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“No, that was a joke. A poor one. Can you observe and give me advice?”
“Of course I will do that.” Cecelia reached over and squeezed Sarah’s hand.
It was immensely comforting. “Thank you.”
When they went in to dinner, Kenver saw that his mother had put Sarah and her duchess friend as far from each other as possible at table. But there were not enough of them in the party to make that more than a small slight. Then Mama began discussing people who might be mutual friends but were unknown to the rest of them. She seemed prepared to spend the entire meal reviewing their family history and connections. The guests were affable, but they didn’t look very interested. “I hope your rooms are comfortable,” he said to the duchess at the first lull in the conversation.
She smiled at him, and Kenver was briefly dazzled. “Yes,” she said. “Your mother told us a prince once stayed in them.”
“A…” It took Kenver a moment to assimilate this information. “You are in the state suite?” he asked, thinking he could not have heard her correctly.
“I believe that was the name. Which prince was it?” asked the duchess.
“One who died young before taking the throne,” put in Sarah drily.
Kenver met Sarah’s crackling gaze. But he still couldn’t quite believe it. He turned to his father. “What about the repairs?”
“Hicks got more workmen in and managed to finish,” was the reply.
“There was a hole in the ceiling.” Kenver had checked on the irritatingly slow progress yesterday. No, it had been the day before. He and Sarah had ridden out on the estate again yesterday.
“Ah, I thought there was a smell of fresh plaster,” said the duke. “Didn’t I say so, my dear?” He had the air of a spectator at a mildly amusing play.
The duchess threw him an admonishing smile.
“Never mind, Kenver,” said Mama, frowning. “Our guests don’t care about such things.”
“Oh, my wife is fascinated by estate management,” said the duke.
“On our own properties,” replied the duchess, her tone suggesting that he had gone far enough. He appeared to accept this with unimpaired amiability.
“What property have you come to Cornwall to inspect?” asked his father.
“It is a house called Tresigan,” answered the duchess.
“But that’s haunted.” The words slipped out before Kenver thought. His brain was still fixed on the state suite.
“Of course it is,” replied the duke with a wry glance at his wife.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Kenver’s mother. She waved this aside. “People tell the stupidest stories.”
“Do you know the place?” the duchess asked Kenver.
“I have never been there. I’ve only heard tales now and then.”
“About the haunting?” asked Sarah, looking intrigued.
“There is no such thing.” Kenver’s mother frowned at her.
“I suppose we shall see,” said the duke, his tone suggesting he agreed. “We are driving over tomorrow to take a look.”
His wife smiled at Kenver. “You and Sarah should come with us. We could use some local guides.”
Seeing Sarah’s brightness at the thought, Kenver readily agreed. His mother huffed her disapproval, but she didn’t quite dare to object.
The rest of the evening passed more pleasantly than previous ones. The houseguests exerted themselves to be charming, at which they were obviously expert. Kenver’s parents responded like wilting plants given water. He wondered at first if Sarah might feel slighted, but she clearly did not. In fact, she seemed to be watching the duchess with a kind of gleeful admiration. It was almost as if they were plotting something. He started to ask when he escorted her back to her room later, but Sarah opened the door of her bedchamber, looked inside, and closed it again. “Cranston is inside,” she said.
“Of course she is,” said Kenver, trying to match the Duke of Tereford’s masterful intonation. Cranston also had the ears of a bat. “I’m sorry about the state suite,” he said.
