“Good morning,” Joan said, projecting far more confidence than she felt. “I am Miss Joan Sinclair of Fairfax Manor. I wish to speak with the Duke of Ashcroft on a matter of some importance.”
The butler’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “Do you have an appointment, Miss?”
“No, but I assure you?—”
“Then I’m afraid His Grace cannot see you. He does not receive visitors without prior arrangement.” The butler began to close the door.
Joan stuck her foot in the gap, an undignified gesture, but an effective one. “I beg your pardon, but as a citizen and temporary resident, I have every right to petition the Duke on matters concerning the welfare of his tenants and their children.”
The butler stared at her foot, then at her face, as though he couldn’t quite believe her audacity.
“Miss, I insist?—”
“And I must insist that you convey my request to His Grace,” Joan said firmly. “I am not leaving until I have spoken with him. If he chooses to refuse me after hearing my purpose, I will naturally respect his decision. But I will not be turned away without even the courtesy of an audience.”
A long silence stretched between them. Joan kept her foot firmly in place and met the butler’s gaze without flinching.
Finally, with a sigh that suggested he was far too old for this sort of nonsense, the butler stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Very well, Miss Sinclair. Please wait here while I inquire whether His Grace will see you.”
Joan stepped into the entrance hall, trying not to gape at the opulence surrounding her. A grand staircase swept upward to the upper floors, its balustrade carved with intricate detail. Paintings in gilded frames lined the walls family portraits, she assumed, of previous Dukes and their families.
But for all its magnificence, there was coldness about the space. Something lifeless. The rooms felt more like a museum than a home beautiful but untouched, as though no one actually lived here.
The butler returned after what felt like an eternity. His expression was carefully neutral, but Joan detected a glimmer of something in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? Perhaps both.
“His Grace will see you,” he said. “If you would follow me.”
Joan released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and followed the butler down a long corridor. Their footsteps echoed on the polished floors, and Joan became increasingly aware of the oppressive silence of the house. No sounds of servants bustling about their duties. No distant voices or laughter. Just silence, broken only by the ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere nearby.
The butler glanced back at her, and his mouth curved into something that might have been a smile if it held any warmth whatsoever.
“Are you not concerned about your reputation, Miss?” he asked. “Coming alone to call upon an unmarried gentleman? Without even a maid to accompany you?”
Joan stiffened at the insinuation in his tone.He thinks I’m one of those women, she realized with a flash of anger.One of those desperate creatures who throw themselves at titled men in hopes of securing a proposal.
“I have no reputation left to protect,” Joan said coolly. “Therefore, I have no worries on that score.”
The butler’s chuckle was as cold. “Well then, Miss. I do hope you get what you desire from His Grace.”
The way he said it made Joan’s skin prickle with unease, but she kept her head high and her expression composed as they stopped before a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor.
The butler opened it and gestured for her to enter. “Miss Joan Sinclair, Your Grace.”
Joan stepped into the room and immediately felt her confidence waver.
The chamber was large and luxuriously appointed. Persian rugs covered the floor. Heavy velvet drapes hung at the windows. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, though no fire burned in it despite the morning chill.
But what struck Joan most forcefully was the darkness.
Heavy curtains had been drawn across all but one window, leaving only a narrow shaft of sunlight to illuminate the space. The rest of the room lay in deep shadow, making it nearly impossible to see clearly.
Joan’s heartbeat quickened. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and flee.
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself firmly.You’ve come this far. You will not run away like a frightened child.
The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.
