Page 5

Dead.

I don’t think there’s a sweeter word.

“What are you two up to?” Kyros asks.

“Father, the duchess was indignant that I didn’t bring sweet rolls to share with her.”

“I would have tickled you, too, for such an oversight,” Kyros says.

“I’ll get more for us all!” Nico darts for the kitchens.

Kyros has nothing but love in his eyes as he watches the child run away. “We best return quickly, before the duke grows incensed, Your Grace.”

I say, “He fell back asleep, so I thought to escape for a moment.”

Kyros nods in understanding, and together, we return to the master suite.

It is hours before anyone realizes the duke isn’t breathing.

IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOW,nothing bad happens. No one suspects a thing. The man was dying anyway. Why should foul play be involved? Besides, everyone thinks me too stupid to even conceive of murder. I’ve made sure of that.

I wear black to the funeral, manage fake tears on Pholios’s behalf, keep my face buried in a silk handkerchief gifted to me by the dead man himself with our initials embroidered on it. Father comforts me and brings me flowers; he even asks if there’s anything he can do to help manage the estate. He’s quite pleased with me, since my brideprice saved him from ruination. Father may be an earl, but his estate was bankrupt.Iwas bankrupt until I married Pholios.

Now his fortune is mine to do with as I choose. No man can tell me how to spend it. Not even my own father.

I’ve done it.

I’ve attained what so few women have managed.

True freedom.

The first thing I decide to do with that freedom is explore the estate and get to know my staff. Pholios never let me venture far from him. I was to take all my meals at his bedside. I was to be there when he woke up and long after he fell asleep. The duke mentioned many times that he was going to get his money’s worth out of me. I was his property, he said.

In the end, I think he realized he was sorely mistaken about who had control over whom.

“Your Grace, it is so good to see you again,” Mrs. Lagos, the housekeeper, says when she meets with me in the parlor.

I have seen her only a few times since I first set foot inside this dreary manor, when all the staff greeted me in the entryway as their new lady.

Mrs. Lagos looks about as formidable as a kitten, at four feet, eleven inches tall, but gods help anyone who tries to defy her claim that she’s an even five (I overheard a particularly nasty conversation to that effect). Her hair is black as night, and her skin is white as ivory. With oval eyes and not a wrinkle in sight, it’s impossible to guess her age, and I dare not ask her.

“You as well, Mrs. Lagos. Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course. How can I be of service?”

“I would like to make some changes to the estate. I hoped you might be up for helping me.”

“Certainly. What changes?”

I want my staff to adore me. I want them towantme to be their mistress. It’s the best way to ensure a seamless transition, and I don’t want anyone to question the control I now have. There is a very simple means to achieve that from the start.

“I’d like to raise the wages of the staff by twenty percent.”

Mrs. Lagos blinks slowly, as though she didn’t quite hear me. Then she grins. “You and I are going to get on well, Your Grace.”

“Excellent, because I have plans for lots of redecorating…”

First things first, the master suite. I order it gutted. Every single item is moved to storage, from the bed to the draperies to the carpet. I refurbish the entire room so it looks like Pholios never once stepped foot in it. I want it free of anything that could possibly remind me of him.