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‘I do not dance or do any of the other things society women do, except archery. It is my favourite thing next to my niece and nephews. I sew, but only because one must have clothes. I do not like the nice stitches to make flowers. I like the strong sewing. I am from my mana’s world.’
‘I am from my mother’s world as well,’ the duchess said. ‘Every day we had our hair dressed to perfection, our skin just so. We could not move if it might disturb our clothing. I sometimes hated it, but now I see the value of it. One must give others something to aspire to.’ She leaned towards Bellona. ‘Take a note of that. Because you are a companion only and from some foreign land, I will tolerate some folly on your part.’
‘I am thankful I will not have to tolerate any on your part.’
‘Child, I say again that I do not know what the duke was thinking to ask you to stay with me.’
‘He was thinking I would be a slap for you.’
The duchess showed no outward reaction. ‘Rolleston is making a good duke. He has always been a good son. Although he might have erred this one time.’
‘He might have.’
‘Do not be so quick to agree with me. Surely you have some accomplishments? What entertainments are you versed in? Recitations? Music? Song?’
Bellona smiled, tilted her head to the side and said, ‘Would you like to hear a song the English sailors taught me? I am not sure of its meaning.’
The duchess’s neck moved like a snake rising to eye prey, trying to get situated for the closest tender spot. ‘Oh, my dear, I think you know full well whatever that song meant and I am not daft enough to fall for that one.’
‘I already told you that I have no accomplishments,’ Bellona insisted flatly.
‘How do you spend your days?’
‘Archery. The forest. I spend hours with my niece—I miss the little one. Her joy makes me laugh.’
The duchess opened the book. ‘I know what it is like to miss someone.’
‘You spend too much time with books,’ Bellona said. ‘If they make your eyes hurt it is not good for you. Poison in the stomach makes it hurt. The head is the same. Your eyes are telling you that you must not read.’
‘Oh. Thank you for informing me.’ The duchess digested the words.
Rhys walked into the room, greeting them both, a book under his arm. His eyes had a faraway look, but he settled into a chair and asked them to continue as they’d been because he needed to study the accounts.
But even though he stared at the volume in his hands, Bellona felt his thoughts were on her much the same as a governess might have her back to the children, but be aware of their every move. She felt the need to test her idea and knew she would before the conversation was over.
The duchess leaned towards Bellona. ‘How did you learn to speak English?’
‘My father was English.’ Her father was alive, but he was dead as far as she was concerned. ‘He insisted we only speak English when he was home. He made us recite to him. Yet he knew Greek well and if we spoke Greek in anger, we were punished. He is... It is hard to talk of him.’ She sniffed and lowered her face. That would discourage any questions of him.
‘At least you speak two languages.’
‘Some French, too.’
The older woman nodded. She appraised Bellona. ‘Did you leave behind family in Greece?’
‘None close,’ Bellona said. ‘I have never wed. Marriage. It makes a woman change. And cry. Men are only good for lifting and carrying, much like the bigger animals that do not think well.’
The duke didn’t respond to her deliberate prod.
‘Well, yes, some of them can be,’ the duchess admitted. ‘But marriage is not all bad. Children make you change and cry, too. I do not know what I would have done without my own.’ A wisp of a smile landed on the duchess’s face. ‘My three children were the best things that ever happened to me.’ Then her expression changed with the memory and she began to sniff.
Bellona searched her mind for a distraction. ‘At least I will not have to marry—like His Grace will have to before he gets much older.’
His mother’s sniffle turned into a splutter. Bellona didn’t have to turn her head to know where the duke was looking. She pretended to look like her own thoughts were far away.
‘Yes. He will marry. Of course,’ the duchess said. ‘But that is not for you to discuss, Miss Cherroll.’
‘I hoped that you would call me Bellona.’
‘That is a strange name.’
‘I was named for the Roman goddess of war. I remember that every day.’
‘Perhaps you should put it from your mind. She doesn’t sound like someone appropriate to be named after.’
