Mrs. Redmond folded her hands before her. “It is true the plaster has shown wear. Yet it has held for many years, and the curtains, though faded, are stout enough still. His Grace never found them wanting.”
“His Grace never looked,” Dorothy replied softly but firmly. “But I have. If the house is to be my home, then I would see it cared for. Not merely maintained but refreshed, given new life.” She leaned forward with eagerness. “Do you not think, Mrs. Redmond, that a warmer stairwell and brighter rooms would better serve both family and guests?”
Mrs. Tresswell’s eyes twinkled. “I believe so. A house should breathe with those who live in it. The Duchess is right, Mrs. Redmond, a touch of renewal would make it more welcoming.”
Mrs. Redmond sighed. “It is His Grace that I fear. If I may, Your Grace, though the notion is not without merit, the truth is… we hardly receive callers. The house, as it is, serves well enough for the few who ever cross its threshold.”
Dorothy tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Hardly receive callers? Surely there must be some who come to such a grand estate to see the Duke. He is in his study every single day. Is he always alone?”
Mrs. Redmond gave the slightest shake of her head. “I am not sure about that, Your Grace. I know of none who visits, saveHis Grace, the Duke of Langridge, His Grace’s most trusted companion. He comes and goes as freely, but beyond him? No one. We have had little cause to open the drawing rooms in many a year.”
Mrs. Tresswell nodded. “That is true enough. I cannot remember the last time I saw the lamps in the great hall lit for company.”
Dorothy’s brow furrowed. “I have been here almost two months now, and indeed, I have not seen a guest. Only the villagers, when they seek an audience… and even then, they are never received by His Grace himself, are they?”
Mrs. Redmond’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Rarely, Your Grace. The steward attends to them. The Duke… prefers solitude. The villagers often whisper that they might catch a glimpse of him once or twice in a season. Some say he passes them like a shadow, scarcely a word spoken.”
Mrs. Tresswell leaned forward, lowering her voice as though even the stone walls might overhear. “It has been so since long before your arrival, Your Grace. They are accustomed to his ways now, though it does not stop their chatter. Why, just last week, I overheard two women in the village bakery wondering if His Grace had forgotten how to converse with ordinary folk altogether.”
Dorothy’s lips curved wryly, though her mind turned over the truth of it. Indeed, for all her new title, she too had scarcely seen Magnus at all. “So, the great halls echo, and the drawing roomsgather dust, and no one comes to sit by the fire but one person, the Duke of Langridge?” she mused softly.
Mrs. Redmond nodded. “Precisely so, Your Grace. So, I would beg leave to say that the household has always managed well with what is at hand. What would be the use?”
Dorothy paused to think. “The use, Mrs. Redmond, is in readiness. You see, I have been here for nearly two months, and save for a few villagers seeking an audience, there have been no callers, no guests, no gatherings of any kind. Yet I know that a time will surely come when I will be required to host, to receive, to preside as Duchess of Walford. I cannot be found unprepared.”
She thought of her sisters, how each, upon their marriages, had risen with apparent ease to the demands of their new stations. How she herself had sat at their side during endless lectures on manners, at balls and musicales they had orchestrated with elegance, and how she had listened and learned even though she did not really see use for the lectures back then.
“Before I married,” she continued more softly, as though half to herself, “I attended balls my sisters arranged. I know what is expected of a duchess during the Season. Though His Grace may not care for such things, society will still expect it of me. The house, as it stands, does not reflect such a standard. The drawing rooms are dark, the drapes faded, the ornaments dreadfully old-fashioned. The grandeur of the exterior is not matched within. It does not speak welcome. It does not speak Walford.”
Her gaze flicked through the window to the vast parkland. “I am not seeking to give His Grace an air he would disdain. I wish only to bring the house in readiness so that if the need arises, if duty calls, I may stand as a duchess ought to stand, prepared.”
Silence met her words, the hush stretching over the room until Dorothy’s heart began to quicken in doubt. Then Mrs. Tresswell shifted slightly, and Mrs. Redmond folded her hands more tightly against her apron, as though restraining some further opinion.
Dorothy nodded, acknowledging the concern but unwilling to yield. “Then we shall be thoughtful about it. No great tearing down, no reckless expense. Only what is needful and what will bring comfort. I should like your guidance, Mrs. Redmond, in knowing which areas require the least disruption and which might best be addressed first.”
There was another pause. Mrs. Redmond inclined her head again, more slowly this time, as if testing Dorothy’s resolve and finding it firmer than expected. “If it pleases Your Grace, I can draw up a list of such places. The draught at the stairwell, perhaps… and the cracked plaster might be tended without much disturbance.”
“Excellent,” Dorothy said warmly. “Then we shall begin there. I want the household to see that we care for both its comfort and its dignity.”
Mrs. Tresswell looked at her and nodded. “I will help with the servants, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tresswell.” Dorothy smiled.
Mrs. Redmond dipped into a respectful curtsey. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall?—”
Scarcely had Mrs. Redmond finished her sentence, when there was a firm knock upon the drawing-room door, and Magnus opened it himself, stepping inside. Both Mrs. Redmund and Mrs. Tresswell rose instantly, their demeanor shifting to one of stiff deference as they dipped their heads.
“Mrs. Tresswell, Mrs. Redmond,” Magnus said, “if you would allow me a moment with Her Grace.”
They needed no further encouragement. With murmured acknowledgements, they withdrew in haste, leaving Dorothy to stand in the sudden hush. She had risen as well, her hands clasped before her to steady the quick flutter at her breast.
It struck her then that this was the very first time she had been alone with him, face to face, since that mortifying afternoon at the window. A silence stretched between them, heavy, weighted with all that had been left unsaid, until she lifted her eyes to meet his.
Magnus regarded her a moment longer, then inclined his head, as though settling upon his words. “I thought it proper to inform you,” he said, “I shall be away for some time. A business matter calls me to Yorkshire and other regions. I expect to be gone two months at the very least.”
Dorothy, still standing with her hands clasped, felt a faint tightening in her chest. Two months. He might as well have said two years, so long had silence already stood between them.
She managed a composed nod. “I see,” she answered softly. “Do you travel often?”
