A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,94
a male cousin, but no heir of the body as yet.”
“The family is from York, are they not?” Wilhelmina had known the previous Duke of Walden, a spry old gent who’d smelled of camphor and put little store in decorum for its own sake. Her husband had avoided him—His Grace of Rothhaven had had no real friends, only toadies and sycophants—though His Grace of Walden had held an estate adjoining the Rothhaven family seat.
“Those Wentworths were from the wrong part of York,” Sarah said. “The present Duke of Walden’s inheritance of the title was quite the scandal, and he chose some preacher’s widowed daughter for his duchess. She’s managing quite well, from what I’ve heard.”
“The Duchess of Walden who sits on the Committee for the Betterment of Unfortunates Formerly in Service is a preacher’s daughter?” That made sense, given what Wilhelmina knew of Her Grace. Jane, Duchess of Walden, was gracious, dignified, and put a bulldog to shame when it came to her causes.
Exactly as a duchess should be.
“What’s the news from home?” Sarah asked, rising and stretching, her hands braced on the small of her back. “Please say we can make a visit. My patience with polite society is exhausted and the Season has barely begun. If I must listen to one more fortune hunter lament his unjust fate or one more dowager discuss her dog’s flatulence, I will go mad.”
Robbie had recovered from his mishap, but Nathaniel’s letter had hinted at other problems. Thatcher required minding, the housekeeper was having trouble with her knees, Mr. Elgin wanted more help in the stable now that two of the oldest lads had been pensioned. Treegum was having a quiet, prolonged tantrum over the notion of extending the walled garden to the orchard.
A plan concocted years ago with the best of intentions was unraveling, and Lady Althea Wentworth had breached the citadel of Rothhaven Hall’s secrecy at the worst possible time.
“If I go north,” Wilhelmina said, “you need not accompany me. You can jaunt off to Paris, take the waters, or visit the seaside. You are due for a holiday.”
Sarah speared her with an uncharacteristic scowl. “What makes you think I’d prefer Paris or Bath to my own home shire? I haven’t been back to Rothhaven for ages, and with you, when the topic of going home arises, it’s always next year, next summer, perhaps, and maybe. I am homesick, Mina. I miss the wide-open sky, the green of the dales, the fresh air and soft accents. I miss our people and your Nathaniel.”
Sarah, who never paced, who never raised her voice, was nearly ranting. “How you’ve racketed about all these years,” she went on, “never laying eyes on your own only surviving son…I can only conclude that the late duke was a horror, and you avoid Rothhaven Hall because memories of your marriage are more miserable than even the pain of being separated from your offspring. I’m sorry for that, but I miss Nathaniel and can think of no reason why he’d not like to see your old cousin.”
Wilhelmina could think of a reason. He stood two inches over six feet, grew fearful at the sight of the moors, and refused to drink coffee or ride in an open coach.
“I hadn’t realized how you felt,” she said slowly. “I appreciate your honesty and I do miss Nathaniel terribly, though you are right about the late duke. I at first thought him dignified or shy, but when we took up residence at the Hall, he forbade me to venture into his wing of the house for anything less than a sighting of the French fleet. I assure you, I would have greeted the fleet rather than trespass on my husband’s infernal privacy.”
For all his coldness as a husband, Rothhaven had been free with his favors outside of matrimony. Wilhelmina had wished his paramours the joy of his company too.
Sarah flopped onto the sofa beside Wilhelmina. “Then why shouldn’t we return to the Hall? Your dower house is less than half a mile from the manor. If we send word ahead, Rothhaven can see that the dower apartments are aired and put to rights before we arrive. He will have his privacy and we can be home.”
Oh, dear. Oh, ballocks and Bedlam. This could not end well, and yet, Wilhelmina did very much miss her sons. Every hour she missed them, worried for them, and wished she could do more than keep a discreet distance and pretend a contentment she did not