Rose, barely maintaining her balance on the way down, hit the chair with a slight thud. “Your Grace?” She hated to keep repeating herself, but her brain felt a bit numb.
The duchess folded her hands in her lap, her fingers curled around her folded fan. She sat primly, her back straight, her head inclined toward Rose, her voice low and intimate. “Men are such odd creatures, rather like pots of porridge with the lids too tight. They get hot and bluster and bounce around and make a lot of noise, but they’re all mush on the inside.”
Rose tried not to focus on how aduchesswould know so much about pots of porridge. Despite that lingering question, she remained quiet, listening.
“My husband is one of the strongest men I know. Forceful. Commanding. Takes care of our family with an iron will. But when his father died, he turned to mush. Fell apart in a way that I had no idea he was capable of. It took months for him to pull back from that. Thomas was affected by that as well, both his grandfather’s death and his father’s grief.”
Rose’s words felt small, soft. “I remember him on the roof that day. You in a black dress.”
The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise and she leaned a bit closer to Rose. “You saw us on the roof? You remember that?”
Rose looked down at her hands. “I saw Thomas on the roof a lot back then. He would read or sketch or just stare out.”
The duchess seemed to absorb this. “My most introspective child.” She paused, then sat a little straighter, which Rose didn’t think possible. “That’s when you began to fall in love with him, was it not?”
Rose shrugged, then stilled and tried to mimic the duchess’s pose, her mother’s voice nagging in her head. A young woman should not shrug in public, especially in the presence of a duchess. “We were just children.”
“True. But I have learned over the years to never underestimate the emotions of children. They can be quite powerful... and lasting.” She paused as Thomas delivered two cups of lemonade to their table. His mother smiled and thanked him, then whispered, “Now go away.”
Thomas glanced at Rose with an expression she could not quite read, then nodded to her and joined Robert at a nearby table. Both of the men kept giving them wary glances.
“He’s worried what I will say to you.” The duchess took a sip of her drink.
“So am I,” Rose admitted.
The duchess laughed lightly. “I knew I liked you, Lady Rose.” She set down the cup. “Do you know anything about my own love story?”
“Only that you were married young.”
She nodded. “There’s a family legend that Philip—His Grace—was smitten after only one dance at the opening ball of my first season. He sought out my father right away, and we were married by the beginning of June.”
Rose studied the duchess’s face. “Is that not true?”
“More or less.” A sly smile crossed the older woman’s face. “The details of that version of the story are true, except for one. That one dance, after which we were both smitten, didn’t happen when I came out. It happened when I was twelve and the duke a ripe old four and ten.”
Rose’s eyes widened and she leaned closer to her companion. “Truly?”
A nod. “It was the Christmas ball at his family’s country estate—at Ashton Park. My family was there as guests of his grandfather, due to some investments the old duke had made with my grandfather. My people are not exactly aristocrats—my grandfather was descended from a landowner in Andalusia, a winemaker and vineyard owner since the 1600s. Extremely rich, but not titled. But the old duke loved his wine, and my grandfather helped him build a magnificent cellar. In turn, he helped our family become established here.
“Philip and I were supposed to be upstairs with the rest of the children, but we had both sneaked out to the gardens, so we could hear the music and watch all the lights and beautiful people. We danced, out there in the snow, by a rosemary tree. I knew I wanted to marry him that very night. We stayed in touch, and by the time that first ball happened, we had already fully expressed our love for each other. That was why we married so quickly.” The duchess paused, watching Rose closely.
Rose slowly absorbed what the duchess implied, now understanding what this conversation was truly about. She glanced at Thomas, then down at her hands.
When the duchess saw Rose’s fingers moving, she grinned. “There’s no need to count, my dear. Thomas is my second child.” She looked at her other son. “Robert was number three, but Michael was number six. Beth number eight. And the only people who know these details are my husband, Thomas... and now you.”
Rose’s confusion blended with an odd sense of elation. “Your Grace, I’m honored. But why are you telling me this?”
The duchess shifted in her chair and took another sip from her cup. She paused, looking at it. “Lady Rose, this is the best lemonade I have had all season.”
Rose grinned. “I insisted Cook not skimp on lemons or sugar. My father was mortified by the budget for this event.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, that’s why we are serving it in such tiny cups.”
The duchess’s laughter was a bright sound that drew the attention of both her sons and Lady Dorothea, whose scowl took on biblical proportions. Thomas’s left eyebrow threatened to disappear into his hairline.
“Thomas said you were unexpected. I can see why he’s drawn to you. But he’s worried what I will say to you because I told him to leave you alone. That if you had your future planned out, he should respect that.”
“Oh.” Rose looked back down at her lap, a wave of disappointment drifting over her.
“Yes, that was his general response as well. He told me he would leave you be and find another lady to pursue.”
