Page 28 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

In the blue guest room, she found Arabella sitting upright, her eyes wide and wary. Hester crossed to the bed and sat beside her, smoothing the blanket.

“I am here,” she said.

The girl did not speak, but after a moment, she slid her hand into Hester’s.

Closing her eyes, Hester sighed. It was not the girl’s fault she was in this world. She held her small hands, and for a little while, neither of them felt quite so lost.

Thomas reined in his horse in front of Lushton Castle and handed the animal off to a stableboy before he strode toward the door, savoring the sharpness of the air and the clarity that came from the days spent away. Inside, the castle was muffled and warm, and the silence was nearly perfect.

Slater stood waiting just inside the entrance. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” he said and took Thomas’s coat and hat with unhurried grace.

Thomas cast his gaze across the foyer as he thought of his wife. He had spent three days in Norwood, and he had been hesitant to return, but now that he was here, he wanted to see her.

“Where’s the Duchess?” he asked, feigning indifference. He loosened his cravat with one finger.

“In her office, Your Grace. She has not left it all morning,” said Slater.

Thomas’s brows pulled together. “Very good. See to it I’m not disturbed,” he said, and started for the west wing.

At the door to Hester’s office, he paused and knocked once, sharply. No answer came, and he rapped again, louder.

Still nothing. Thomas turned the handle and stepped inside.

“I believe it is too short.” At the far end of the room, Hester stood with her lady’s maid. They appeared to be engaged in some debate over the length of blue wool that looked like a quilt. The maid held the edges taut while Hester leaned over, pinning and measuring with focused intent.

“It appears to be the right size for children, Your Grace,” her maid said.

“Yes, but children grow. I want them to use the quilt for a long time, Miss Holt, not for one summer.”

Thomas took the scene in, her profile etched in the afternoon sun and the pale green of her dress bright against the somber wood of the chamber; her hair was bound in a chignon but loose enough for a few errant strands to trace her jaw.

She looked every inch a duchess, and something else as well: unreachable, as if she had been cut from the same cloth as the castle itself.

He watched her for a moment longer than was necessary then cleared his throat. Hester’s head jerked up. Her expression was composed, but her eyes held an unfamiliar spark—alarm, maybe, or annoyance.

“Good day, Your Grace,” said the maid, bobbing a curtsy before gathering her things and slipping from the room.

Hester straightened and regarded him in silence. He nodded toward her. “Good day, Hester.”

She inclined her head. “Welcome home.”

He waited for her to continue, but she did not. She returned her attention to the blanket, smoothing its corners with careful hands.

“Working on something for the orphanage?” Thomas asked, stepping closer. He saw now that the blanket was embroidered with small gold butterflies, and the stitches were delicate and even.

“I am,” she said. “There are more children this year than ever before I was told. And some need warmer things.”

He reached out to touch the fabric then stopped himself. He noticed that her hands, usually so steady, were now curled into fists.

“I did not realize you would be returning so soon,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied with a shrug that didn’t fit right. “Norwood is settled for now. They’ll need a new bridge, but the rest can wait.”

She nodded simply. The silence lengthened, and Thomas searched her face for any sign of anger or injury but found only that confounding calm and the unyielding mask that made him tempted to shift his weight from one foot to another.

How can one slight woman unsettle me so?

“Hester,” he said, uncertain why her name alone felt so much like a plea. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

She looked away, shaking her head minutely. “All is well. Thank you for asking.”

He waited, but she did not elaborate. Instead, she resumed her work, guiding the needle with slow, deliberate care as she marked places on the blanket. The room felt colder than the chilly wind outside.

Thomas swallowed. “If ye need anything?—”

“I will send for you,” she said; her voice was so polite it was nearly a rebuke.

He nodded and retreated, closing the door behind him.

Thomas spent the rest of the afternoon in his study, trying to immerse himself in estate matters, but the numbers swam and blurred until he abandoned the ledgers entirely.

At dinner, he sat at the head of the table. The butler poured the wine, the footman served the meat, but Hester’s place remained empty. Thomas glanced at the clock then at the door.

“Where is the Duchess?” he asked, barely bothering to disguise his impatience.

Slater, stationed by the wall, bowed slightly. “The Duchess is to take her supper in her chambers, Your Grace. She prefers it that way since your last departure.”

He frowned. “Is she unwell?”

“I cannot say, Your Grace,” Slater replied. But the pause that followed was filled with what he was likely not permitted to say.

Thomas sat in silence. He took a sip of wine then another, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest.

Unable to bear it any longer, he rose and left the dining room. It was time he settled this matter once and for all.