“Oh, I see,” Rebecca said softly, turning to watch Eliza calling to their mother, beckoning her to join them inside. Rebecca didn’t follow, not right away.
Instead, she stood there on the drive, aware that the Duke had gone, and her mother and sister had left quickly indeed.
“I feel alone indeed,” Rebecca whispered to herself as she watched the footmen carry their portmanteaus inside.
* * *
“This will be your room, Lady Rebecca,” the housekeeper showed her into the chamber. Rebecca stepped inside, smiling when she saw what a pleasant room it was.
“It is fine indeed, thank you very much,” Rebecca said as she stepped inside. The way she was feeling, she had something very particular in mind she wanted to do. She reached for the portmanteau one of the footmen had brought in, collecting the spare papers and the silver inkwell she had brought with her, then she looked around, seeing there was no writing bureau or desk in the room.
“If there is anything else you need, my Lady, just ask,” the housekeeper said with kindly words.
“Actually, there is.” Rebecca turned to see the housekeeper still standing in the doorway, smiling, with her fair grey hair tucked under her white muslin cap. “Is there perhaps a library or a study room? I would like to write some, erm, letters.” Rebecca hoped the lie could not be seen through.
“Of course. Come with me, my Lady, I have just the place for you,” she said with excitement, beckoning Rebecca back out of the room. “It is one of my favorite rooms in the entire house,” she whispered to Rebecca as they hurried down the corridor together, as if fearful she was speaking out of turn. “It is not used half so much as I wish it were though. It is so fine one could hold a ball in it!”
“Grand indeed,” Rebecca laughed at the housekeeper’s enthusiasm. They talked for a while on the grandness of rooms, crossing from corridor to corridor, then down a small staircase, much smaller than the largest one that led through the very center of the manor. This one led to a different corridor near the back of the house.
“As you can see, there are fine views from this side of the house too,” the housekeeper said, gesturing to the arched windows they passed.
Rebecca appropriately ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the display, for through the glass was a sweeping view of the parkland. The hills were bending back and forth in nooks and notches, and trees were blooming in pink and white magnolia blossom near to the house.
“Here we are,” the housekeeper said at last as she pushed open an old oak door, one of the oldest looking things in the house to Rebecca’s mind.
As she stepped in, she found a library opened before her. She could see why the housekeeper had spoken of grandeur, for the room was two floors high, with a small mezzanine level just beneath the ceiling. There were books from floor to the top plaster work, with some only accessible by those that were brave enough to climb a spiral wooden staircase to the mezzanine level.
The room itself was draped in the darkest of woods, mahogany and redwood tables and chairs that gleamed in the strong sunlight streaming through the room. In the middle of all of this was an elegant writing bureau, with a small chair beside it.
“For you, my Lady,” the housekeeper said, gesturing down to it.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said, taking her seat hurriedly.
“If you need anything, ring the bell there, my Lady, and I’ll come.”
Rebecca thanked the good lady again and waited for her to depart, thinking of how happy Eliza could be in such a house with a housekeeper like that. It would be a fine thing indeed, if Lord Herberton held true to his affections…
Pushing that thought aside, Rebecca scrambled to place down a clean sheet of paper and dipped her quill in the ink from the inkwell, determined to write down her thoughts. Already a poem was beginning to take shape in her mind, and it was striking, begging her to be quick to write it down, before the thought fled entirely.
She was unsure how long she had been writing and re-writing, but she was so absorbed in the words, that she didn’t notice when the door opened.
“This is where you have been hiding then.” The Duke’s voice made Rebecca drop the quill and spill ink drops on the paper. She looked round to see the Duke walking toward her, with the housekeeper standing in the doorway, clearly there to chaperone the two of them.
“Clearly I have not been hiding well enough,” Rebecca mused, trying her best to hide the poem beneath another blank sheet of paper.
“Apologies, I pleaded with Mrs. McGinty to tell me where you were,” the Duke said by way of an explanation. “Blame me for being persuasive.”
“I do blame you,” Rebecca said playfully, pulling a laugh from him as he pulled up a chair from another writing bureau, turning it so he could sit down and face her with it.
“Why are you here, my Lady? Everyone else is gathered in the sitting room. There is talk of a walk on the estate.”
“A walk? I’d like that,” she said, looking up through the windows. “I will join you in a minute.”
“First, tell me why you have been hiding here.”
“I was not hiding.” As Rebecca went to stand, she grew inattentive of the papers, looking away. The sound of the papers rustling urged her to look back, seeing the Duke had the newly-written poem in his hands. “Wait, Your Grace, that is not ready to be seen!” She tried to snatch it back as he leaned away, taking it out of her reach, just as she realized it was too late.
The smile on his face had vanished, replaced by a furrowing of his brow.
