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She was already re-braiding her hair. “I don’t know if that’s wise. The servants might talk.”
“You could sleep in another bedchamber, if that’s your concern. It would be no great shock to the servants to discover that it was too unsafe for you to return home in the snow.”
“It’s best if I leave.” She had turned away to pull on her dress and her face was in shadows, but Anne thought she saw a scowl on her face.
“Take the carriage at least, Letty. Please. It’s late, and dark, and there’s so much snow.”
“I shall call a hackney. I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”
Letty strode out the bedchamber without a second glance behind her, leaving Anne to fret in bed alone.
* * *
Anne was so distracted the next morning that she wrote the same letter twice to the estate manager at Hawthorne Towers. Itwas difficult to concentrate with the memory of Letty’s lips roving across her body. Last night had been a revelation.
The butler cleared his throat at the door. “Your Grace, I have been asked to tell you that you are wanted in the grand hallway.”
Anne wondered if Letty had arrived. She hadn’t shown up at her usual time this morning, but perhaps she had been arranging a surprise. That would be entirely in keeping with her nature. She tried to hide her smile. “Who is calling?”
“Why, the duke, Your Grace.”
Anne dropped her pen, ink spilling in a black wave over her letters.
Her secretary blinked.
It wouldn’t do for a duchess to run, Anne told herself before she picked up her skirts and sprinted to the hall.
Hawthorne stood at the base of the staircase, one hand on the newel post, directing the servants to distribute the mountain of luggage beside him. Sir Phineas came in through the main doors with an armful of—she stared—was that adog? In theducal estate? Her mind reeled. Hawthorne’s father would never have allowed such a thing.
The dog barked.
“What are you doing here?” Anne asked.
“I told you I would be moving home in the new year.” He bowed. “Welcome to 1814, Your Grace.”
“Did you not get my letter? This house is under renovations. Your suite, I am sorry to say, is in shambles.”
Hawthorne gazed at her. “You’re not sorry at all. I admit it was a good gambit, but it won’t do, unfortunately.”
“You can’t mean to stay anywhere but your own rooms. Nothing else is fit for a duke.”
Her heartbeat picked up speed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Most of the bedchambers had been pressed into use to house furniture or paint or wood or the miscellaneous odds and ends that Letty liked to explain to her. She had been positive that the mess and chaos would deter him, as well as the lack of proper ducal accommodations.
Whywas he so adamant to be a guest in his own home?
“I was the duke from across town, so I can well enough manage to be the duke in my own home.” He leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “Even if it is from a cot in a basement room beside the second footman.”
Sir Phineas bowed. “I am pleased to see you again, Your Grace.”
Anne appreciated that he was trying to ease the tension, but she couldn’t help but feel a wave of rage toward him, this interloper into her life.
Hawthorne nodded at the butler. “Find me a place to rest my head, be it the meanest accommodation or the best we have.”
The butler cleared his throat. “The best we have would be the duchess’s own rooms, Your Grace. There is not much to choose from at the moment.”
Anne gasped. It had taken all of five minutes for the staff to turn against her. But of course they would. As the duke, and as a man, Hawthorne held more power. More prestige. Years of devoted service to her paled in comparison to centuries of wealth and tradition.
“I would not dream to disrupt the duchess,” Hawthorne said. “She may keep her bedchamber. I shan’t be needing it…for any reason.” He smiled pleasantly at the butler. “Do close your mouth, lest you let in flies.”
