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Sarah stepped into the room to find three people waiting. The parlor was the home’s finest room, with its rose-and-cream silk wallpaper and cherry wood crown moldings. A settee and three armchairs flanked a low table in the center, and near the window overlooking the street a more intimate set up of two chairs and a footstool clustered around a reading table. The upholstery of all the pieces had small medallions of cream scattered across a rose background.
The duchess had taken up residence on the settee, and she looked up at Sarah, her blue eyes narrow but her face otherwise impassive. Matthew—and a man who looked almost exactly like him—stood behind the duchess.
Sarah kept her eyes on the woman, whose black silk day gown contrasted starkly with the rose of the settee.She is still in mourning, Sarah realized, noticing the small black bonnet sitting atop hair that was a mix of gray and blond. The previous duke had been dead less than a year. She curtsied, head bowed. “Your Grace. It is an honor—”
“Come closer, girl. I want to see your face.”
“Mother!” Matthew hissed.
The duchess waved her hand at him. “Do not be a bore. She knows this is an examination or she would have worn her veil.”
“He asked me not to.”
The duchess paused and her hand returned to her lap. “I beg your pardon?”
Sarah moved closer. “His Grace—Matthew—asked me not to wear the veil in private.” She looked up at the other man. “And you are?”
“His brother, Lord Marcus Rydell,” the duchess answered. “Can you not tell?”
“I can. They do look alike. But I understand your family was blessed with quite a few sons.”
The duchess’s mouth jerked. “Nine, including Matthew.”
“A quiverful.”
Mark barked a laugh, gaining a scolding glance from his mother. “Ignore him. His time in the military has destroyed his sense of propriety.”
“I am unconvinced he ever had one,” muttered Matthew.
“And this,” the duchess said to Sarah, “is one reason I wanted to meet you immediately. To let you know you are proposing to walk into a maelstrom.”
Matthew turned his scowl on his mother. “You said you wanted—”
“Sit, girl.” She pointed to the settee beside her. “I want a closer look, and my eyesight and hearing is not what it used to be.”
“Your hearing is perfect.” Mark crossed his arms.
“It does seem I can hear ungrateful wretches easier than I can those of a more genteel nature.”
“I will if they will.” Sarah eased down on the settee. “I dislike having people lurk behind me.”
The duchess motioned for her sons to sit, a faint smile on her face as they did so. “Oh, I am beginning to understand.”
“Understand?”
“Why my oldest son has become so besotted in less than three days.”
“Mother!”
Sarah desperately wanted to look at the hissing Matthew but dared not. She maintained her focus on the duchess. “Oh, I’m am sure he is not—”
Another wave of the gloved hand. “False modesty is not becoming in anyone, Lady Crewood.” She adjusted her gloves and folded her hands in her lap as she leaned a bit closer to Sarah. “My oldest has always walked a path that diverged from the rest of his peers. He will most likely be a disaster in Parliament. He blusters when he should cajole, and charges like a bull when he should observe and compose. When it appeared he would take to the ways of a true rogue, his father insisted he join the military—”
“Ichosethe military.”
“Or being sent to live permanently with his aunt—my sister—in Greece—”
“That wasnot—”
