Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense by Amanda DeWees Page B

Lionel’s departure I had been starved for someone to talk to, and I had not realized just to what extent until I found that, after all, I would spend much of the time in my new life as I had in the old—alone.
    The duchess could hardly be blamed; with the enormous household to run, she was very busy, and I counted myself fortunate that she took time every day, even if it was only a few minutes before the dinner gong went, to ask after my activities and make certain that I had everything I desired. She was always in the midst of a hum of activity: paying a visit to the tenants or nearby neighbors; planning menus and arranging flowers; sending invitations and answering them; supervising the redecoration of the guest rooms in preparation for the house party that would be arriving the next month. She seemed amazed that I would wish to stay in Great-Aunt Agatha’s room, with its unfashionable furnishings and dark, faded hangings, but I loved the rich forest-green velvet and damask; age had muted their splendor to mysterious, subtle hues, so that to my eyes the room had the tints and shadows of a wood at dusk.
    Of Felicity I saw little, as well: Miss Yates had not relaxed her vigilance regarding lessons in spite of the short time remaining until Felicity would dispose of her services, and when Felicity was not closeted with the governess she was following the duchess around with the devotion of an acolyte. When forced to part from her idol she could generally be found practicing on the pianoforte, for which she had a great talent. She was pleasant, but on those occasions when she was disposed for my company, we found it difficult to find a subject on which to converse, since our interests and characters were so dissimilar. After we had assuaged our initial curiosity about each other, we were forced to fall back on discussion of the weather and the prospects of trifle for tea.
    Her brother, while easier to talk to, spent much of the time in diligent study to prepare himself to take up his medical training in earnest when he left for Edinburgh. During the mornings he was usually closeted in his study, but we occasionally encountered each other in the afternoon. To my surprise, he turned out to be widely read, and one day when I came upon him walking on the terrace we had a friendly argument about the new novel John Halifax, Gentleman, which I had just finished reading. I had found it rather saccharine, but Charles said he enjoyed melodrama.
    However, as agreeable as Charles was in his fashion, it was Herron I wished to see more of. As abrasive as his company was, it was curiously stimulating, in a way that the rest of the family, for all their kindness, were not: I wanted to know more about the young duke who bore his title so reluctantly. His obvious unhappiness drew me to him; I felt as if, like me, he knew he was out of place here, even though he was among his own people and I was a stranger. The alien quality of his grief and the anger with which he armed himself separated him from his own flesh and blood as visibly as his dark coloring contrasted with their blondness. He might have been a changeling, this dark son of a golden family, placed among them by a mischievous goblin. In those early days, when I was still insecure in my new life, uncertain of my future and—perhaps in consequence—bitterly lonely for Lionel, I would have given much to speak to a fellow creature who knew something of the isolation I felt. But Herron continued to avoid all company, and, after my blundering intrusion on the roof, I was not surprised that he did not seek me out. I tried to put myself in his path again, but without success.
    Although my hosts did not fully guess the extent to which I felt out of place, Lord Claude at least showed that he had considered my strange position in the household. One afternoon he invited me into his study to talk. I sat on the edge of a chair, facing him over the massive desk at which he sat. When he saw my