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“I suppose I never was,” she replied. “But circumstances are bound to change, aren’t they?”

Cordelia crossed the room, taking a seat across from her sister. Immediately, her eyes dragged down Irene’s clothes, barely recognizing her sweet sister when she wore nothing but black in mourning.

“Do not worry, Cordelia,” Irene suddenly said. The smile never once left her lips.

“Who said anything about worrying?”

“No one, but your face is full of it.”

Cordelia leaned back in her seat. There wasn’t a thing she could get past her sister, no matter what. The details of her recent move back into Darkenhill Manor were foggy to Cordelia, but the look in her sister’s eyes told her that she shouldn’t dare to ask. “I was glad to see your letter,” she said instead.

Irene raised a slender brow as she dragged her hand over the wolfhound’s snout. “Really?” she asked.

Cordelia scoffed. “Do you believe I am not happy to see a promised correspondence from my oldest and only sister?”

“Don’t tease, Cordelia,” she mumbled. “You and I both know that my letters were bound to go unnoticed by you. What has changed?”

She looked away, glancing out the window as a familiar flock of geese drifted by overhead. Immediately, Cordelia shook her head, disappointed that she didn’t even consider bringing a canvas with her. The weather was perfect for a scenic painting, even if it was a time consuming venture.

“I suppose I needed to speak with someone,” Cordelia replied.

Irene chuckled. “Have you grown bored of your solitude finally?”

“You cannot tease about my solitude any longer,” she snapped. “The day you visited, and we were told of my husband’s arrival. Do you recall it?”

“Of course.”

“He decided to remain at Solshire.”

Irene sat up, the sudden movement startling Tiberius. The wolfhound let out a grumble deep within his throat before lowering to the floor, his long face draping across Irene’s feet. “You don’t say!” she mused. “Truly? The Duke lives at the estate with you?”

“He has for the past few days,” Cordelia replied. “And insists upon remaining till the rumors the Ton so carelessly spread about no longer taint his name.”

“Can you blame him?”

“I can, actually.”

Irene frowned. “Cordelia,” she said in a warning voice, “His family has been a prominent one for generations. I am more surprised he waited this long to rectify it.”

“A few rumors spread by aristocratic Lords and Ladies who have too much time on their hands is no reason to flip an entire life upside down.”

“Are you telling me that you truly preferred your solitude?Truly?”

Cordelia leaned her chin against her gloved palm, spread out along the back of her chair. Her gaze was fixated on a portrait beside the window. It was of their mother, a woman Cordelia seldom remembered. She was far too young when she passed to hold onto her memory enough, but missed her all the same. If her mother was here, could the questions and qualms she had with the Duke come along easier, solved in a much quicker fashion? The question hung in the air above Cordelia’s head like a daunting storm cloud.

“It was not such a terrible thing,” Cordelia mumbled. “Though his presence…”

“What about his presence?”

Cordelia glanced at her sister’s suddenly interested face. She pouted at her. “Is quite grueling, Irene,” she said instead, earning a very weighted sigh. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I went through to have some assistance with my orangery. I was forced to handle my workers alone, and -”

“Workers?” Irene repeated. “You handledmenalone? Unchaperoned?”

“Iama married woman, Irene.”

“A Duchess,” she snapped. “Who acts alongside her husband, not without him.” Irene shook her head like a disappointed mother, burdened with undisciplined children. “Won’t you refrain from being so confrontational with him?”

“Who on earth said I was being confrontational?”