Page 50 of The Odyssean Duke

Her husband bowed, a gesture that managed to be playful and mocking all at once. Then, he was gone. Evelina let out a breath of air and laughed, her eyelashes fluttering.

Stephan was right. It had been a trying day.

CHAPTER 21

When Evelina went down for breakfast, she discovered that her husband was gone. She ate breakfast alone under the watchful eyes of the unfamiliar staff, all of whom seemed strangely anxious. Evelina wondered if Stephan was exceptionally stern with them or if he might have said something about her to make them all so strange. As she finished, she thought longingly of her own staff. Some of them would be moving into Stephan’s townhouse with her, but most of them would remain behind to manage her own house.

If Stephan had joined her for breakfast, they might have talked together and found some understanding about what had transpired the night before. She might have learned more about him. Of course, Evelina did not really wish to know about him—not that much, anyway—but talking with him might be a means by which she could soothe the discomfort she felt at the thought of having a proper congress with him. Evelina sighed and finished her tea, grimacing at the burning sensation in her throat; that was not from the tea. She had awakened with a sore throat and wondered if it might have been the result of hernegligence the night before. Evelina had remained in the cold bath water for some time, and it was possible she had fallen ill.

After breakfast, Evelina decided that she ought to familiarize herself with her new home. Even if she and Stephan would only remain together for a year, she still wished to know what manner of place he lived in. She wandered through the rooms on the ground floor—the parlor, the morning room, the dining room, and a modest library. Evelina climbed the stairs to the next floor, her eyes landing on the rows of portraits. The one nearest to her was of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, seated beside an elegant woman with red-brown hair and green eyes. Their portrait was formal and staged, as were those of most families, but the artist’s brushstrokes had still managed to convey the impression that these were two people who were deeply in love with one another. The woman had a book open on her lap, while her husband leaned over, as if to see what she was reading. Their eyes met in that moment, and they smiled at one another.

“Oh!” A feminine cry cut through the air, and Evelina turned her head sharply to the sound.

A red-faced woman with blond hair stumbled into an awkward curtsey. The woman was well into middle age and wore a black gown, which looked as though it was a few decades out of fashion. There was that same hum of anxious energy around her that Evelina had noticed from the other staff.

Evelina smiled gently, trying to show that she held no ill will towards anyone. “I apologize. Did I startle you?” she asked.

The woman put a hand to her chest. “No, I should have been more aware! I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace. I am Katrina. Katrine Newbury, the housekeeper.”

She seemed unlike any housekeeper Evelina had ever met, but perhaps Mrs. Newbury was new to the position.

“You were not disturbing me,” Evelina said, gesturing to the portrait. “I was simply exploring. I assume this is the late duke and duchess?”

“Indeed, they were,” Mrs. Newbury said. “I have—well—I have heard stories about the late Duke of Rothbury.”

“What stories?”

Mrs. Newbury twisted her hands in her skirts, looking as if she was uncertain that she could share such stories. At last, she offered a hesitant smile. “Well, the story I have heard is that the late Duke of Rothbury was a kind and thoughtful man. He loved his wife, the Duchess, more than most men have ever loved their wives. She was his entire world.”

Evelina glanced at the portrait. Given the duke’s doting smile, she could believe that the duchess was his entire world.

“I see,” Evelina said. “And she—I assume she died.”

“She did, Your Grace. I have heard that His Grace was devastated. His only comfort was his son.”

“My husband,” Evelina said, ensuring that she was following the story correctly.

“Yes, Your Grace. But the former duke had lost himself to grief,” Mrs. Newbury said. “Even his love for his son was not enough for him to pull himself from—well—from out of that. He was—I should not speak ill of the dead.”

“You are not speaking ill of him,” Evelina said.

Mrs. Newbury’s description of the late duke was enough to give one pause, however. What could the duke have done that might be construed asspeaking ill of the dead?

“Did you know His Grace?” Evelina asked.

“No, Your Grace. I was hired by the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury after his death,” Mrs. Newbury said, sounding vaguely apologetic.

Evelina paused, considering. “I am told that the Dowager Duchess is a formidable woman.”

“I would say she is,” Mrs. Newbury said. “She was a great comfort to the late duke in his later years, or so I have heard. Her Grace often helped manage the estate.”

Evelina hummed, her eyes drifting to the other portraits along the walls. “Is she depicted here? I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Her Grace.”

“Of course!”

Mrs. Newbury wrinkled her nose and walked along the corridor, inspecting the portraits. At last, she stopped and nodded to the gilded frame before her. “This one, Your Grace.”

Evelina joined the housekeeper and looked at the portrait. It depicted a stately, elegant woman with black hair and blue eyes. Evelina found herself taken aback, although she was not entirely certain what she had expected from the Dowager Duchess’s portrait. This woman was no fairy tale villain or wicked stepmother, after all, but as real as Evelina was. Her Grace did not look especially severe or imposing; on the contrary, her portrait gave little impression at all.