“George did love to write in high style,” the Duchess remarked. “Hearing you read it out is almost like having him at my side again.” The Duchess took out a hanky and dabbed at her eyes.
“Shall I stop?” Evelyn asked. “I do not wish to make you unhappy.”
“Oh, no, dear child. We had a wonderful marriage, and many happy days together. These tears are merely water to keep my memories green and growing. I would not want for George to be forgotten.”
“Very well,” Evelyn said. “I shall read on.”
“‘My Duchess and I rode over in the high perch phaeton. She looked very fine in a trim habit of gray lambswool, a top hat and veil. Although the long linen duster did rather spoil the general effect, it protected her gown and jacket from the dust of our passage.’”
Evelyn paused. “I thought the late Duke of Tolware did not care for travel.”
“Not as a general rule,” the Duchess said judiciously, “But he did not mind riding in an open-air conveyance. I was expecting Darrius at the time, and he did not wish to expose me to the jouncing I would have received on horseback. I rather resented the cosseting, but since Darrius proved to be our one and only child, in retrospect I can scarcely blame George for taking care of me.”
“Indeed,” Evelyn agreed equably. “Shall I read on?”
“Oh, do please,” the Duchess encouraged her.
Evelyn continued,
“‘The entrance is through a long lane, pleasantly lined with chestnut trees on either side. Between the trees, one can gain glimpses of the cricket field and the bowling green. Drawing up in front of the house we were met by Barnard Rutley, Earl of Hillsworth, his young son, and his stripling younger brother.’”
Evelyn paused and cleared her throat.
“Tea?” Her Grace suggested.
“Yes, please,” Evelyn replied. “I swallowed quite a lot of dust while I was looking.”
“Pour for both of us, if you don’t mind,” the Duchess directed.
Evelyn obediently took the tea cozy off the pot that stood on the small table in front of the Duchess and poured a cup for each of them. She then added sugar and cream to the Duchess’ tea, while taking her own tea plain.
“You do not wish to have any sugar or cream?” the Dowager Duchess asked. “You want fattening up, my dear. You are thin as a rail.”
“I never learned to like it that way,” Evelyn replied. “Then, when dear John was at his worst, we discovered that cream and sugar increased the phlegm in his throat. But that drinking his tea straight or with a little lemon could ease his coughing spasms and make them occur less often.”
“So sad that he should pass away so young, and that you should have such a brief time together,” the Duchess said. “I am glad that George and I had so many rich years.”
Evelyn sighed just a little. “I could have wished for more years. But toward the end he was so miserable. I was deeply saddened when he slipped away into that final sleep, but truly, I could not have wished for him to suffer more.”
“Consumption is a difficult disease,” the Duchess agreed.
The two ladies were silent for a moment then Evelyn said, “Shall I read on?”
“Oh, please do,” said Her Grace. “I am truly sorry for your loss, but infinitely grateful to have discovered you in your time of need. The Dreadful Creature who previously held your post kept mooning after Darrius, and I simply could not have it.”
“I can assure you,” Evelyn replied, “that I have no intention of mooning after anyone. John was my true love. One can hardly expect to find another in a single lifetime.”
“Quite so, quite so. Now, do read on. I love sharing the pleasant memories. We had a grand time that day. Hillsworth Estate has rather fallen to ruin since Lord Barnard’s time, but it was beautiful that spring. I think he must have employed more than one hundred gardeners to manage the grounds.”
“Oh, my. Is it as large as that?” Evelyn looked up from the page, which was written in an elegant, flowing hand that was somewhat difficult to read.
“It is. More than one hundred acres, and most of it under cultivation in one way or another. We were privileged to see the mowers at work with their long scythes. They were followed after by a team of giggling young women who used rakes to gather up the grass clippings and put them in baskets.”
“What were they giggling about?” Evelyn asked, willing to be amused.
“Oh, silly jokes,” the Duchess smiled at the memory. “Something about the length of each gardener’s pole, and what else might grow in his garden. Or where else he might plant.”
Evelyn laughed. “Oh, dear. Such naughty lassies.”
