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As if that weren’t enough, he’d heard about her in the village. Mr. Darren had described in proud terms how the princess had come to their little corner of the world for the summer. He said she was a charming woman, with fine looks. Mr. Darren had been fortunate, he said, to have made her acquaintance when he’d called on the earl. He was looking forward, he said, to the ball Iddesleigh planned to host in her honor.
Joshua hadn’t wanted to know about any charming woman with fine looks. He’d had no desire to know anyone, to do anything, and at that moment, he was having trouble even thinking about what he wanted to do. But what he didn’t want was children and princesses so close to him. Moreover, he didn’t know what todoabout it.
CHAPTER SIX
AKITCHENGIRLwas dispatched to walk with Amelia and the girls to school one morning. The cook had made a batch of tea cakes that he deemed unsuitable for a proper tea, but apparently suitable for a dozen girls.
Miss Collins was a slight thing, around seventeen or eighteen years old. She curtsied twice to Amelia, and then a third time by way of apology when Mathilda informed her only once was required. “Aye, yes, milady,” she said to Mathilda. With a curtsy.
Poor thing.
The girls skipped ahead, alternately racing or talking to each other at the same time. Amelia kindly tried to engage the young maid on the stroll. She asked if she’d heard about the ball. Miss Collins said that she had but offered no comment or asked a single question. Amelia asked how she found the work in the kitchens. She said it was good work. Did she do any of the cooking?
“I wash, Your Royal Highness. And I dry.”
Well, that was not a topic Amelia knew anything about. So, she tried a different tack. She remarked that the day was fine, and the lane smooth despite recent rains, the trees thick...all to which Miss Collins very amicably agreed.
It was a bit like walking with a ghost.
On their return from the school, they passed under the arch that marked the entrance to the school property and stepped onto the road where Amelia had met the Grim Reaper. “Have a care when you walk here, Miss Collins,” she said. “I’ve seen riders who could trample you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Amelia turned her head to sigh very quietly with the tedium of this stroll, and her gaze landed on the dark mansion on the hill. She’d assumed it was abandoned, which seemed odd, given how large it was. Bigger even than Iddesleigh House. But now she reconsidered. The stone was a dull gray, and even in some spots, entirely black. The windows had no shine to them and looked like gaping maws. There were at least a dozen chimneys, but Amelia had never seen more than one or two smoking.
“What is that house there? An asylum?”
The young woman looked up the hill. “No, Your Royal Highness, that would be Hollyfield. The Duke of Marley resides there. Sometimes.”
It wasa house. She sincerely hoped it had been more inviting at one time. What had happened to it?Sometimes, Miss Collins had said. Amelia mulled this over. Sometimes could mean really not at all. It was like Astasia Castle, one of the royal properties in Wesloria. It was high in the mountains and no one from the royal family ever went there except when there was trouble with the coal barons. Amelia couldn’t remember the last time there had been trouble with the coal barons. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if there were still coal barons anywhere near Astasia Castle. “Well that at least explains why it looks so deserted and bleak,” she opined.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s had that look since the tragedy.”
Amelia instantly perked up—nothing like a good tragedy to liven things on an otherwise dull walk. Hopefully a lover’s murder or a drunken duel, something with a good story behind it. “What tragedy?”
“The duke lost his wife and firstborn in childbirth. They say he never recovered from it. He left Hollyfield after that and I think comes only occasionally.”
That was truly a dreadful tragedy, and unfortunately, all too common and heartbreaking. “How terribly sad.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now Amelia understood perfectly what was the matter with that house. It was obviously closed, but probably inhabited by a caretaker. The Grim Reaper must have come from there.
The thought sent a small shiver down her spine.
LILAWASEXPECTEDto return Saturday, and for the sake of everyone in the household, it would not be a moment too soon.
The ball would be held next Thursday, and there was much yet to be done, at least according to Blythe, who used every opportunity to complain to her husband.
Maren, Maisie, and Peg-leg Meg were playing at the far end of the room. Beck was pulling Birdie around the drawing room in a small wagon, and Mathilda was holding Alice and hovering near the bookcases, her eight-year-old ears practically pointed at her parents.
“Like what, darling? Tell me and I will see that it is done,” Beck said confidently when Blythe again raised the onerous task of preparing for a ball.
“Likewhat?” Blythe repeated. Her laugh of surprise was abnormally high. “Really, darling do you not know? I went over the list at lunch today.”
“Did you?” Beck paused in his stroll around the room and glanced to the ceiling, as if trying to recall. “Papa, pull!” Birdie shouted at him.
“Yes. I did.” Blythe said curtly. “Tell me, dearest, do I perhaps speak too softly?”
