“At Harrow.”
“You don’t sound very pleased about that.”
I shook my head. “I miss him. And he isn’t happy there.”
“Your brother is lucky to have someone like you. But where was your mother in all of this?”
“She took my father’s death the hardest. It pained her to speak of him, so I learned not to mention him. His death seemed to suck the life from her. She became almost wholly dependent on my aunt.” As much as I held against Aunt Agnes, she had sacrificed a great deal for my mother. It was something I hadn’t really considered before this moment.
The duke woke me from my reverie. “So their love lasted? The love between your mother and father?” His voice held a note of surprise.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You mentioned her being homesick for England and her family. I wondered if that caused contention.” He paused for a moment, as if hesitant to speak his thoughts aloud. “They came from very different backgrounds.”
I ran my tongue along my front teeth, trying to decide how to respond. “You mean their different stations in life?”
He gave a slight nod. “That too.”
“They were very happy when they were together; that much I remember. In my father’s presence, my mother all but lit up. But he was gone a great deal, and that became difficult for her to bear. His absence seemed to weigh on her . . . and he was gone for such long stretches at a time.”
He raised his brows expectantly and waited for me to continue.
“I do not fault my parents for their marriage, but I would never enter into a marriage like theirs—with one so beneath the other. I think, in those cases, the woman always feels it more acutely, for she rises or falls by the station of the man she marries. But it is hardest on the children produced by the marriage. They don’t seem to fit in anywhere.”
The fire snapped in the suspended silence. For the first time, I’d voiced aloud a fear that was lodged deep within, as I sat beside the one man who might have been capable of making me reconsider. But how could I even think such a thing? As if the duke would ever consider someone like me. I hardly dared look up, fearful he might read my thoughts through the expression on my face.
“You are caught between two worlds.”
“Exactly,” I said, surprised at how easily he understood me.
“You may find it hard to believe, but I have felt some of the same things since my . . . accident.”
I froze, my eyes catching his, as I realized I’d been aching for him to share something of himself with me.
He broke away, staring down at the embers in the hearth. The light from the flames outlined his silhouette. Somehow I had never noticed what thick, dark lashes he had. “Ever since the accident, I have felt out of place among those of my own rank. I am an outsider now. I used to believe people were drawn to more than just my status, but now I find myself wondering if my . . . deformity . . . is only overlooked because I hold a title.” He breathed out deeply, his admission coming at a price.
I hesitated for a brief moment before reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. “They must know you very little if they value you so lightly.” Our eyes met, and his were so deep and dark I felt I would be swallowed whole.
“Halstead?” The duchess’s voice echoed through the room, making me jump.
I withdrew my hand. The duke gazed at me fiercely for another moment before reaching for his cane. “Yes, Mother?” He shifted his weight, using the cane to balance as he stood.
I stayed where I was, melting into the chair, wishing I could make a quick escape.
“Oh, there you are, Halstead. I came to ask if you plan on coming to dinner tonight.”
“Yes, Mother. I will be there.”
“You have no idea how good it has been to have you join us on occasion. I hope you don’t mind, but your grandmother has made quite a fuss about the seating. She has requested a particular dinner partner for you. Since this house party is rather informal, I thought you might . . . well, you know how I have to humor her.” The duchess sighed deeply, as if she shouldered a great burden.
“What about the seating, Mother?” he asked, a note of impatience in his voice.
The duchess stepped forward just enough that she might see me. She did not hide her surprise well, her gaze flitting back and forth between us. She glanced at me once more and pinched her lips together. “She requested you be seated next to Miss Graham.”
Chapter Twelve
I smoothed my dress, releasing the knotted tension that had resided in my stomach ever since the duchess had informed Halstead and me of the seating arrangements for dinner. Usually I waited for Aunt Agnes and we walked downstairs together, but tonight I hadn’t been able to stand another moment in my room, caged and waiting for what was to come.
Instead of going directly to the drawing room, I’d meandered through a few of the corridors in an attempt to pass the time. Now I stood directly in front of a painting of the dowager duchess and studied it with consternation. She was younger in the picture—her hair was still brown and her dress in a fashion of decades past—and she looked a good deal less threatening. Apparently intimidation was something perfected over the course of a lifetime.
I glanced up at the sound of footfalls. Robert strode down the corridor with a look of such determination that he nearly bowled me over. I rocked back in surprise, and he put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “Oh, Juliet. Forgive me. I didn’t see you there.”
I stepped back. “You look as though you’re on the hunt for Napoleon. What on earth could possibly be so urgent?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I was looking
