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“What is this?” she asked quietly.
“The Canterbury Tales, written by Chaucer,” he said while still holding onto the book. “If you were critical of our society at the time, you would be amused by the irony, but I must warn you that there are critical portraitsof the Church; it might read biased, but if you think about it, there are undeniable truths in it. Are you sure it will not upset you?”
“I do not think it will,” Louisa said.
His brows lowered, and—again—that piercing look, as if he were scouring her soul, almost made her shiver. “I promise, Your Grace.”
Nodding, he released the book.“Good.”
Pausing, Louisa opened it to see a few illustrations; a knight in full armor, a priest in his robe, and a beggar in rags. She read a few lines, but closed it and rested it on a shelf, as she still had a job to do. While the Duke was at his desk with a few books in front of him and writing in a journal, she kept dusting.
It was peaceful being there with him, and when she was finished, Louisa found it a bit hard to leave—but she had to depart. She had a few more rooms to do, and later that evening, Amelia was going to come and visit her. Taking the book, Louisa cradled it close to her heart, and as she was about to leave, she realized something.
“Your Grace, thank you for the hair adornments, last night,” she said. “You did not have to do it, but I am grateful you did.”
He flicked up a smile.“Honestly, Miss Stone, I had no idea what Mrs. Wickham chose; I just asked her to give you a simple gift, and I suppose she did her best. I only sighed my name on it.”
Louisa felt her high-hopes sink to her feet—of course, he would not have had a personal hand in the gift, although she dearly wished he had.
He is a Duke—he had more pressing issues to attend to.
She curtsied.“Good day, Your Grace.”
With his head kept down, Duke Westwood replied.“You too, Miss. Sone.”
Leaving, Louisa hurried to her room and sat the book in her desk drawer, before rushing to her other duties. She was slated to clean out the attic, and after gathering another set of cleaning materials, she headed up to the attic. The attic was not dusty as she had envisioned, but she dusted and swept it anyway.
When she went to wipe down windows, she came upon a stack of large trunks, and even though she knew it was not permissible for her to open them, Louisa knelt and released the latch. Inside were portraits, some made with oils, and others with pastels, but they all had the same theme—a dark-haired woman with a lovely smile that Louisa knew without asking was the Duke’s mother.
I suppose he locked them away because it was easier to remove all reminders of her than to have it before his face and feel the pain all over again.
She even found a few where a lady held a babe in her arms, and another where a boychild stood with her. Her fingertips stroked over the painted picture of His Grace; he looked so happy, so delighted, and peaceful; a strong contrast to the man whose lips were flatter than curved and an expression more pensive than happy.
If only he could find happiness again.
Carefully, Louisa closed the trunk and cleaned the surface, before going to the windows. She hoped that the Duke would be healed enough that he would unearth those lovely portraits and hang them up proudly one day.
Leaving the attic, Louisa placed the cleaning items in a closet and then went to have her midday meal. From there, she went on to clean another few rooms, then rushed to wash up and donned a clean plain grey dress as it was nearly time for Amelia to arrive.
She left through one of the back doors and went to wait at the backroad mouth; soon, she spotted Amelia’s dark coat and bonnet coming down the street; she was holding a basket, and Louisa hurried to meet and embrace her.
“What is in the basket?” Louisa asked.
“As it seems that you are more interested in the basket than me, I am not inclined to answer,” Amelia sniffed.
Lifting the cloth anyway, Louisa smiled at the contents.“Pie?”
“Yes,” Amelia looped an arm around Louisa’s, then said, “Do you have a good place where we can share it?”
For a moment, Amelia wondered if going to the Duke’s mother’s garden was somehow a sacrilege to it, but they were not going to do anything wrong, so she took Amelia there.
“This is a beautiful place,” Amelia remarked. “I would come out here as often I could. This is thetops; I can see Queens envying this garden.”
“It is His Grace’s late mother’s work,” Louisa mentioned. “He said she personally had a hand in making it all so lovely.”
While uncovering the basket, Amelia went pensive.“About His Grace, I found more about this lady who broke his heart. The tale has about four versions, but they all have the same basis—and it’s horrible.”
Instantly, Louisa’s stomach began to flip-flop, and she was not sure she wanted to hear more horrible things about the Duke as it was only going to be one more awful thing to add to what seemed like a never-ending list. Her hands curled over the edge of the seat, and she hung her head a little.
