“No one, Your Grace,” Teresa said stiffly, refusing to call him by his name, making her opinion of their situation clear with two words. “They are not real; they are a fiction.”
Isolde smiled coldly at him. “My sister was just telling us that she means to rearrange the library to better accommodate her collection of books.”
Did she tell you that I caught her when she fell?Judging by the woman’s icy gaze, Cyrus suspected not.
“She is free to do as she pleases with the rooms,” he said flatly. “Indeed, she has already begun to make changes.”
Prudence lounged across a wicker chair, eyeing him warily. “I imagine it would take an army to change anything in an old place like this. They say that castles do not appreciate transformation, stubbornly holding on to the damp and the cold.” She paused. “Are there ghosts here?”
“Prudence!” Teresa scolded out of the corner of her mouth.
“If there are, I have not encountered them,” Cyrus lied. “Perhaps, you might inform me if you see one.”
The unknown woman got to her feet, crossed the room and extended her hand, her eyes burning a hole through him. “I do not believe we have been formally introduced, though I have heard plenty.” Her smile was a bitter thing. “Beatrice. Miss Johnson, if you prefer.”
Cyrus stared at the proffered hand. “The Duke of Darnley. Your Grace, if you prefer.”
“You will not shake my hand?” she challenged.
“I will not. It is inappropriate.” He nodded toward Teresa. “The only hand I will touch is that of my wife.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to figure him out. “You must forgive me for not attending your wedding,” shesaid blithely, a moment later. “I am not well liked by my best friend’s brother. Blames me, apparently, for putting notions into Teresa’s head and causing this union.”
“So, I should thank you?” he replied, attempting a jest, though it did not come naturally to him. “Indeed, Lady Prudence, if it is ghosts that you seek, perhaps you ought to speak to your sister. She knows all about apparitions emerging from walls.”
Teresa turned bright red, her eyes wide, her mouth open in disbelief. And though a partial smirk appeared upon Prudence’s lips, no one laughed. He did not have Silas or Anthony’s talent for this, for though his father and grandfather had been gone some fifteen years,theireducation was the one ingrained. They had never encouraged him to joke or smile or laugh or indulge in silliness; rather, such things had been just cause for punishment.
“Do you think it kind to embarrass your wife?” Isolde chimed in, her voice dropping the temperature in the glasshouse.
Rather than take offense or admit that he was not particularly good at humor, Cyrus cast a cool look at the oldest sister. “I do not think the story of our meeting is embarrassing. If it were in, say, a chapter of this Captain and Miss Savage fiction, I suspect your opinion might be different.”
“Oh, I would swoon!” Prudence confessed, gaining a sharp glance from both her sisters that turned her cheeks pink and widened her grin, though she tried to hide it behind the rim of a teacup.
Beatrice, however, kept her frosty gaze on Cyrus. “Perhaps, you would do well to study those books yourself. Then, you might learn how best to treat my dearest friend.” She lowered her voice, so that only he could hear. “From what I gather, you have not been in the least bit attentive, and I will not stand for anything but the utmost joy for my darling Teresa. I warn you, if you make her sad, you will come to regret it.”
Cyrus leaned in a little. “And I warn you, Miss Johnson, I do not take kindly to threats.” He paused. “Do not sour my gratitude; you will not like the consequences.”
In truth, he did not know anything about this woman, but he knew who would: Anthony. If she gave him reason to retaliate, she would discover that the hermit of Darnley Castle was not without fangs, still sharp after all these years in isolation. And hewoulddefend what was his, even if his wife did not want to be near him at present.
Yet, he could not deny that he was pleased that his wife had such a loyal friend, even if he would not say so to Beatrice.
“Luncheon is being served in the dining room,” he announced. “One cannot survive on tea and cake alone, and you have had tiring journeys. Please, make your way there. I require a moment alone with my wife.”
Teresa’s sisters and friend hesitated, glancing at her.
“With respect, we have not seen our sister in almost two weeks,” Isolde protested. “We will escort her to the dining room.Whatever you have to say to her, I am certain you can say it with us here.”
Beatrice nodded. “Indeed.”
“What is for luncheon?” Prudence asked, rising from her chair.
With an earnest smile, Teresa gestured for Isolde and Beatrice to leave. “I will be quite all right, and shall join you in just a moment. If you walk slowly, I will likely catch up to you before you have even reached the castle.”
Still, Isolde hesitated. “Are you certain?”
“I am,” Teresa replied.
Observing the scene, his gaze drifting from woman to woman, Cyrus realized just how rich Teresa was, wealthy with the sort of fortune that could not be bought: siblings who adored and protected her, a friend who would threaten a duke on her behalf, confident in the love they had for her and the love she had for them.
