Verity did as well when he couldn’t see, before clearing her throat. “What a wonderful idea, Aunt Eugenia. Perhaps we hadbetter halt today’s attempts at studying the past. We will search for more records, and once we find them, we will inform you, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I might join you on the morrow to assist in the search,” he suggested, slowly turning to meet her gaze.
Her smile faltered as she forced a nod. She would not show her annoyance. “If you insist.”
“I do,” he affirmed in a clipped tone.
“Tomorrow, then. I shall see you out,” she offered.
But just as Verity took a step toward the hall, where she could politely toss him out, there was a loud crack that made all three of them jump.
Light flickered a second later. They all twisted toward the window. The noisy yet innocent rain had turned into a storm. She winced as another crack of thunder sounded. Eugenia gasped, putting a hand over her heart.
A long moment passed as the three of them stared out the window. How long had it been raining? Verity had been too distracted to pay the weather much mind this afternoon.
If he’ll just take his leave, then I can finally have my peace back. But how am I supposed to throw him out in this weather?
“Oh dear,” Eugenia said, her lips pursed.
She glanced at the Duke for a long moment before turning to Verity. The woman didn’t have to say anything but peer over her spectacles to confirm what no one wanted to say.
Still, she said it. “I fear you may not need to return on the morrow. We cannot send you out in this weather—you’ll catch your death.”
The Duke frowned. “I cannot stay.”
“But you must,” Eugenia insisted, leaving no room for argument. “Do make yourself comfortable, Your Grace, and pray that the storm dies down soon. Because you won’t be leaving until it does.”
CHAPTER 3
Tristan ran his fingertips repeatedly over his cufflinks for reassurance that he was not sleeping and living a nightmare.
But nothing changed. He was still here.
Approximately four hours and twenty-three minutes had passed since his arrival at Redcliff Manor. He’d spent an hour in the parlor with the women before realizing he was trapped there. Afterward, he had toured the shabby estate for two hours, took an hour-long warm bath, and then spent several minutes waiting for supper to be ready.
“Your Grace, do join us,” Lady Wetherby requested as she came around. “We do not need such formalities here.”
Yet she stares at me like I am a stain on her floors. Floors that have seen much, much better days.
What an odd place this is. Threadbare for the most part, and yet this lady wears countless gems. Does she hold a tight purse? I cannot imagine she is cruel, although she is… strange.
“Allow me,” he said, offering her his arm.
When she caught him looking behind them, she reassured him, “My niece shall be here soon. Most likely, she is in the kitchen. She oversees everything.”
“She answers the door for guests as well,” he noted. “I have only met one servant thus far.”
“Such an astute man. One might almost suspect you came here intentionally to sniff us out. Tell me, Your Grace, is it simply land contracts that brought you to our esteemed doorstep?” she asked as they walked into the dining room.
It was a large room, dominated by a rectangular table in the center. It could fit a grand supper party. However, only a corner was set up with candles and plates with three trays of food.
As Tristan paused to take in the simple setting, Lady Verity walked in with a fourth tray laden with soup bowls. She glanced at him for only a moment, her lips pressing tightly together, before she concentrated on getting to the table.
The tray was too heavy for a young lady. But Lady Wetherby tightened her grip on his arm when he took a step forward.
“Don’t,” she muttered quietly.
Perplexing. And I don’t like feeling perplexed.
