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Miss Barrow entered the room behind a footman at half past, her face full of its usual good cheer and amusement. “Your Grace, you are not dressed!”
Anne looked down at herself. “My clothing begs to differ.”
“For ourwalk. That is not a promenade dress.”
This sounded more alarming by the moment. She took in Miss Barrow’s dark blue pelisse, thick gloves, and leather boots. They looked more than sturdy enough to venture through any manner of unpleasant outdoor elements. “I thought you meant we would walk about the estate.”
“We have done that already, haven’t we? No, I meant a proper walk.”
“InDecember?”
“It is neither raining nor snowing.”
“It iscold. We have a nice fire in here, and I can ring for tea.” Inspiration struck. “Maybe lemon cake?”
“We know these four walls too well now, and they have nothing more to tell us. Come with me, Your Grace, and let’s begin to know each other so I can give you the bedroom of your dreams.”
Anne remembered the feelings that Miss Barrow had stirred in her the last time they stayed inside the house, and hastily agreed to go outdoors.
After she changed into her warmest walking dress, two footmen followed her and Miss Barrow out of the house and trailed them at a respectful distance. The first hint of wind on Anne’s cheek had her snuggling deep into her fur-lined cloak and shoving her gloved hands into her matching muff. It was a damp sort of cold, the kind that crept into one’s boots and beneath one’s hood. She would be shivering and sniveling before long.
She told herself that was a good thing. There was nothing less appealing, after all, and shouldn’t she wish to be at her least attractive to quell this desire between them?
“This is a rapid pace for a stroll,” she said, trying not to huff. Miss Barrow had a long stride.
She slowed. “I apologize, Your Grace. I walk most everywhere. It’s wonderful outside at this time of year.”
Her breath came in little puffs of white, contrasting with the redness of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She swung her walking stick by her side. It was no wonder that she liked to be outdoors. Miss Barrow was a handsome woman, but never more so than with a healthy flush on her face.
She gestured with her stick at the houses that they passed. “I love being around people, and buildings. Buildingslast. It’s one of the reasons I love my trade—creating something inside that gives pleasure for either a minute or a lifetime, but housed in something that could last forever. It’s a nice balance.”
Anne hadn’t considered it like that before. “I have endeavored to preserve what is already in place, enshrining it for the next generation.”
“Perhaps I am overstepping, Your Grace, but I must admit to being curious about why you don’t want the duke to return to the estate.”
When was the last time anyone besides Miss Barrow had spoken to her so casually? It felt shocking. And intimate. And yet, she liked it. Questions that would have seemed rude or prying from someone else seemed like nothing more than simple curiosity from her. “I’m sure you understand the type of man that Hawthorne is.”
“Was this news to you?” Miss Barrow asked. “Forgive me, but the rumors have been running amok for years. Do you despise his inclinations so much?” Her tone had cooled.
“It’s not that,” Anne said, lowering her voice. “I knew who I married.”
“Then what difference is it if he is in France or in your house?”
It was always easy to talk with Miss Barrow, but it was even easier out here in the open air. It felt different. Exciting, somehow, even though a stroll across Grosvenor Square and into the streets of Mayfair was hardly a clandestine meeting. She stole a look at Miss Barrow. Maybe it wasn’t the walking that was having such an effect on her. Maybe it was thewoman. Who was the last person to whom she had spoken so freely, without the pressure of Society rules and propriety influencing what passed her lips?
“When the duke is not in residence, I am the de facto duke,” she confessed. “I can’t make all the decisions that I would like, but I am in control of a great many things regardless. Now that he has returned, he wants to wrest control of the dukedom back—but I find I am loath to give it up.”
“Could he not choose to run things from his apartments?”
“He could, but he hasn’t done so.” She struggled to find the words. “Hawthorne House is more than a building. It represents the power itself, and that is what I think he is after. A duke issuing edicts from his own estate is a force to be reckoned with, more so than a mere man writing letters from his apartment. I believe his pride would be too wounded to return and stay in a lesser room, if his own chambers are not available.”
Miss Barrow tapped her stick against the sidewalk. “Has he said why the power is suddenly so important to him?”
“No. But Hawthorne is forty years of age now, and I am wondering if he feels that it is past time for him to settle down into his responsibilities.”
“You said you wanted everything redone. But it is only his suite that you were looking to destroy? I wonder if it’s too conspicuous if his is the sole room in shambles.”
“It is the most important room of the house, after all, as he is the lord and master of us all,” Anne said piously. She stole a look at Miss Barrow and saw a mischievous smile on her lips.
