If Margaret noticed Lady Dudley’s impertinence, she gave no sign. She didn’t look remotely interested in the events of that afternoon, staring absently at the floor as Alexander led them to the correct pews.
“Remind me to introduce you to His Lordship the bishop once the singing is done,” he whispered to Margaret once they were seated. “Perhaps you are already acquainted with him? I do not know how often you have come to Salisbury Cathedral.”
Margaret blinked as though waking from a dream, then shook her head. “Not often,” she replied. “Mother and Father preferred the church in Amesbury and knew the parish vicar there. I have only ever seen the Bishop of Salisbury from afar.”
Alexander nodded. He looked down at Margaret’s hands, which were clasping a songbook tightly in her lap. She sat close enough that he could feel the heat from her shoulder, but her presence was cold and distant. They had not spent any private time together since their arrival in Wiltshire, too distracted by their guests and the demands of country society. Was she upset with him over something? It seemed likely that she might have been.
And yet attempting to ask her about it seems a dangerous task.
He could not help himself.
“Is something troubling you?”
“I’m merely tired,” she replied.
“Hm."
Behind them, Isadore whispered a question to Bastian. Alexander listened over his shoulder, watching them from the corner of his eye. She tugged on Bastian’s sleeve and gestured toward the misericords.
A moment later, he heard from Isadore, “I had no idea charity events could be so lavish. Are they always like this?”
“It largely depends on the organizers,” Bastian replied, sounding amused. “You see Lady Dudley over there, threatening that young boy with the choirmaster’s stick? She has excessively high standards. Once, when we were young, she found His Grace and a friend of ours swimming in her pond, and...”
Alexander turned back toward Margaret. “You are more than tired. You have barely said three words to me since we departed home.”
She glanced at him, then looked away.
“I’ve been listening to you all,” she said. “That’s all.”
No, that is not all. You are hiding something, he thought.
The music began a few minutes later. A hush fell across the pews as the choir prepared its opening hymn. Alexander sat back, attempting to focus on the music instead of the perplexing knot of silence between him and his wife.
Alexander squinted against the wind as it swept in on that chilly March afternoon. The attendants had gathered in the cathedral courtyard after the choir to be served hot drinks and cake. He had just extricated himself from a conversation with Lady Dudley and her peers, stepping away now that he was free to reunite with Margaret, wherever she had gone.
But the duchess was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, he walked to the nearest cloister, hoping to find her there. A few stragglers had settled in the shade of the walkways. Among them was Isadore, rather than Margaret, sticking her nose through the colonnade and peering into the courtyard.
“Have you at last shrugged off Mr. Hawthorne?” Alexander called as he approached.
Isadore looked surprised to see him, turning quickly. She was dressed in a coat he assumed Margaret had given her, a dark emerald green with bronze buttons that was much finer than anything a charwoman could afford.
“Shrugged off?” Isadore asked.
“He has been your constant companion since you arrived, but you asked no such thing of him, and neither did I. You have received his attentions gracefully, but I must ask—have they been bothering you in secret?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I have enjoyed his company very much, Your Grace. He has such fascinating stories and a kind word to say about everyone. I could never be bothered by a gentleman like him.”
“And yet you have escaped here alone. Why?”
“I wanted a moment to myself. But not on account of being bothered,” she confessed, stepping back from the columns. “I’m not used to this sort of society, and I don’t know the correct things to say to anyone. The duchess makes it look so easy.” She paused, looking tentatively his way. “It could not have been easy for you when they first brought you here and made a duke of you.”
It was Alexander’s turn to be surprised. “I was a child. Children are highly adaptable to change. Did you not feel the same way when you were taken from France to London? Though perhaps the circumstances are too different to compare. You were not entering an easy life.”
“Not easy, that’s true. I missed Calais very much when I first arrived in England. I did not have many friends in either place, but a familiar if cruel home is always more appealing than an unfamiliar one.”
“I see.” Alexander frowned. “But Calais?”
“Yes.” She blinked, confused, then her eyes went wide. “I meant Caen, of course. Calais is where the ferry departed. My apologies, yes. I meant Caen.”
