Mother exhaled. “Don’t remind me of that. Just the thought makes me worry.” She gripped Helen’s hands. “Darling, we’re so lucky, so blessed, and you’re going to be a well-respected duchess.”
“Hopefully, happy as well.” Father took Helen’s hands, too. “I know marrying so high has always been your ambition, and I know you studied hard, but if you have the tiniest doubt about marrying the duke, if you think you’ll be miserable next to him, don’t marry him.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Mother removed Father’s hands from Helen’s. “We’re talking about the eighteenth Duke of Gloucester. Whatever doubt you have about him will be gone the moment you take tea with Her Majesty.”
Helen beamed so widely Isabella could see the back of her mouth. “Yes, I mean, Mother has always said that a duke would be perfect for me…and I believe her.” Her eyebrow twitched. “It would be wonderful.”
Mother and Helen hugged each other among giggles and sobs. If Isabella had to meet the queen for tea, she would have a fit of anxiety.
She was the first to jump out of the carriage, thrilled to see the castle. An army of servants gathered around her. There were gardeners, maids, footmen, and stable hands—more workers than she’d ever seen.
Footmen and maids rushed to take their luggage and welcome them.
“That’s what I mean when I say the Beauforts are powerful,” Mother said in awe, hooking her arm through Helen’s. “The next duchess will have all the grounds at her disposal, meet the queen and foreign monarchs on a regular basis, wear the most expensive jewels and gowns.”
Father frowned. “A duchess’s life isn’t just tea parties and holidays. Helen would have duties, too, some of them difficult. She would represent Her Majesty outside of the kingdom. She would need to show her support to the army, and during Trooping the Colour?—”
“Helen would be prepared for all that,” Mother said.
“Yes, but you make it sound like being a duchess is something easy and enjoyable when it’s not.” Father lowered his voice. “Not to mention she might dislike the duke completely.”
“Shush.” Mother glanced around, worried.
Isabella avoided commenting. Besides Helen’s tense expression proved Papa’s words weren’t a waste of breath. While Helen was certainly prepared to be a duchess from an educational point of view, she knew little of a duchess’s political role and even less of the duke. Isabella didn’t envy her.
“Oh, impressive.” Helen put a fluttering hand on her chest when they entered the cavernous hall.
Real suits of armour lined one side of the entrance, alongside tapestries and portraits of the previous dukes and duchesses.
“One of the duke’s ancestors fought in the Battle of Stamford Bridge next to King Harold,” Helen said with awe.
Isabella was impressed. Even she knew the Battle of Stamford Bridge had happened centuries ago when the Britons had fought against the Vikings.
“Don’t wander around.” Mother took her hand, preventing her from inspecting a suit of armour closely. “It’s not polite to go around like a nosy person.”
“Lady Montrose, Lord Montrose, Lady Helen, Lady Isabella, welcome.” The butler bowed, somehow without creasing his shiny suit. “I’m Rogers. Her Grace is waiting for you.”
He barely finished saying that before the dowager duchess walked down the sweeping stairs, wearing a high-necked, long-skirted gown that gave Isabella a choking sensation.
“Welcome.” The Dowager fit perfectly in the entry hall. With her tall stature and regal posture, she was as intimidating and imposing as the castle. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” She glanced over at Isabella without lingering but smiled at Helen.
“The journey was lovely, Your Grace.” Mother bowed her head.
“Lovely? It was completely—ouch!” Isabella winced as Helen poked an elbow into her side.
“We’re fine, Your Grace,” Helen said. “Happy to be here.”
Isabella frowned. She’d promised not to cause trouble, but now she couldn’t even make a general comment on the journey? She wasn’t going to say anything embarrassing, for Pete’s sake. A bit of trust in her would be nice.
Father bowed. “Thank you for your invitation, Your Grace.”
The Dowager smiled at Father but kept her gaze on Helen. “Mrs. Stamell will show you to your rooms, and I’ll see you later after you’ve freshened up. My grandson is busy at the moment, but he’s eager to meet you all.” She headed for the other side of the entry hall, giving orders to the butler.
Isabella gazed around as she went up the stairs. What did this famous duke look like? Did he resemble one of the serious men in the portraits? Or was he like his grandmother—auburn hair and green eyes? Some of the people in the portraits had frightening expressions. Others wielded swords or rifles. Some showed smirks that made them look like murderers.
The corridor was wide, cold, and so long that it had to reach Scotland. She squinted but couldn’t see its end.
“Isabella!” Mother and Helen chorused.
