Page 36

“Lady—ah, the dowager Lady Asherton, milady.” With that, the maid promised to see her bags cared for, and turned the covers for Elinor. “Is there anything else I might get you?”

Elinor paused, midway into the bed. “There is one thing. I don’t believe I heard your name.”

“Sarah Blackwell, milady. I’ll be your maid.”

Elinor settled her head against the pillow. “Thank you—Blackwell.” Only her acquaintance with Lady Summersby kept her from miss-stepping. A lady’s maid was always called by her surname. Dreams swept her away before the maid closed the door.

****

Ever since Tristan Ruthven first kissed Elinor, she wondered what it would feel like to wake up with him beside her. His solid, reassuring presence warming her, his strong arms holding her, and his soft, beautiful lips against hers… The thoughts ran riot in her imagination from the moment he asked her to be his. But when her eyes blinked awake on her first full day as Lady Asherton, she found her marriage bed as empty as her stomach.

As Blackwell helped her dress and do her hair, she kept imagining her mother. The many sleepless nights she would sit by the fire, rocking her babies to sleep and praying that her husband would soon return. That was the fate Elinor feared, the fate she’d wished above all to avoid. And now her reality.

It has only been one night, Elinor. He’s somewhere in London, not New Guinea.

Her mother waited months at a time, sometimes years. But the moment Father walked through the door came floods of gleeful tears, laughter, and of course… Well. The house was not so big and her parents did have so many children. Most of them born within a year of Father’s returns from abroad.

“Is Lord Asherton often called away?” Elinor asked as Blackwell finished the last braid and looped it along with two more, pinning it beneath her bun.

“I don’t know, my lady. He has not been home much at all since I was brought on. I only saw him for the first time about a month or two ago.”

Elinor nodded slowly and let her thoughts spin. Tristan never came home on leave? Her father did—as often as he could be spared, and he was much junior in position. But her father wanted to see his wife and children. Maybe Tristan had no such inclination?

But he seemed to get on so well with Evelina and Summersby, and though he didn’t appear to be as close to Cecilia or Cavendish, the previous night told her they’d had some acquaintance with his habits. After all, while Elinor stood flustered in the inn, his siblings sprang to action as if they knew the steps by heart.

“Do you know where I might find Cecilia?” Elinor asked.

“Miss Cecilia is most often in the sitting room at this hour sorting through correspondence. But I suppose that is for you to do now.”

Oh. Right. I’m a countess.

“Yes, I think you are right. Would you, perhaps, be able to show me where the sitting room is?” This place was not so big as Merfield, at least, but it was a great deal bigger than her uncle’s home on the Paragon in Bath. A point made even more abundantly clear as Blackwell led her to the marble-floored foyer with shining mahogany banisters. But just like the night before, Elinor did not have the opportunity to take it all in. She had a new mission.

Reaching the pale green sitting room, her eyes fell upon her target. Cecilia perched on a cream and gold sofa, sipping tea from a gold-edged cup. The cup clattered into its saucer as she caught sight of Elinor and she started to rise. “Oh, I—”

Elinor waved her off. “Don’t get up. Good morning, Cecilia. I hope you slept well.”

“Very well. A bed is always better than a bumping carriage.” Cecilia sank back into her seat and gestured to the tea service. “Would you like breakfast?”

Elinor shook her head. “I fear I am too excited to eat.”

“I don’t eat much in the mornings either, but Mrs. McKenzie keeps well-prepared for

my—” Cecilia caught herself and winced. “Just for Cav now, I suppose, but he eats more than Father’s horses if you let him.”

“Ah. He must be in the midst of a growing season.”

“A what?”

“That’s what my mother called them when the boys would shoot up several inches at once. I have two older brothers, and I remember her saying she feared they’d eat us out of hearth and home.” She smiled at the memory. “I hoped to spend the day with you to get my bearings. If that’s all right, of course. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“No, of course you’re not. It will be nice to have company. There hasn’t been much of that since we went into mourning. And once Eliza left…” Cecilia trailed off with a wary look toward the main door, as if uncertain whether to mention her stepmother when there was even a chance Cavendish might enter unannounced. She cleared her throat. “In any case, Tristan was very clear that I am to help you learn how things are done. He seems to have some foolish idea that I might be wed myself one day. Which is nonsense, of course.”

Elinor’s head canted, and she studied Cecilia anew. “But why is that nonsense? I have not known you long, but in our short time together, I have found you to be rather wonderful.”

A faint blush touched Cecilia’s high cheekbones. “Thank you, but I believe you are quite singular in that opinion. Eliza tried strenuously to find me a match for two years, and we admitted defeat. Father’s, er, reputation, was not particularly desirable for most men. Even with my dear brother-in-law, Summersby, and Arthur’s and Tristan’s reputations in the army, I’d have needed a much larger dowry or a staggering figure. Or both.” She made a face and gave a weary laugh. “I’ve accepted that my role is here. Now you are here as well, I shall be your most devoted assistant.”

“If I thought less of you, I’d encourage you to accept my cousin Alexander’s flirtations—he would at least love your dowry very dearly. And I saw he marked you at the wedding.”