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‘No duelling pistols?’ She raised a brow.
He looked aside and absently moved the pen at his desk on to the blotter. ‘Yes, I have them, but they were gifted to my father and they are locked away. There is not even powder for them.’
‘Swords?’
‘Fencing is something we all had to learn.’
‘Where are the swords?’
‘I believe they are locked in a case in the portrait gallery. The butler has the keys and he will not be sharing them. With anyone.’ His voice rumbled from his chest. ‘I think you forget you are here to see my mother, a woman of trifling size who is stronger with her glares than most people are with their body.’
‘Do you have daggers? Arrows? Flintlocks?’
His head moved enough so she couldn’t see his eyes, then, before she could protect herself, he directed his full attention at her, consuming her with it. ‘What do you fear?’
‘Not having weapons.’
He shook his head. ‘I am sure there is a bow and arrows somewhere. I don’t think the bow has a string any more. No daggers.’ Still standing alongside the desk, he splayed his fingers and gave the top several hard raps. ‘Miss Cherroll, you do not have to concern yourself that someone will attack you in my home. I have footmen and stablemen no one would dare confront. I have had no violence on my estate, ever. That will not change while you are here. I realise you had a harrowing experience on your ship journey here and not a pleasant meeting with my gamekeeper, but you are now in what is the safest place in the world. My home.’ For a second, he spoke with his expression. Relief. Thankfulness. ‘I must let you know I was pleased to see you arrive.’
She didn’t think any man, ever, had looked at her with so much hope on his face.
‘You are in more danger from a fall on the stairs than anything else,’ he added.
Or a fall from a cliff.
* * *
‘I am exceedingly angry at the duke for bringing you here,’ the duchess said to Bellona.
The duchess wore a fichu tucked into her bodice and the sleeves of her obsidian gown almost swallowed her hands.
The older woman had a maid at her side, holding a stack of four books. ‘You must know that I cannot take my anger out on him, so it will land about your ears.’ She pulled out one book and waved the servant away.
‘I am not happy with him either.’ Bellona sat in the matching chair. ‘I will probably share that with both of you.’
The duchess frowned. ‘Why are you not pleased with him?’
‘He took my bow and a small dagger.’
‘Your mother should have taught you better.’
‘Why? I did not need to be better on Melos and I am fine enough to sit in a duke’s home.’
She duchess snorted, just as Bellona’s own mother might have. She held out the book. ‘You may read to me.’
‘I would rather talk.’
‘I would rather hear what someone else wrote.’ The woman thumped the book and held it out again.
‘I am not going to read to you.’
‘You have no choice. I have asked you to. I am your elder.’
This was not going to get any better. Perhaps his mother would summon the duke to complain about Bellona. That would tip his tea kettle over.
Bellona saw no reason to explain her struggle to read the English language to the duchess.
‘It would indeed be an honour for you to read to me,’ the duchess said, changing her methods, ‘and might dispose me more kindly towards you.’
‘I do not mind if you are not nice to me.’
‘Well, I do. My prayer book is the only thing that gives me hope. My eyes hurt from reading it and the letters blur. The maid cannot read and I do not wish to replace her, though I might be forced to because I need someone who can see better than I.’
‘You may replace me,’ Bellona said. ‘I do not read English words.’
‘But your sister is a countess. And everyone knows she is from the best society in your home country.’ The duchess looked at the book. ‘So do not feed me such nonsense that you cannot read. Your family would not educate one sister and leave another unschooled. I have received notes from your sister several times. One she wrote when she visited me and I could not see her, so she must write them herself.’
‘I am not my sister.’
The duchess shook her head. ‘You do not read?’
‘I know the English letters. Melina read our father’s letters to Thessa and me many times and I could understand most of the written words. It has been a long time since I have looked at words, though. I do not like them on paper. I prefer a person’s lies when I can see their face.’
‘I do beg your pardon.’ Words spoken from training. ‘I cannot begin to imagine what my son was thinking to enlist a companion who could not read to me.’
