white and gold brocade of the chair, and her slender, freckled hands
were displayed upon her lap with all their habitual grace. The Duke was
standing by the fire, listening with courtesy to the thin, precise voice.
‘Grandmère, what a wonderful surprise,’ Minette
managed to utter from the doorway. She crossed the room, sank at her
grandmother’s feet, and kissed the hand held out to her. She turned up her face
to Rochford and smiled. ‘How very kind of you to think of
bringing her to me.’
He bowed slightly. ‘There is no need to thank me.
It was my privilege.’ He stepped forward and offered her his hand. She laid her
fingers in his palm, and he pulled her easily to her feet. They stood for a
moment, hands clasped, while the Marquise’s sharp eyes noted the delicate flush
in her granddaughter’s cheeks and the sudden, opaque darkness in Rochford’s grey
eye. She stood and said, ‘Conduct me to my room, Eugénie. I find myself more
fatigued than I had realised.’
Minette instantly stepped to her side and offered
her assistance. The thin fingers clutched her arm with a painful grip like a
peregrine’s claws settling upon the falconer’s glove. She winced and then
glanced swiftly at Rochford, whose eyebrows twitched together in a quick frown.
Just then, the door opened, and Arabella bounced into the room.
‘Minette, they told me your grandma is come to
stay! Can I see her?’
The Marquise drew in a sharp breath, like a hiss. ‘Minette?’
Her granddaughter started guiltily, then, recollecting
herself, she smiled and said easily, ‘Yes, I have asked Bella to call me by my
old pet name. You remember?’
‘I remember.’ The haughty face softened, and she
assumed the sweet, fragile air that, in Minette’s experience, made her the most
dangerous. ‘And this is the little sister? Come here, child, and let me look at
you.’
Nothing could make Arabella graceful, but she was
cowed enough by this formidable old woman to remember her schoolroom
deportment. She dropped a curtsey and then took a few steps forward, standing
with her hands clasped, back straight, chin and eyelids lowered modestly.
The Marquise studied her for a moment and then
patted her cheek. ‘Pretty child.’ She cast a shrewd
look at Rochford. ‘Have you arranged a marriage for her?’
He laughed. ‘Not yet, Ma’am. It is early days.’
‘You are mistaken. Do not delay.’
He inclined his head, with a slight smile. Minette
interposed quickly, ‘I am taking my grandmother to her room now, Bella. You may
become better acquainted later — when she is rested.’
Arabella, who had turned bright red, gladly stepped
aside to allow them to leave the room. Minette, with her grandmother leaning
heavily upon her, made her way up the wide central staircase and found Mrs
Pritchard waiting upon the landing to show her the chamber that had been
prepared for Madame if Madame was pleased to approve. It overlooked the rose
garden, she said, and facing west, was sheltered from the sea breezes. The
Marquise was gracious and followed the housekeeper into the chamber. Like all
the rooms in Camer Castle, it was filled with the spoils of the Duke’s travels — in this
instance, his tours through Italy. There was a good deal of marble, alabaster,
and Venetian glass on display, and the high bed was hung with old-gold, silk
damask. There was a fire already glowing in the grate and a chaise-longue drawn
up in front of it, inviting repose.
The Marquise, disdaining the chaise-longue, seated
herself on a gilt , spindle-legged chair and glared at
her granddaughter. ‘They call you Minette ?’
she demanded in a disgusted tone. ‘Bah! Your sentimentality will ruin all.’ She
looked her up and down and suddenly rapped out, ‘Has he bedded you yet?’
‘What? No. No, of course not.’
‘He will. Soon.’
Minette walked to the window and stood looking out.
‘I think not.’
‘What do you know of the matter, child? I saw the
way he looked at you.
were displayed upon her lap with all their habitual grace. The Duke was
standing by the fire, listening with courtesy to the thin, precise voice.
‘Grandmère, what a wonderful surprise,’ Minette
managed to utter from the doorway. She crossed the room, sank at her
grandmother’s feet, and kissed the hand held out to her. She turned up her face
to Rochford and smiled. ‘How very kind of you to think of
bringing her to me.’
He bowed slightly. ‘There is no need to thank me.
It was my privilege.’ He stepped forward and offered her his hand. She laid her
fingers in his palm, and he pulled her easily to her feet. They stood for a
moment, hands clasped, while the Marquise’s sharp eyes noted the delicate flush
in her granddaughter’s cheeks and the sudden, opaque darkness in Rochford’s grey
eye. She stood and said, ‘Conduct me to my room, Eugénie. I find myself more
fatigued than I had realised.’
Minette instantly stepped to her side and offered
her assistance. The thin fingers clutched her arm with a painful grip like a
peregrine’s claws settling upon the falconer’s glove. She winced and then
glanced swiftly at Rochford, whose eyebrows twitched together in a quick frown.
Just then, the door opened, and Arabella bounced into the room.
‘Minette, they told me your grandma is come to
stay! Can I see her?’
The Marquise drew in a sharp breath, like a hiss. ‘Minette?’
Her granddaughter started guiltily, then, recollecting
herself, she smiled and said easily, ‘Yes, I have asked Bella to call me by my
old pet name. You remember?’
‘I remember.’ The haughty face softened, and she
assumed the sweet, fragile air that, in Minette’s experience, made her the most
dangerous. ‘And this is the little sister? Come here, child, and let me look at
you.’
Nothing could make Arabella graceful, but she was
cowed enough by this formidable old woman to remember her schoolroom
deportment. She dropped a curtsey and then took a few steps forward, standing
with her hands clasped, back straight, chin and eyelids lowered modestly.
The Marquise studied her for a moment and then
patted her cheek. ‘Pretty child.’ She cast a shrewd
look at Rochford. ‘Have you arranged a marriage for her?’
He laughed. ‘Not yet, Ma’am. It is early days.’
‘You are mistaken. Do not delay.’
He inclined his head, with a slight smile. Minette
interposed quickly, ‘I am taking my grandmother to her room now, Bella. You may
become better acquainted later — when she is rested.’
Arabella, who had turned bright red, gladly stepped
aside to allow them to leave the room. Minette, with her grandmother leaning
heavily upon her, made her way up the wide central staircase and found Mrs
Pritchard waiting upon the landing to show her the chamber that had been
prepared for Madame if Madame was pleased to approve. It overlooked the rose
garden, she said, and facing west, was sheltered from the sea breezes. The
Marquise was gracious and followed the housekeeper into the chamber. Like all
the rooms in Camer Castle, it was filled with the spoils of the Duke’s travels — in this
instance, his tours through Italy. There was a good deal of marble, alabaster,
and Venetian glass on display, and the high bed was hung with old-gold, silk
damask. There was a fire already glowing in the grate and a chaise-longue drawn
up in front of it, inviting repose.
The Marquise, disdaining the chaise-longue, seated
herself on a gilt , spindle-legged chair and glared at
her granddaughter. ‘They call you Minette ?’
she demanded in a disgusted tone. ‘Bah! Your sentimentality will ruin all.’ She
looked her up and down and suddenly rapped out, ‘Has he bedded you yet?’
‘What? No. No, of course not.’
‘He will. Soon.’
Minette walked to the window and stood looking out.
‘I think not.’
‘What do you know of the matter, child? I saw the
way he looked at you.
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