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The day her father had raged at her over a painting she’d accidentally knocked over, she’d known he would have preferred her to be the one broken in the dirt. If he could have traded her to have the painting back on the easel, he would have. He would have rejoiced if she could have been bruised and broken and his painting fresh and new.
Nothing had changed. She’d only lied to herself, hoping she’d be able to forget the past and sleep peacefully again, safe, in this new land.
Even the maid sitting across from her didn’t give her the feeling of security she’d hoped. Moving her foot inside her boot, she felt the dagger sheath, reassuring herself.
She braced her feet as the carriage rolled to a stop. A lock of hair tickled Bellona’s cheek as she opened the door and stepped out. Pushing the strand aside, she looked at the darkened eyes of the Harling House windows. Sunlight reflected off the glass and a bird flitted by, but the house looked no more alive than a crypt.
The entrance door opened before her foot cleared the top step.
The expanse of space between her and the stairway could have swallowed her former home. She could not blame the duchess for not wanting to leave her chamber. This part of the house, with all its shine and perfection, didn’t look as if it allowed anyone to stop for a moment, but to only pass through.
The butler led her to a library which had more personality than she’d seen so far in the house. The pillow on the sofa had been propped perfectly, but one corner had lost its fluff. The scent of coals from the fireplace lingered in the air. The figurines on the mantel had been made at different times by different artists.
One alabaster shape had a translucency she could almost see through. One girl wore clothing Bellona had never seen before. A bird was half in flight. She noted a cracked wing on one angel. The hairline fracture had browned. This hadn’t happened recently and been unnoticed. Someone had wanted to keep the memento even with the imperfection.
Then she studied the spines of the books lining the shelves. Some of the titles she could read, but the English letters her oldest sister, Melina, had taught her years ago were hard to remember. She asked the maid and the woman knew less about the words than Bellona did.
The open-window curtains let much light into the room and the view overlooked where her carriage had stopped. A book lay askew on the desk and another one beside it, plus an uncorked ink bottle. The chair was pulled out and sat slightly sideways. Someone had been sitting there recently, able to see her arrive, and had left a few papers scattered about.
She settled herself to wait, the maid beside her on the sofa. The clock ticked, but other than that nothing sounded. Bellona stood again and noticed the walls. Framed canvases. These were not just paintings, but works of art. When she looked at each piece, she could see something else beyond it—either the thoughts of the person depicted, the way the room had felt that day, or the texture of the object painted.
They were nothing like her father’s paintings. She’d had no idea that such wonderful art existed.
Bellona was seated when the duke stepped into the doorway. She’d not heard him, but the flicker of movement caught her eye.
He stood immobile for a minute, like the figurines, but everything else about him contrasted with the gentle figures on the mantel.
She tightened her fingers on her reticule. When she met his eyes, her senses responded, reminding her of the times she and her sisters had build a fire outside at night on Melos. Sitting, listening to waves and staring at stars. Those nights made her feel alive and secure—the strength of nature reminding her something was bigger than the island.
Lines at the corners of his eyes took some of the sternness from his face, and even though he looked as immovable as the cliffs, she didn’t fear him. Possibly because he seemed focused on his own thoughts more than her presence. When he spoke, his lips turned up, not in a smile, but in acknowledgment of his own words. ‘I regret to say that my mother informs me she will not be able to join you. She is unwell today.’
Bellona stood, moving nearer to the duke. ‘If she is unwell, then I cannot leave without seeing if I might be able to soothe her spirits as I did for my mother. I must see her. Only for a moment.’
The maid rose, but Bellona put out a halting hand and said, ‘Wait here.’
A quick upwards flick of his head caused his hair to fall across his brow. He brushed it back. ‘I may have erred in inviting you. Perhaps another day... Mother is fretful.’
‘When my mother hurt, my sisters and I would take turns holding her hand or talking to her, even if she could not answer for the pain.’
‘She’s not ill in quite that way, but I think her pain is severe none the less.’ Moving into the hallway, he swept his arm out, palm up, indicating the direction. ‘The duchess is rather in a poor temper today. Please do not consider it a reflection of anything but her health.’
‘My mana was very, very ill many days.’ Bellona clasped the strap of her reticule, forcing away her memories. She raised the bag, bringing it to his attention. ‘I brought some garden scents for Her Grace. I will give them to her. They heal the spirit.’
‘If you could only coax a pleasant word from her, I would be grateful.’
* * *
Bellona followed Rhys into the room. He gave a quick bow of his head to his mother and the older woman’s eyes showed puzzlement, then narrowed when she saw he was not alone. Her frail skin, along with the black dress and black cap, and her severe hairstyle, gave her an appearance which could have frightened a child. She pulled the spectacles from her face, slinging them on to the table beside her. She dropped a book to her lap. The pallor in her cheeks left, replaced with tinges of red.
‘Rolleston, I thought I told you I did not want company.’ The words snarled from her lips, lingering in the air. A reprimand simmering with anger.
Rhys gave his mother a respectful nod and looked no more disturbed than if her words had been soft. ‘Miss Cherroll is concerned that you are unwell and believes she has a medicinal which can help.’
The duchess’s fingers curled. ‘I must speak with you alone.’ She didn’t take her eyes from her son. She lifted a hand the merest amount and then her fingers fluttered to the book. ‘You may take whatever frippery she brings and then she can leave. I am not receiving visitors. Even the Prince, should he so enquire.’
Bellona stood firm, forgetting compassion. Her mana had been gentle even when she could not raise her hand from the bed or her head from the pillow. ‘My own mana has passed and I have brought the herbs that made her feel better before she left us. And when their scent is in the air, I feel not so far from her. This will soothe your sleep.’
The duchess’s brows tightened. ‘I sleep well enough. It’s being awake I have trouble with. Such as now. Leave.’
Bellona shrugged, looking more closely at the woman’s skin. She had no health in her face. Her eyes were red and puffed. ‘Then give it to a servant.’
‘I will,’ she said. She examined Bellona and sniffed. ‘Go away and take my son with you. I am not having callers today. Perhaps some time next year. Wait for my letter.’
‘I will leave the herbs with you.’ Bellona reached for her reticule, opened it and pulled the other knife out so she could reach the little pillow she’d made and stuffed with the dried plants.
‘Good heavens,’ the duchess gasped. Rhys tensed, his hand raised and alert.
‘It is only a knife,’ Bellona said, looking at her, flicking the blade both ways to show how small it was. ‘After the pirates attacked our ship, I have always carried one.’
‘Pirates?’ the duchess asked, eyes widening.
‘I am not truly supposed to call them that,’ Bellona said. ‘I did know them, so they did not feel like true pirates, only evil men, and Stephanos was...’ She shook her head. ‘I am not supposed to speak of that either.’
‘You are the countess’s sister?’ The duchess’s voice rose, becoming a brittle scratch. She sat taller, listening.
Bellona nodded. ‘We’re sisters. She’s more English than I am. Our father was not on the island so much when I was older. I hardly knew him. My second sister, Thessa, wanted to go to London. I did not. I like it, but I had expected to always stay in my homeland. But my mana died. Melina—the countess—had left and started a new life with her husband here and with Thessa determined that we should leave Melos I had no choice. The evil fidi would have— I could not stay on my island without either being killed or killing someone else because I was not going to wed.’
‘You are the countess’s sister?’
Bellona smiled at the duchess’s incredulous repetition.
‘Does she carry a knife?’
Bellona shook her head. ‘No. I do not understand Melina, but she has the children and she did not have the same ship journey I had. She did not see the things I saw. I really am not supposed to speak of them.’ Bellona bunched the things in her hand together enough so she could pull the pillow out.
Rhys reached out. ‘I’ll hold that,’ he said of the knife.
She slipped the blade back inside and pulled the strings of the closure tight. ‘I’m fine.’ She gripped the ties.
Walking to the duchess, she held out the bag of herbs. Rhys followed her step for step and her stare directed at him did not budge him.
The duchess took the pillow, keeping her eyes on Bellona. She pulled the packet to her nose. ‘Different,’ she remarked.
‘At night, you are supposed to put them near your head and then your dreams are to be more pleasant. I have one. It doesn’t work for me. But my mana promised it worked for her.’
‘I do not think it will work for me either.’ The duchess sighed, letting her hand rest in her lap.
‘The dreams. The dreams are the worst part,’ Bellona said.
The duchess looked at the cloth in her hand, squeezing it, crushing the centre, causing the herbs to rustle. ‘I know.’
‘Some nights,’ Bellona admitted, ‘I dream my mother is alive and for those moments she is. But I dream she is the one being attacked by the men and I cannot save her. Those dreams are the worst. And they only grow and grow. I cannot breathe when I wake.’
The duchess nodded, eyes downcast. ‘Do not talk of this to me.’
‘No one wishes to hear it,’ Bellona said sadly. ‘I cannot talk about it with anyone. And not to be able to talk with Mana makes it so bad. I did not think I would live when she died, but my sister Thessa started slapping me when I cried. That helped.’
The duchess stared at Bellona. ‘How unkind.’
‘Oh, no. No,’ Bellona insisted. ‘I would get angry and I would chase her and chase her and want to hurt her. I will always love her for that.’
The duchess looked thoughtful. ‘Child. Perhaps a pat or hug would have been better?’
Bellona squinted. ‘That would have done no good. I would have cried more.’
A chuckle burst from Rhys’s lips. A light shone in his brown eyes that she’d never seen before in any man’s gaze and she could feel the sunshine from it. Her cheeks warmed.
‘You might as well sit,’ the duchess said. ‘You’ll make my neck hurt looking up at you.’
While she stood there, unable for the moment to think of anything but the duke’s sable eyes, he slipped the reticule from her hand.
‘Find me in the library when you leave so I may return this to you,’ he said. ‘I have some work to finish and I will have tea sent your way.’
He strode out through the doorway.
‘Do not dare slap me,’ the duchess warned.
‘If you need it, I will,’ Bellona replied.
‘Do not try it. I will not chase you,’ the duchess added, studying her rings, before indicating Bellona sit beside her. ‘I would send servants.’
Bellona shook her head. ‘You’ve lost enough family members for many slaps...’
The duchess nodded. ‘It was not supposed to be like that. My husband, I accepted he might die. He was much older than I. But my babies. My children. You don’t know what it is like.’
‘I know something of what it is like.’
‘No. You don’t.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You can’t.’
‘Then tell me.’
The duchess tossed the packet aside. ‘My daughter had golden hair. I’d never seen a child so blessed...’ She continued speaking of her past, taking tea when the maid brought it, and hardly pausing in her memories.
Finally, she looked at Bellona. ‘You really must be on your way now. You’ve stayed much longer than a proper first visit lasts. One just doesn’t act as you do.’
‘I know. I do as I wish.’
‘I can tell you have not had a mother about. You need someone to teach you how to act.’
‘No. I do not. This is how I wish to be.’
‘That is your first error.’ She shut her eyes. ‘Now go.’
Bellona rose. ‘Thank you for telling me of your daughter.’
The duchess opened her eyes again and waved towards the door. ‘I may send a note later requesting you to tea.’
Bellona left, hearing two rapid sniffs behind her. She shut the door, listening for the click. A dark hallway loomed, but she remembered her way to the library.
A few moments later, she found Rhys, sitting at his desk, leaning over papers. Her reticule lay at the side of his work.
‘Where’s the maid?’ Bellona asked, walking into the room.
He twirled his pen between his fingertips as he stood. ‘Below stairs speaking with the other servants. I think she is a cousin or sister or some relation to many of the women here.’
Bellona walked to the fabric bag, lifting it and feeling the weapon still inside.
He frowned and shook his head.
She ignored him and moved to the door.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I’ll send for someone to collect your maid.’
‘I will find her. When I step below stairs and look around, servants will appear and the maid will rush to me. If it takes many moments, the housekeeper or butler are at my elbow, asking what I need. It works faster than the bell pull.’
‘Perhaps you should leave them to do their jobs.’
‘Yes. I should,’ she agreed.
He smiled—the one that didn’t reach his lips, but made his eyes change in such a way that they became like dark jewels she couldn’t take her own gaze from.
‘Would you wait here whilst I see how my mother fares?’ he said. The words were a question, but he was halfway from the room before she could answer.
‘No. I’ll be on my way.’
He took two more steps, stopped, and spun around. ‘No?’ He stood in the doorway, almost taking up the whole of the space.
‘You will ask her what I said. How we got on and make sure she is well,’ Bellona said. ‘I know the answers to that. She mentioned having tea with me again, but she will change her mind.’
‘With me, she cannot speak for crying and it has been a year,’ he muttered. ‘A year... I think the honeysuckle was in bloom when they were taking my brother from the house the last time.’
‘It is not quite a year,’ Bellona told him, shaking her head. ‘Your mother knows the dates. All of them.’
His eyes snapped to her and he pushed his hair from his temple. ‘Of my father’s and sister’s deaths, too?’
‘Yes. And her own parents.’
‘You must stay,’ he said. ‘You cannot keep the knife in case someone accidentally gets hurt. But you must stay. I have tried two companions for my mother and she shouted one from the room and refused to speak with the other.’
‘No.’
‘Miss Cherroll, I fear you do not understand how trapped my mother is in her thoughts and memories. You must stay and see if you can lift her spirits. Otherwise, I fear she will not live much longer.’
She moved, putting the desk between them. ‘I cannot.’ She had grown up with the myths of her ancestors and tales of men stronger than storms and compelling forces. But she’d experienced nothing beyond the world of her birth until the duke stood before her. He changed the way her heart beat, the way she breathed and even the way her skin felt.
He tensed his shoulders, drew in a breath and his arms relaxed. She looked into his eyes, but lowered her gaze back to his cravat. She could not stay in this house. Not and be near the duke. He held the danger of the pirates, but in a different way. She’d seen her mother’s weakness. Not the one taking her body near death, but the one that had locked her into a man’s power. The power you could not escape from because it stole a person from the inside.
He strode to the side of the desk, nearer her. ‘I will pay you whatever you ask. You can go to the servants’ quarters ten times a day if you wish. You can have your run of the grounds. The entire estate will be open to you.’
She held the bag close to her body. ‘I will not stay in your house.’
He held his hands out, palms up. ‘It’s— There’s none better.’
‘It’s not that.’
He continued. ‘You can have whatever rooms you wish if you stay as my mother’s companion. Take several chambers if you’d like. You can have two maids at your elbows all day. And two at theirs.’
‘Be quiet and listen.’
His chin tilted down. His brows rose. ‘Yes, Miss Cherroll?’
‘I will not stay here.’
He waited, his gaze locked on to hers.
‘My sister needs me for the children,’ she said.
‘I understand completely,’ he said, voice agreeing, and stepped to the door. ‘You can take my carriage to visit them as often as you wish.’ One stride and he would be out of her vision. ‘It is not a problem at all. Send your maid in Warrington’s carriage for your things. The housekeeper will be with you shortly to help you select a room.’
He was gone by the time she opened her mouth.
She stared at the fireplace. Warrington’s estate was not far. She could return to take tea with the duchess every day if she wished; she didn’t need to live in this house. Bellona did not care what this man said even if he was a duke. She did not follow Warrington’s orders and he was an earl and married to her sister.
Slipping the reticule ties over her wrist, she walked to the servants’ stairs.
The maid from Warrington’s estate was whispering to another woman, but immediately stopped when she saw Bellona and bustled to her, following as they left.
‘My cousin did not believe you’d stay such a long time,’ the maid murmured. ‘My cousin says the duchess will follow her family to the grave before the year’s gone. The woman won’t leave her chair except to weep in the garden. She gets in such a state that her humours are all gobber’d up. The duke is the only one can settle her at all and even he can’t be around all the time.’
Bellona remembered holding her own mother’s hand near the end. How cool her fingers were. So thin, and with no strength in them at all. The duchess’s hands had felt the same.
‘I will visit her again soon. Perhaps tomorrow. I am not certain. I am hopeful the herbs will help her.’ She moved to exit the house.
‘My cousin said the duke is right soured himself. Servants step wide of him since he became titled. Said he’s wearing that coronet so tight it’s mashed out everything not duke.’
‘A man should take his duties to his heart.’
Her maid puffed a whistle from her lips. ‘If he’s got any heart left. My cousin says he don’t care for nothing except for his duties.’
‘He cares for his mana.’
‘Simply another duty.’
They walked to the carriage. Bellona could feel eyes on her. She forced herself not to search the windows behind her to see if the duke watched her departure. But she knew he did.
She adjusted her bonnet and held the reticule so tightly she could not feel the cloth, but only the handle beneath. ‘Tomorrow, when I return, I wish you to stay at my side.’
* * *
‘What did you do to the duke?’
Bellona’s oldest sister, Melina, stood in the very centre of the room. She tapped her slipper against the rug.
‘I was nice to his mana,’ Bellona said, adjusting the quiver at her waist. ‘I am going to practise.’
‘The duke is here, demanding to see Warrington.’
‘Truly?’ Bellona asked.
‘But War is in London. So the butler said Rolleston demands to see you.’
‘I am not at home.’
‘I told the butler to tell him we will speak with him. The duke is our neighbour and War’s parents and his parents were very close.’ She frowned. ‘Bellona. You just cannot tell a duke to go away, particularly this one.’
‘Warrington does not like him.’
‘They are quite fond of each other, in the way men are.’
‘I am quite fond of the duke in much the same way,’ Bellona said darkly.
‘You can’t be. You have to pretend to like him. We are ladies—as I must remind you as often as I remind Willa.’
‘He wishes for me to move to his estate.’
Her sister’s foot stilled. ‘You are—imagining that, surely?’
Bellona shook her head. ‘He thinks I can help the duchess. His Grace told me I would be her companion. I will visit her, but that is as much as I can do.’
Melina stepped near Bellona. ‘She will see no one. It is said she is dying. How ill do you think she is?’
‘I do not know. Bones covered in black clothes, with her face peering out. I would not think she would make it through a hard winter or a heavy wash day.’ She forced her next words. ‘Almost like Mana at the end.’
Melina’s hand fluttered to her cheek. ‘You must move in with her. It is the thing Mana would want.’
‘I do not even want to visit her every day,’ Bellona said, shuddering. ‘She doesn’t have the gentle ways of Mana.’
‘You must. Besides, to live at the duke’s house...’ Melina put a hand at her waist. ‘He might have friends visit. And you might meet them. You could learn a lot. The duchess is a true duchess. She could help you. You are not as wild as you pretend. Her Grace could teach you so much if you just watch and learn.’
‘I already know how to say I am not at home.’
‘Sister. A woman. Her husband gone. Her daughter and her oldest son gone, too, and you are asked to help her and you will not. Mana would weep.’
‘I will help her. I just do not want to live in the duke’s house.’ Bellona turned to leave the room, but her sister’s quiet voice stopped her.
‘You do not like living here, either,’ Melina said.
She couldn’t tell Melina what she felt about the duke. Stone and towering and dark eyes. She remembered standing at the edge of the cliffs and looking at the ground far beneath, and knowing if she swooned she would fall—feeling brave and scared at the same time. The duke made her want to step closer and yet, if she did, the ground might crumble away. He reminded her so much of the stones she’d seen jutting from the sea and the cliffs.
‘I wish to be here with the children. And you.’ Bellona pleaded with her sister. ‘I do not want to leave the little ones.’
‘You’ll never have your own babies if you do not learn how to mix with society. A footman will not do for you and you know that. The duchess could introduce you to someone suitable.’
‘I went to the soirée. The men smelled like flowers.’
‘Pretend you are a bee. You can sting them after you’re wed. Not before.’
‘I will not pretend to be anything other than what I am.’
‘You cannot go back to the way we lived. You must go forward and the duchess could help. She could ease your way into society in a way that I cannot. They hardly accept me.’
Bellona hit her own chest with her fingertip. ‘That is where we are different. I do not want to be in society. Bonnets pull my hair. Slippers pinch and corsets squeeze. The flowery world has nothing for me.’
‘A husband helps if you want children of your own—and it is best for the child to be born within a true marriage, one with love. You know that as well as I.’
‘Even children are not worth a husband. I have a niece and two nephews. They are my babies.’