matter.
So her desire today was to know what interest the duke could possibly have in me, was it? Denying her desire gave me a great deal of pleasure, but the truth was even I wasn’t sure why he had sought me out. Or if he ever would again.
And that, I realized, was at the heart of my melancholy.
Our conversation drew to a close as we entered the chapel. The second time seeing it was no less enchanting than the first. The sun’s rays bathed the walls in warm light, though the colors of the stained glass were more muted at this time of day. Every turn of my head brought some memory to the surface, some story the duke had related, or the softness that had entered his eyes when he’d spoken of the chapel’s restoration. My gaze caught on the marred wood from the cannon shot.
I followed Aunt Agnes to a pew where Robert and Hugh sat and took my seat just as the rector stood. My gaze drifted to the ceiling, marveling once again at the artistry of it. I felt as though I could sit here every Sunday for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it.
Aunt Agnes elbowed me, motioning for me to stand for the hymn. I quickly rose, joining with the others in song. As the hymn came to an end, the familiar sound of wood dragging on stone made me whip my head around. There, coming down the aisle, was the duke. My heart trembled; I wanted to meet his eyes and yet feared to.
But he kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring my stare, along with the stares of the entire congregation. The rector looked flustered and began to fiddle with his collar. He waited as the duke turned into a pew several ahead of where I stood with Aunt Agnes before he motioned for everyone to take a seat.
I knew that for the duration of the meeting I would not be able to focus. Outwardly I was all that was proper, my hands in my lap, my gaze on the pulpit. But every bit of my attention was focused with piercing scrutiny on the man a few seats in front of me. I studied his dark hair, his brief upward glances, the tightening of the muscles in his neck, trying to guess minute to minute what might be going through his mind.
The harried mixture of my own feelings confused me. One moment, seeing the hard set of his mouth, all I could feel was a burning inside, a righteous indignation at the man’s infuriating sense of entitlement. A moment later I would remember the endless patience and good humor he’d exhibited on our tour and be filled with contrition for my unwitting but mean-spirited words.
The entire hour was a maddening ordeal. The moment the service ended I was on my feet, anxious to escape the hoard of emotions that wouldn’t let me be. I eyed the door longingly, but Aunt Agnes seemed bent on speaking with everyone around us. Robert stood near the back of the chapel, in conversation with Lord Aberdeen. Hoping to catch them before they left, I started forward.
If it weren’t for the tap of his cane alerting me to his presence, I would have collided with the duke, who walked past right then. Our gazes met for the briefest moment as I stood there, unable to breathe. His dark-brown eyes, usually filled with cold scorn, were different today. Hidden behind the contempt was vulnerability . . . and something else he hadn’t wanted me to see: hurt. That was what had stolen my breath. He walked past me, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way to the doors.
I shook my head, my chest tight. Behind all the sharp words the duke was wont to speak, I had the power to wound him. And I had.
Without stopping to think, I chased after him.
Chapter Ten
Outside, the brisk air of the late fall morning greeted me, still misty with a silvery fog that was slowly dissipating. The duke had already descended the stairs, and he moved toward his waiting carriage. I made my way down the steps as quickly as I could, but several people stepped in front of me, blocking my way. The churchgoers dispersed at a snail’s pace. Finally, I caught sight of the duke again—right as he used his cane for leverage and stepped up into the carriage.
“Cullion and coistrel,” I muttered, stomping my foot in frustration.
“My goodness.” I turned to find the dowager duchess standing right behind me, a deep maroon turban perched atop her head. She tsked with disapproval. “While I don’t know the exact meaning of those words, the way you said them makes me think they are less than appropriate for use on the Sabbath. Especially on the stairs of the church.” One gloved hand held her cane, but instead of making her look feeble, it seemed to give her an aura of power. She peered down at me with razor-sharp scrutiny.
Inwardly chastising myself, I let out a deep breath. “Excuse me, Your Grace. I did not see you there.”
“And would that have made a difference? I suppose we’ll never know.” She waved her cane forward. “Walk with me.”
I hurried after her, trying to cover my surprise. What on earth could she want, other than to lecture me on appropriate ladylike language? I glanced back toward the church, wondering what Aunt Agnes would make of my disappearance. She certainly wouldn’t assume the best.
It took
