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“What sort of place is it?”
Sarah glided over any details. “It is called Tresigan. It belongs to the Duke of Tereford.”
“Ah, the duchess is helping you?”
“Yes.”
“I was sorry not to see her today.” They had become acquainted during the London season.
“She will be sorry as well.”
Kenver and Sarah’s father caught up, and they silently agreed not to tell him most of this news.
“Some fine produce here,” he said.
“Yes, Papa.”
“Your husband tells me they promote the latest farming methods among their tenants.” He gave Kenver an approving smile.
Sarah enjoyed it. She thought the two men could be friends, given the opportunity. Kenver looked from Sarah to her mother as if wondering what they had been saying.
“Shall we see the rest?” asked her father.
They walked on, and Sarah relaxed into the sensation of warm and noncritical company.
She felt the same the next day when she and Cecelia went to look over the furnishings that had been stored in the cellar at Tresigan. Fortunately the space was not damp but only dusty, and the scent of potpourri filled the air.
“Everything has been put away very carefully,” Cecelia noted.
“By whom, I wonder,” answered Sarah.
“According to some documents I’ve found, the last people to live here were two female relatives of the previous duke. They were very old when they died. I fear that means the furnishings are quite old-fashioned.”
Sarah waved this aside. It was a matter of indifference to her. “They look perfectly serviceable to me,” she said.
“There are bedsteads and wardrobes.” Cecelia made notes. “However did they get these larger pieces down those narrow stairs?”
“With great difficulty, I imagine.”
“We’ll ask Merlin to help haul them out,” the duchess added with a small smile.
“He won’t care for that!”
“I am a bit weary of his sulking. We have not been unkind to him.”
“Except by existing.”
“Well, I am not willing to forego that. So there is a washstand, and there seem to be chairs stacked behind that dining table.”
“We will have everything we need,” said Sarah. “I am very grateful, Cecelia.”
The duchess waved this aside. “I see no coverlets or curtains.”
“Perhaps they were worried about moths.”
Cecelia nodded. “We’ll have to look into purchasing some. Unless…” She moved a footstool and revealed a large cedar chest. Heaving up the lid, she exposed piles of cloth. The scent of camphor wafted out. “Here we are.” She lifted out a swath of drapery. “Oh.”
The chintz had a wild pattern of whirling stems and blossoms in what seemed a hundred colors. “It looks as if a garden exploded onto the cloth,” said Sarah.
