“Very well,” she said, voice steady. “When do we leave?”
“This afternoon. Some of the estates are Scarfield holdings; others are on the market. If none are satisfactory, we may have one built to your liking. The children’s comfort is paramount.”
He said it without inflection, as if reading from a pamphlet. Still, the care in it was unmistakable.
Nancy nodded. “Thank you for arranging it.”
Oscar inclined his head. “It is the least I can do.”
“If I may, Your Grace, the children were promised an outing today. I should like to tell them myself that it must wait.”
Oscar gestured to the door. “Of course.”
Nancy found Clara and Henry in the nursery, embroiled in a bitter dispute over a broken crayon.
She kneeled to their level. “Change of plans, my dears. I must attend to some important business with the Duke. But if you are very good, I shall bring you each a surprise this evening.”
Clara scowled. “We will be as good as is strictly necessary.”
Henry muttered, “I wanted to see the pond.”
“Tomorrow,” Nancy promised. “And we shall bring bread for the ducks.”
She left them with a stack of parchment and instructions to draw her the best version of the day they could imagine. Then she swept down to find Mrs. Tullock, who was organizing a legion of maids in the foyer.
“Mrs. Tullock, I am leaving with the Duke this afternoon. Please see to the children in my absence.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. The twins will be well cared for.”
Nancy lingered, caught between two worlds: the one she was leaving, and the one she could not quite claim as her own. She wondered, not for the first time, which would end up mattering more.
Oscar was waiting at the door, coat immaculate, posture even more so. He looked every inch the man of logic and rules—a man who would never leave anything to chance. A man who would never, under any circumstances, allow a marriage to become more than a tidy solution to a problem.
He offered his arm, formal as a contract. “Shall we, Duchess?”
Nancy took it, her own arm steady. “Let’s.”
And together, they stepped into the unknown.
The carriage rattled through the countryside with an efficiency that brooked no rebellion. Nancy watched the bare-branched hedgerows slide by, the fields glistening with the last dregs of a morning frost. She sat at the far end of the bench, hands knotted around her reticule, every muscle braced for disaster or revelation, whichever came first.
Oscar sat opposite, immovable in navy superfine, his expression as blank and inscrutable as a headstone. He’d barely spoken since they left the manor, which was probably for the best. Words with him were always a double-edged sword: stimulating, exhilarating, but rarely safe.
The coach slowed, then stopped. Oscar unfolded himself from the seat and stepped down. He turned, offering his hand to Nancy.
She took it, telling herself it was necessity, not longing, that made her fingers linger just a moment longer than polite. His grip was steady, warm. She looked up, and for a second, their eyes met. Not the way one met a stranger’s gaze, but as if a private joke had just passed between them. Nancy felt her heart execute a small, traitorous leap.
“Careful,” he said, steadying her as she descended the step. “It’s icy.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I shall endeavor not to shatter any bones on the first outing.”
He allowed himself a half-smile, then gestured at the manor before them.
The first house was… imposing. Not in the way Scarfield was, all gothic angles and ancient quarrel, but in the sense that every brick and balustrade had been imported for the sole purpose of impressing upon visitors that their own homes were shoddy and provincial by comparison.
They were met by a steward, who bowed deeply and recited the lineage of the house as if reading from a pageant of Roman emperors. Oscar seemed to appreciate the performance, though Nancy was less charmed.
Inside, everything was velvet and mahogany and a faint, clinging scent of pipe smoke. The drawing room was the size of a small cathedral, every stick of furniture polished to a nervous gleam. Nancy could imagine the twins here, for about five minutes, before Henry tried to scale the marble fireplace and Clara staged a coup in the billiard room.
