Page 49 of Cold November Rake

A chill ran down her back. "What did he tell you?"

"Only that yer affections lay elsewhere."

Temperance's stomach turned over. "He told you that?"

"Aye. When ye ran off tae the Continent."

She lowered her head. There was no point in lying. "Yes. That is correct. I was in love with another man."

"Was?"

"A long time ago."

"And ye're nae anymore?"

Something squeezed in her chest.

"I have not seen him in years," she said, and that much was true. "I barely remember what he looks like, much less how he made me feel. My husband is my future, and I am determined to build it with him."

She expected judgment. Instead, the duchess gave a small, thoughtful hum.

"And how, exactly," the duchess asked at last, "did ye plan tae win my son's affections?"

Heat rose in Temperance's cheeks.

By thawing his icy heart little by little. By sharing anecdotes and amusing tales. By coaxing him into my bed every night until I am with child.

She could hardly say that.

"I am hoping that proximity will do its work," she said, as steadily as she could. "I hope he will come to see that he enjoys my company. That I can be of use to him."

"Hm." The duchess tapped her lips, her too-perceptive gaze never leaving Temperance's face. "Very well."

The door opened, and Mr. Downing returned with an armful of warm-toned patterns. The duchess did not so much as glance at them. She was looking around the room in horror.

"Och, nae."

Temperance blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"The mold, lass. There's mold on the walls. How do ye breathe in here?"

"Mold?" Temperance looked at the walls. They were clean, cream-colored, and entirely unremarkable. "I do not see any mold."

"Ye dinnae? Och, it's everywhere. There, by the window. Can ye nae see it?" The duchess turned to Mr. Downing, who had drifted to the corner by the window and was squinting at the plaster.

He opened his mouth. "No, Your Grace, I do not believe⁠—"

The duchess gave him a stern, wide-eyed look.

Mr. Downing swallowed. His eyes flicked to the wall, then back to the duchess, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"Yes," he said. "Mold. Er. A great deal of it. Terrible, terrible mold, Your Grace. A hazard to one's health."

"Aye," the duchess said with satisfaction. "That's what I thought." She turned back to Temperance. "Ye'll need tae move at once, lass. Ye cannae sleep in this room."

"Then I'll have nowhere to sleep. All the guest rooms are being stripped for the renovations, except for yours and the duke's."

The duchess gave a small, innocent lift of one shoulder. "Then ye'll have tae spend a few nights in yer husband's chamber."