“Would you mind leaving me now?” Augusta asked. “I wish to visit my son. As you know, he is still recovering from his dreadful accident.”
The Countess rose to bob a quick curtsey, murmuring her respects, and walked toward the door. Augusta watched her go, noticing her perfectly straight back and its unbowed attitude.I am not afraid of youthat spine said to her, and it made her even more furious. Giving Lady Whitington time to depart the vicinity of the solar, Augusta also stood, and, with her attending footman, walked through the castle and up the stairs to Wilmot’s apartments.
The valet bowed her through to Wilmot’s bedchamber, her son sitting in an armchair, watching out the window. He wore only his dressing gown, his arm still wrapped in a pristine bandage, resting it gingerly on the arm of the chair. He looked up as she approached and stood to greet her.
“Mother.”
“What are you doing still dressed for bed?” she demanded.
Wilmot shrugged. “I am in and out of bed, Mother. I do not feel like dressing, only to lie down again.”
Taking the chair he just vacated, Augusta looked him up and down. “Are you not feeling well? It has been days since you hurt yourself. Surely you have recovered enough to be about and leave your rooms.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Wilmot shrugged again. “I lost a great deal of blood. I am always tired.”
“Nonsense. It was just a small cut.”
“Mr. Leary thought I might lose my arm. He told me how lucky I am that I am able to keep it.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Wilmot,” she snapped. “I should dismiss that man for lying to you.”
Turning his face away, Wilmot gazed out the window without speaking.
“I insist you come to dinner tonight, Wilmot,” she said. “The Earl and Countess of Whitington are here, and I wish you to meet their daughter, Lady Helena.”
“Yes. I heard.”
“Then you will come.” Augusta did not ask and assumed Wilmot would obey her.
“Why should I meet her?” he asked, still gazing out the window. “Is she not here to negotiate marriage with Maximilian?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then it is nothing to me. I do not feel ready to meet guests.”
Augusta stood. “You will be at supper tonight, Wilmot. Do not disappoint me.”
* * *
Rather than return to her solar, Augusta ordered a footman to bring Lady Helena to her in her private chambers. She thought to interview the girl, then lie down until dinner. Getting angry never failed to weary her. Sitting in her favorite chair beside the blazing hearth, she waited, as her abigail heated water in a pot for tea. The knock at her chamber door announced Lady Helena's arrival, but she also brought her personal maid.
Augusta sniffed, gesturing for Lady Helena to sit as the two girls offered their respects and eyed the maid sidelong. She had observed the way Maximilian had looked at the girl, had watched as he smiled and spoke to her. Obviously, her inept stepson found a lowly maid more interesting than the daughter of the Earl of Whitington. At first, Augusta felt inclined to send the dark-haired girl away but decided against it.
“I asked you here, Lady Helena,” Augusta began, “as I wished to speak with you alone.”
“I wanted Eugenia to be with me,” Lady Helena replied, quite unable to halt the quaver in her voice.
She is afraid of me. Good. Good.
Augusta accepted a cup of tea from Eloise, but deliberately refrained from inviting her guest to have some. “That matters not, Lady Helena,” she said, expansive, generous. “Your abigail may hear what I have to say.”
The maid stood behind her mistress, clearly ill at ease, but without the nervousness Lady Helena displayed. She watched Augusta carefully with those hazel eyes, as though she studied a hound of uncertain temperament. Dismissing her presence, Augusta turned her attention back to Lady Helena.
“The wife of a Duke has much to be responsible for,” she began. “Bearing her husband a son is, of course, the most important.”
“I realize this, Your Grace.”
“Obviously, there is no way to evaluate your fertility, my dear, so we must be hopeful.”
