"Nor you."
"I'm not what anyone expects to find anywhere." Thea smiled and pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to Estella. "Here. Read chapters three through seven. If you want to discuss it afterward, I'm here most Tuesdays."
"I'll be here," Estella said.
She bought the book and tucked it into her reticule beside the coins she hadn't needed at the milliner's. She collected Mrs. Digby from the tea shop, where the woman had fallen asleep with her face in a novel, and directed the hired carriage toward the duchess's residence.
Her newly cheerful mood lasted until she was shown into the duchess's drawing room and saw who was standing by the window.
The Marquess of Blackwood. Looking as warm and comfortable as a man awaiting execution.
He turned when she entered. Something flickered in his expression and then was gone. He looked away first, which she found oddly satisfying, though utterly confusing.
She had the feeling she’d just been dismissed even though she’d only just arrived.
The duchess entered from another room. She, at least, seemed pleased to see her. She wore a smile that didn’t entirely put Estella at ease, but which was far more comforting than Blackwood’s blank stare.
"Miss Hale," the duchess said as she approached. "How good of you to come. I believe you know Lord Blackwood."
Know was a generous word. She’d known the boy who'd called her "little Ella." And she’d had a run-in with the man last night. But she would not say she knew the person standing before her now, and she wasn't at all certain she wanted to.
Still, she forced herself to drop into a curtsy. "Lord Blackwood."
Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
"Miss Hale." His voice was exactly as it had been last night. Low, and devoid of any warmth.
And yet, there it was again. A tension in his frame that seemed less like indifference and more like he was bracing for a blow, or?—
She let out an audible exhale as she realized what this was. What she was sensing from him.
Just like that, she understood.
It was Andrew.
Her heart gave a little twist, but she knew she was right. Andrew stood between them. Or perhaps, his ghost. His memory?
But she’d felt just as discomfited when she’d heard his title, so of course it would be like that for him too.
The mere sight of her was likely enough to bring back memories. And judging by the stern set of his jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders, she felt safe in assuming those memories were not happy ones.
She pressed her lips together and clasped her hands as the duchess issued orders to a nearby maid to bring in tea.
She felt oddly guilty that her presence here was enough to cause this man distress. She cast a furtive look his way. If she had any idea how to comfort him, she would. But he wouldn’t even look at her so she could offer a smile.
The duchess gestured to the settee. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."
Estella’s brows arched in surprise. Did they?
But she hesitated for only a moment. And when she sank onto the settee, it was with relief, because her knees were not entirely reliable at the moment, and also because the duchess was not the sort of woman one kept standing.
She folded her hands in her lap and kept her spine straight and told herself that whatever this was… Whatever reason a duchess and a marquess had for summoning a viscount's daughter to tea, she would meet it the way she met everything else.
With her head up, shoulders back, and a smile in place.
Even if the smile, at the present moment, required rather more effort than usual.
5
