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Suddenly, the Duke rose from the table, bowing his head politely. “If you’ll excuse me, your Grace.”

Without another word, her husband left the room, carrying his papers beneath his arm.

Cordelia fell back against her seat, one hand resting over her chest. Beneath her fingertips, her heartbeat slammed rapidly against her, not once slowing down. She drew in a deep breath, her eyes fluttering close.

Behind her eyelids, Cordelia could only see her husband.

CHAPTER8

Darkenhill Manor was exactly how Cordelia remembered it to be. Despite the old Duke, her temperamental but well-meaning father, passing a few years prior, Duncan Celeston never saw any reason to redecorate. Perhaps it was because he did not have a woman’s vision, or the reassurance of a wife, to help him do so. Either way, Cordelia frowned upon the Manor as she left her carriage, drawing nearer to the ornate front doors.

Before she knocked, the door peeled open, not even letting out a creak.

“Dear me,” the old woman croaked, her wrinkled eyes colored a pale blue growing wide. “If it isn’t the Duchess of Solshire! The prodigal daughter returns!”

Cordelia laughed, a sweet nostalgia filling her chest. “Mrs. Atty,” she cooed, reaching forward to take the woman’s shriveled hands, “My dear housekeeper, you lookyounger,if that is at all possible.”

Mrs. Atty’s marbled cheeks took on a pinkish hue. “Always the sweet talker, your Grace,” she teased before jumping almost a foot in the air. She raised a shaking hand to her lips. “My deepest apologies, your Grace. I haven’t even invited you in yet!”

“Don’t bother! It’ll give me a reason to turn back around.”

The housekeeper laughed, the sweet bell-chime sound pulling Cordelia back into an entirely different point in her life. Suddenly, she was no more than a bright-eyed and bushy tailed teen, spending hours upon hours outside painting and ignoring her worrywart of a father. She reached, forgetting herself, and cupped a hand around the older woman’s cheek. Mrs. Atty, as if she dismissed any idea of decorum herself, leaned into Cordelia’s hand, crystal colored tears welling up in her eyes.

“You have grown into quite the woman,” Mrs. Atty whispered.

Cordelia smiled sheepishly. “It has only been a year or two since you’ve seen me, Mrs. Atty. How much could I have grown in that time?”

“Soverymuch, your Grace. More than you can imagine.”

And Cordelia supposed she didn't need much convincing after all. The time spent in solitude, learning an estate she never knew, gaining the trust of a house staff that had no intention of seeing her stay be a comfortable one, shaped Cordelia into a strong and well-rounded woman of polite society. Even if she didn’t quite agree with it herself, she knew it to be true.

Mrs. Atty sighed, and pulled her head off Cordelia’s hand, shaking off the misty eyed reverie they both walked into.

“Please, come inside, your Grace,” the housekeeper said, extending a welcoming arm.

Cordelia breathed in, desperate to calm the beating of her nervous heart.

Everything was just as she remembered it to be. Curtains she used to tug and yank as a child remained around the tall windows. Pale white furniture ordained each room, keeping with the pastel theme throughout the Manor. Portraits of family she never knew and ones she knew all too well stared back at her as she trickled further in. A dog, a great big beast with shaggy fur and a long face, sat at the middle of the grand staircase, watching Cordelia with a lazy expression.

“That beast is new,” she mused to no one in particular.

Mrs. Atty sighed as she wobbled beside her. “The wolfhound came with the Dowager Countess.”

Cordelia bristled. The title now associated with her eldest sister, Irene, was one that still took some getting used to. Not the Countess part, of course, but rather theDowager.She faced the housekeeper. “How is my sister, Mrs. Atty?”

“The Countess remains her pious and gentle self, your Grace,” the housekeeper replied.

“That’s all?”

Mrs. Atty’s greying brow rose. “If you mean to ask if your sister issad,your Grace, then perhaps that is something you should ask her yourself.”

“You know as much as I that Irene is nowhere near a person who shares their true feelings.”

“It must run in the family, then.”

Cordelia grinned as she looked over her shoulder at the old woman. “I do adore you, Mrs. Atty,” she cooed. “Never once do you shy away from the truth.”

“Well,” Mrs. Atty added under her breath, “Don’t ask me how the Duke feels. I’ll shy away from that truth for as long as I live.”