It all sounded highly melodramatic and very unlike the reserved, practical duke she knew. Privately she suspected it had been an arranged marriage between Wessex and Helen Gray in the first place, and once they had a chance to know each other a bit they had realized how wretched their union would have been, a disaster averted in the nick of time. Viola had had many opportunities to see Wessex and Mrs. Blair together, and there was no chance, in her opinion, that either of them could have believed they would suit each other.
On the other hand, one could all but hear the passion crackling between Wessex and his duchess, while the Blairs were the picture of bliss. Whatever had happened, it had certainly ended happily for all of them.
Not that she would ever tell the Earl of Winterton any of that.
“You must judge for yourself,” she said again. Please let the duke and duchess return early, she silently wished. “Would you like to see the rest of the house now?”
The earl couldn’t miss the coolness in her tone. He turned to her, his azure eyes brighter than ever, and smiled—warmly, as if to reassure her. “Very much, Mrs. Cavendish.”
Chapter 4
Wes went down to dinner more curious about Mrs. Cavendish than about the location of the Desnos atlas.
His tour of the house had been cut short when a servant came to inform Mrs. Cavendish that the dowager duchess wanted to see her. From the alarm that flashed over her face for a moment, Wes guessed that his absent hostess was keeping an eye on things from afar. But the end result was that his companion excused herself, and he didn’t set eyes on her for the rest of the day.
It left him free to amuse himself, and he did try to redirect his thoughts toward the Desnos. After a calculated delay, he returned to the library. This time only Lady Bridget was in the room, pacing and muttering to herself. At his entrance, she stopped short.
“I beg your pardon,” Wes said with a slight bow. “Mrs. Cavendish was called away, and I hoped to find a book to read.”
The young lady pressed her lips together, but curtseyed. “Of course. I was about to go to the drawing room anyway. Do come in, sir, and help yourself to any books you fancy.” She went to the desk, gathered her papers, and left.
Wes stood back as she went by him. He hadn’t meant to chase her away, but he wasn’t about to protest being left alone in the library for a while. He headed straight for the globes, presuming any travel books would be there.
An hour of hunting did not turn up the Desnos, nor any atlas which might be mistaken for it. He stood drumming his fingers on the table, wishing he could ask Mrs. Cavendish. She must know. She appeared to know everything that went on in the house.
And yet he doubted she would tell him, even if she knew precisely where the Desnos was. He had been mesmerized by her, and felt an unwarranted eagerness to take a tour of Kingstag Castle when she offered. But he hadn’t missed the chill that came over her demeanor after he revealed that he didn’t know the Duke of Wessex personally. She wasn’t merely the duke’s employee, she was also a relation. The widow of a distant, lowly cousin, in her telling, but one who clearly took her familial connection seriously.
Wes had distant relations who turned to him for support or assistance. He supposed he employed some of them; he’d been away from Winterbury Hall so much, he wasn’t entirely sure. He was certain none of them were members of his personal household, and he was quite sure none of them were remotely as attractive as she was.
Mrs Cavendish, though, was a member of the family here. He eavesdropped on her easy conversation with Lady Bridget with amusement, but also envy. His discussions with Justin were never so affectionate or so . . . so . . . peaceful. It was genuine curiosity in part that drove him to ask her advice.
Wes didn’t think too much on the other reasons he felt like seeking her out.
When he reached the parlor where the guests were gathered before dinner, Justin gave him a severe look. Wes ignored it. Mrs. Cavendish was engaged in conversation, so he skirted the throng of young people, biding his time, and as he did so another lady caught his eye.
“Good evening, ma’am.” He bowed before Lady Sophronia.
She looked him up and down. “Winterton! It’s about time. You may sit with me; all the handsome men do.”
Amused, he took the seat next to her on the sofa. Lady Sophronia was tiny and must be over ninety, but her hair was still elaborately arranged, and dyed an unnatural shade of red. Unlike many elderly ladies who clung to the fashions of their youth, she wore a modern gown, although with the most unusual cape over her shoulders.
She noticed him looking at it. “Otter,” she confided, stroking it gently. “A gift from my second fiancé. Such a fine man he was; Russian, you see, and so virile.”
Wes blinked. “Indeed.”
“Have you been to Russia?” She nodded at Lady Alexandra, who was holding court for Justin and some of the other young people by the windows. “Alexandra tells me you’re quite a world traveler.”
“I have been to Russia, ma’am, though only once, and not for long. I prefer climates warmer than England, not colder.”
She gave a snort of laughter. “Missed your mark this time! There hasn’t been this much snow
