He fell silent, his small hand tracing the bottom of the frame. Isla knelt, her heart aching for the boy. Isla knew loss and hated that it was something a boy so young had to reckon with.
“I am so sorry for yer loss, lad,” she whispered. “But she looks like a wonderful lady, and I am certain she loved you very much. In fact, I think ye look a lot like her. Except for the hair, and yer faither’s eyes.”
She hugged him close then, her gaze still fixed on the portrait over his shoulder. She felt a profound sadness wash over her like a wave, not just for the motherless child but for the man who had lost his wife.
He had told her very little about the late Duchess. Isla could not shake the feeling that there was great sadness behind her death. She hoped she would find out the truth in time.
Why wouldnae a faither talk about his deceased wife to their son? Is the Duke still in love with his first wife?
The thought was a cold, lonely stone in the pit of her stomach, and Isla realized why the Duke had shut her out on their wedding night.
And the rejection resurfaced, cold and jagged like an iceberg.
“Mrs. Callahan, could we review these numbers once more?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied sharply as she stood over Isla’s shoulder, evaluating the orders for the kitchen and upcoming meals. “You have done well these last several days in your role as Duchess. There will be questions, and it is my duty to help you.”
The household ledgers, when first presented to her by a stiff-backed Mrs. Callahan, were a source of initial confusion. As sharp as she was with mathematics, Isla made a few mistakes at first. She had mixed up expenses and miscalculated a few accounts the way they were organized, but she was a quick study. She spent hours at her desk, poring over the documents, her brows furrowed in concentration.
I will fulfill me role, and do it well.Isla filled herself with determination as she finished the work.
Isla was no stranger to running a household. She had taken charge of her siblings and their care after their mother’s death when she was eighteen. When her father died only two years ago, she made sure to work closely with her brother as he acclimated to their family’s title as the eldest son.
Yet, the sheer scale of the Ealdwick estate was staggering. She may as well have been running a palace. Isla’s Scottish upbringing at Dalrigh Hall was worlds away from the intricate accounting of an English ducal manor.
“There is this letter that came for you,” Margie said to her later that day, once the afternoon post had arrived.
Isla recognized the script instantly as she handed her the paper.
Dearest Sister,
All is well in London, although Aunt Honoria continues to parade me about the ton in search of any suitor she deems worthy. I fear she is using me to live vicariously, but I could do far worse. What all of this means, though, quite thankfully, is that your work in marrying His Grace has helped. I cannot express my gratitude.
I fear my thoughts are mostly of you, wondering what you are doing and if you are settling in. It has been hard without you,but I am learning that I am capable. I think I have you to thank for that.
We received word that you will be coming back to London in a fortnight, but please do write to me before then. I am anxious to hear of all that is happening at Ealdwick Manor.
Your Little Sister (Always),
Eilidh
Isla sat down and got to work, pulling out her stationery and quill and throwing the ledgers aside. She penned a response, happy to share that she missed Eilidh greatly and was still settling into hervery different lifeas a duchess at the vast, grand Ealdwick Manor, complete with an enormous list of new responsibilities and many staff. Isla shared her excitement to see the family in London in a fortnight, and she told of the other bright spot in her new life, her husband’s six-year-old son, Oliver.
By her seventh day, Isla was surprising Mrs. Callahan with her questions and sensible suggestions for consolidating a few of the household purchases. The seasoned housekeeper, who had initially been skeptical of the new duchess, began to show her quiet respect. She nodded carefully as Isla explained her reasoning for the changes to established Ealdwick practice.
“I agree that we would do better to combine our orders to work with one purveyor for linens and other fabrics, Your Grace,” she said finally. “Thank you for your keen eye. We are grateful.”
We, she thought wistfully, wondering if she meant herself and the Duke or just the staff.
The ledger was closed then with a definitive thud as Mrs. Callahan left the room.
Isla stretched her hands, still tingling from the cold weight of the Duke’s signet ring, which she had been using to seal correspondence. She turned her thoughts from business to her true reward, her time with Oliver.
The library was their sanctuary, and in the late afternoon glow of early December, it held a cozy warmth. Firelight danced from the hearth across the spines of thousands of leather-bound books, and the scent of aged paper and woodsmoke hung sweetly in the air.
Oliver, already settled in a deep wingback chair in the corner, looked up, his face brightening instantly. A thick, worn volume rested on his knees.
“Isla! I thought you would never be done,” he said.
