Page 7 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

“ Y our Grace, welcome.”

Genevieve forced a smile for her old family’s butler, Mr. Grant, who stepped back into the hall to provide her entry. “Thank you. How good it is to see you again. How fares your wife since winter?”

“Much improved, thank you.” His scraggly face broadened into a fond smile. “She still speaks highly of you and your tinctures.”

She shook her head. “She is too kind. If she ever desires more, then you know just where to find me. Well, that is… You know where to send correspondence.” She wondered if the post would slow down with her out of town. Was she supposed to tell all of London she was leaving? “Is my mother here?”

“Indeed. She is not at home for guests, but I am sure she shall make an exception for you,” he added hastily. “She’s just in the front parlor. I’ll check with her if you like?”

We can only hope she’ll like to see me. But I can’t leave London without talking to my family.

“Don’t bother. I shall see to her myself,” Genevieve reassured the poor butler. She patted his arm before delivering her summer pelisse and umbrella. Once they were set aside, she inhaled deeply and climbed the stairs to the grand parlor overlooking the street.

How fortunate they were that the latest Viscount of Richester, her distant uncle, was bedridden out in the countryside. He hadn’t made any request for her mother and sisters to take their leave, though everyone knew the threat lingered overhead.

The door to the parlor was cracked open. On the other side, Genevieve could hear Tessa, her youngest sister, singing off at the piano. The instrument was slightly out of tune, but their mother would have never noticed nor believed it to be an issue, tone deaf as she had always been.

“I think you should use yellow thread,” Marianne was saying.

“I don’t want yellow, I want pink,” Eliza argued. “No one wants yellow roses. You only want the thread for yourself. Mama, please, tell Marianne to share the thread.”

“You were never any good at embroidery, Eliza. Can’t you focus more on your penmanship? Now that is beautiful,” their mother said diplomatically.

Nothing ever changes around here overmuch, it would appear.

Genevieve inhaled deeply to brace herself one last time before sweeping the door open. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

Shrieks abounded alongside the plonking of the piano, followed by a modest groan as her sisters excitedly raced to their feet and their mother sunk lower in her seat.

“Gen, you’re here!”

“You have freckles! Aren’t you using lemon juice?”

“Did you hear me playing? I think I’ve improved.”

“No, you should hear me play––”

The merriment and playful arguments made Genevieve laugh. She hadn’t realized how badly she missed them. Gathering the girls in her arms, she gave them tight squeezes until all three were protesting with pokes and chuckles and complaints.

“Really,” scolded Eliza who was the next oldest, “you should come here more often. Then your arrivals would be less dramatic.”

“Oh posh,” said Tessa, the youngest. She and Eliza shared the tawny brown hair of their mother. “You adore drama. Mama thinks that’s why she won’t accept any matches this year,” she added.

As those two began to elbow one another, Marianne sighed.

She brushed back her unruly black hair she shared with Genevieve.

The middle of the three girls often made her forgotten, so she had to fight to be heard and noticed.

Which exhausted her, from what Genevieve could see.

“She had two offers but won’t sign the papers. ”

“No one told me,” Genevieve said in disbelief, glancing at her mother who was focused on her nails. “Who are they? Does she like them?”

“I like neither of them,” Eliza overheard and huffed. “It’s Mr. Petrey, the Russian merchant, and I cannot understand a word he says. He also smells of fish which I cannot stomach. And Lord Quinter, who has such long nose hairs I could braid them.”

Forcing back a laugh, Genevieve gave a short nod.

Lord Quinter had been widowed only a month after her own marriage, for which she had spent three weeks grateful that he had never been an option.

The older gentleman was three times her age, still without a child, and had hair spurting everywhere it shouldn’t.

Their mother coughed. “Eliza! Surely, I raised you better than that. How dare you bring this up? You know I cannot bear to see you wasting your life away. And the lives of your sisters. This entire household relies on you.”

“I thought it relied on Genevieve.”

Straightening as everyone turned to her, she forced a smile. “I do whatever I can to help you all, of course. Is there anything you need of me?”

Please don’t say you’ve heard anything about Julian. Please don’t.

Her mother eyed her warily before turning back to the writing desk. She was working on the accounting books, which would surely affect Genevieve one way or another. But it was apparently more impolite to speak of money than to have bills sent from mother to daughter.

“I will have a match,” Eliza promised. “Captain Hardwick returns in the autumn. He promised me. And when he returns, we shall wed.”

Knees weakened in relief as Genevieve wrapped her in a hug.

An old childhood friend, Genevieve recalled, and a potential union she wouldn’t have a chance of dissuading. She was surprised that her mother said nothing but the woman looked determined to lose herself in the numbers.

“Very well. But know Tessa can’t have her season until you are married,” she pointed out their mother’s rule.

“I can wait. I’m amused enough to hear their stories. And yours, of course. You’re mostly dull but I believe everything is taking a turn.” Tessa leaned forward with bright eyes, eager. “Well? Is it true he’s back? Your duke?”

She hesitated, not certain how to answer that. She didn’t like hearing either that he was her duke. He didn’t belong to anyone. No more than she did.

Then Eliza jumped in. “What about this week? The two of you could attend Lady Morton’s ball. I heard there are to be talking birds for entertainment! Will you be there? Will your husband?”

“Oh, I…”

“Everyone says he was in France. Did you he bring you any French ribbons?” Marianne jumped in.

“Oh, what about a French hat? They’re impossible to get here; there’s a waitlist in every hatshop for the next two years and they’ll be out of style by then!

Oh, if you wore one to Lady Morton’s ball, you’d be the talk of the season! And you would look lovely, I’m sure.”

Sending her sister an unamused look, Genevieve remarked dryly, “Thank you.”

“Oh, you know I am teasing. It is only because I miss you so. You should come here more often. Or perhaps we can come and visit you! What of that? Perhaps just the three of us––” Marianne went on, growing excited at the notion.

“Don’t you dare,” their mother interrupted in a low voice.

Eliza huffed through the tension in the room. “We would bring a maid, of course. We’re not heathens.”

Genevieve could feel the frenetic energy building in the room. It would build until something crashed or until someone cried. That was how her visits often went, though it was never intentional. But her sisters were spirited, she was uncertain, and her mother was forceful in her opinion.

Until she’d married and taken on her own household, Genevieve hadn’t realized how suffocated she had been. How free she could be. Julian had been right, giving her a life of her own.

Every time she came back, Genevieve felt the heavy clouds of doom lingering overhead. But she continued to come here, hopeful for the day her sisters could have the same freedom.

“I can’t,” she said shortly, forcing out the words—forcing out the reason she had come here in the first place. The words were sharper than she intended, unfamiliar and uncomfortable on her tongue. “I’m leaving in the morning for Southwick with my husband. We’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

“What? Really?” Tessa asked in wonder.

Eliza tilted her head thoughtfully. “That must be nice. Isn’t it lovely? Shall it be a… romantic trip?”

“No.” She said as calmly as she could manage. “It’s necessary.”

The expressions on her sisters’ faces dropped bit by bit before they came to an understanding. They exchanged looks and looked back to her.

“I shall write you the most entertaining letters,” Eliza promised her seriously.

Nodding, Tessa added, “The time shall pass very quickly. You’ll return before long. We’ll have to host a supper party for when you do, and I’ll make sure Cook makes your favorite foods. You will return, won’t you?”

Marianne elbowed her sister. “It’ll go well, I’m sure. An adventure. Perhaps that is what you need. So you can smile more,” she added when Genevieve furrowed her brows. “I have heard lovely things about the property and I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. We’ll miss you.”

“Thank you. I will return soon,” Genevieve made certain to promise. “But I’m afraid I should be going now. There is still much to do.”

Between her sisters pouting and trying to convince her to at least enjoy one cup of tea with them, she thought she heard her mother call to her to “Stop feeding the gossips,” as a vague farewell.

After Genevieve had waved to her mother and kissed all of her sisters goodbye, she took her leave.

Soon she would be fully packed, then on the road in the morning. Her stomach twisted as she reflected on her lively sisters. She wondered if she had ever been that cheery. If life was truly good for them here, and if they really were eager for their futures.

Maybe something was wrong with her. Genevieve dropped her gaze to her dress where she was twisting the folds terribly. She tried to stop. Once, she supposed, she wanted excitement and the unexpected. But now, all she wanted was peace and quiet.

Instead, she would soon be off on a journey. Or an adventure as Marianne had called it. Genevieve frowned at the idea, certain it would be a dull and unfortunate trip to the countryside. She hoped it would be over soon