Page 11 of The Wise Daughter
Nora waited only a few minutes after Janie left to quietly open her door and slip outside her room.
Everything looked different in the light of day.
The halls were less shadowed, the paintings less gray, but in their unfamiliar state, Nora felt nothing but coldness.
Not a single sight sparked any fond recollection or warm memory, and every lady or gentleman painted in those dull portraits wore grim expressions.
She looked up at one particularly stern man painted with a white wig and whispered, “I can’t fathom what happened to make you so sour, but you have nothing to fear from me. I won’t be here long.” She could never live with those strange faces staring down at her.
Knowing there were thieves afoot didn’t help her feel any more at ease. She walked the corridors knowing each person she passed was under suspicion. Surely, they are wondering who I am as well. So Nora graciously nodded to those who met her eye, but she received no friendly looks in return.
I must become acquainted with the staff as soon as possible.
They were the most likely to notice anything strange and the first to notice when items went missing.
In such an enormous place, they would also be the most familiar with the multiple routes a thief could use to walk through the castle unseen.
She had been grateful, after all, in West Riding, when one of her former maids had shown her an old passageway used by the servants when she needed to hide from an especially persistent suitor.
Yes, there was much to solve. The sooner, the better.
As she continued to glance up at disapproving portraits, she felt their judging eyes upon her, discerning her plan to break her engagement and appease the duke by discovering the thieves.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said to a portrait of a woman whose tight-lipped mouth looked as if she never learned to smile. “You don’t look like you want to be here any more than I do.”
“That was my great-grandmother.”
Nora covered her mouth and whirled around to see the duke standing right behind her, his eyes trained on her.
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace! I was only talking to myself.” Her face flushed with all the warmth of a summer day, despite the chill in the air that morning.
“Apparently.” His lips twitched.
The duke had been handsome in the twilight by the river.
He had been handsome in the play of shadows and light in his study, but now, in bright, streaming daylight, his demeanor took on an entirely new life.
Just as before, he wore a great deal of black, but his healthy complexion wore it well.
His green eyes shone with the creative vibrancy of one who has tasted life and seen much.
He stood taller than he had the night before with a confidence that belied a hidden swagger.
Nora couldn’t decide whether his dark, auburn hair appeared to greater advantage in the barely tamed waves they were now combed in or the ruffled mess of thickness she had observed at the river.
She brushed her hand along the sides of her skirts. Wearing his mother’s old gown now seemed like a very unwise thing to agree to, just as unwise as accidentally insulting his great-grandmother.
He took a step closer and looked up at the portraits.
“They do look rather grim, don’t they? I never understood it until I was forced to sit for a portrait as a child. I sat for hours at a time day after day. I look like the most unhappy eight-year-old in that painting. My portrait will never be painted again.”
Nora frowned. “That’s unfortunate, Your Grace. Won’t your offspring want to see how you were in your younger days?” Without thinking, she ran her fingers along the thin chain that secured her mother’s miniature around her neck.
“What is that?”
“Oh. This is my mother.” She gave him a glimpse before letting the miniature drop to her chest. “She died just over a year ago.”
“I’m sorry, Honora.”
She looked back at the portrait of his great-grandmother, grateful the duke didn’t press her for details.
“I was told my great-grandmother loved Holmrook Castle.” He turned his gaze entirely on her. “I hope you will be comfortable here too.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
She began to walk again, pretending to examine the portraits while stealing glances of him from the corner of her eye.
“Why did you not join me for breakfast, Nora?”
His voice was rich and stronger than it had been last night, and somehow, his words carried more weight. Guilt swept through her, though she tried to tell herself she had done nothing wrong this morning.
“I wanted to find fresh air and enjoy a moment alone before I ate.”
“I see. If you are willing to forego being alone, I can help you find fresh air. There is a place I’d like to show you.”
She looked up and down the corridor, unsure what the proper etiquette was when in the company of a stranger one is betrothed to. “But who will chaperone us this morning, Your Grace? Shall I call for Janie or my father?”
“Nora,” his voice grew low, “you are engaged to the Duke of Ravenglass. We don’t need a chaperone.”
Heat rippled up and down her center. What a combination! Those words and his eyes!
What could she do but take the arm he offered her?