“If you do not mind, Sarah, I wished to speak with you a moment.”
“Of course, Caroline,” Sarah said at once. Her brow creased in a frown. “But your guests...they will miss you.”
“Not really,” Caroline said with a grin. “They are still too busy trying to get out of the dining room. There is an order of precedence that must be observed—there always is—and they are still trying to decide who should exit ahead of whom. I had the advantage of knowing where the other exit is.” Her smile was bright in the firelight.
Sarah giggled. She could imagine the press of people in the doorway—trying, politely but forcibly, to exit ahead of oneanother. She vividly recalled the duchess and her constant attempts to best the other guests socially. She winced.
“They’ll still be a few minutes, but we should hurry,” Caroline continued, gesturing towards the chairs by the fire. “As the hostesses, we have to come in last.” She made a wry face.
Sarah smiled. She shook her head. “They do set such store by these rules,” she murmured.
Caroline raised a brow. “They would live and die by them. I’ve no idea why,” she added with a giggle. Caroline’s mother was the sister of Sarah’s father, and her father was a viscount. Neither she nor Sarah were ignorant of the countless rules of etiquette that structured the lives of theton, but both came from families who had placed more value on mutual respect and kindness than on custom.
“It would seem so,” Sarah murmured, again recalling the duchess and her harsh words when the small boy, Henry, had been helping her. The memory of being callously overlooked made her flush with shame.
“Anyhow,” Caroline murmured. “While we have a minute or two, I wished to tell you that the Duke of Clairwood wanted to thank you for your kindness to his son yesterday. He asked me to convey his apologies to you.”
“He did convey them,” Sarah whispered, her cheeks flushing again as she recalled the duke’s conversation with her.
“Oh! Grand,” Caroline replied, smiling. She did not sound in the least surprised that the duke had talked with Sarah. It was like balm on the sting of the duchess’ cruel dismissal. “I am glad. It pleases me a great deal to see him smile and talk with someone.”
“Does he not always do so?” Sarah gaped. He seemed so affable, so comfortable in conversation. Like his sister, Lady Egerton, he had an easy, friendly manner.
Except when he is staring so intensely,she thought with a small smile. Then, he was uncomfortable to talk to.Deliciously uncomfortable.
“Well, he has been withdrawn for many years. Victoria, his sister, was concerned about him last year. As was Edward. Victoria said that she had not seen him smile in months.”
“Oh?” Sarah’s heart twisted. “Why? What was amiss?” She could not imagine the duke without his friendly smile.
“He has never been the same after his wife, Elizabeth, passed away,” Caroline confided.
“She was the mother of young Henry?” Sarah asked.
“Quite so. Henry is seven years old now. His mother passed away when he was two.”
“Five years ago,” Sarah breathed. “The poor duke. Poor little Henry.” Her heart ached with sympathy for the little boy. She knew the pain—the surprising, unexpected pain—of losing a parent, even one with whom one had never felt particularly close. How much worse must that be for a child, who could not even truly understand the notion of death? And what of the duke? Losing a beloved partner was something she had never experienced herself, but she had seen all too well what that loss had done to her own father.
“Quite so,” Caroline replied, interrupting her thoughts. “He has not been himself since. Edward has been very worried about him.”
“Is Edward well acquainted with the duke?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. They attended Cambridge for a year together. They became good friends and have remained so ever since.”
“I see,” Sarah replied. “And that is why you invited them?” she asked. She had hoped that neither Caroline nor Edward was well-acquainted with the dowager duchess since she seemed an overbearing and unpleasant sort of person.
“Exactly so,” Caroline replied with a smile, leaning closer to Sarah. “I must confide in you that this house party was planned mainly for Robert’s sake—the Duke of Clairwood, I mean. Edward hoped that he would come, and that being around people might prove healing to him.”
“I hope that it does so,” Sarah said quickly. The sound of people in the hallway made them both tense. Caroline gestured to the door.
“We should hurry. Lady Clairwood will doubtless enter first, and she will be most upset if propriety is not observed.” She made a face. Sarah giggled.
They dashed out into the corridor, the sound of the guests echoing in the stairwell. Caroline, her lips compressed with the effort not to giggle, gestured Sarah towards an anteroom, and they swiftly stepped in, hiding in the darkened space while the row of guests filled the upper hallway, the sound of voices mixed with the scent of perfume and the bright sound of laughter.
“I trust that I apologised for Lady Clairwood earlier,” Caroline whispered. “So rude of her!” she huffed.
Sarah inclined her head. She could not see Caroline in the darkened room, but she was aware of Caroline’s hand resting on her shoulder, the touch reassuring. “You did,” Sarah reminded her. “But you did not have to. I think you can take no responsibility for the rudeness of Lady Clairwood.”
“Mayhap you are right,” Caroline whispered. “If I could, I would certainly teach her some proper manners.”
