“Thank you.” The duchess glanced up at the woman beside her. “May I present Lady Venables, my younger sister?”
Leopold shifted his gaze to the other woman, doing his best to hide his surprise. The younger sister’s appearance hinted at a far greater age. As he considered her, he realized the darker tone of her gown and the sober expression might reflect a state of mourning. “Lady Venables, a pleasure.”
She inclined her head, but kept her lips pressed together, her expression wary. The mousy haired, reed-thin woman dressed in priggish navy muslin seemed wound as tightly as a bow string.
Leopold took another sip of his tea and let some of his tension fall away. Clearly all was not as expected at Romsey, but he should not anticipate the worst from these women. They undoubtedly had their own problems to deal with it seemed. Lady Venables might be less than friendly, but he had wrongly anticipated the duchess’ contempt. So far all he sensed was curiosity from her.
“Wilcox mentioned that it has been many years since you’ve been at Romsey. I must confess I cannot recall my husband ever mentioning you. Are you greatly estranged from the ducal line?”
“His Grace and I were second cousins.”
The duchess gasped. “Second cousins? But why would he never mention you? You must have been his heir? My son’s heir now.”
Leopold was very good at reading the lies people tried to hide. Her wide-eyed innocent questioning caused a flutter in his chest. She wasn’t lying in any way. She honestly hadn’t known of his existence before today. No wonder she had been wary of him. The thought settled in his stomach like a rock. If she had not known of him then it stood to reason that she may not even know the whereabouts of his family.
Although his heart pounded, Leopold shrugged as if his potential elevation in rank meant nothing. And it didn’t make the slightest difference to his plans. He had never wanted to be Romsey. “My father fell out with the old duke, his cousin, some years back. Family affairs have been tense ever since.”
The duchess glanced up at her sister. A silent communication seemed to pass between them, and then Lady Venable gave a tiny shake of her head. Her Grace bit her lip then set her teacup away from her. “Well then, that is all in the past. We are glad you have returned to Romsey. Wilcox, have a room prepared for our cousin.”
Stunned by the unexpected gesture, Leopold set his cup aside and held up his hand. “Your Grace is far too kind. I have already secured lodgings in the village for the extent of my stay. I would never impose upon your hospitality.”
Her mouth fell open, but she quickly recovered. “Well then.”
Silence thickened. He couldn’t ask his questions now. Clearly, she knew nothing of his family, or she was more of an accomplished liar than he’d first thought. He needed time to think, to regroup and determine a new strategy of how to broach the subject. He couldn’t scare her off with his knowledge of the old duke’s treachery. Instead, Leopold offered a half smile. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Your Grace, but I should not monopolize your time. Perhaps I might call upon you another day?”
The duchess inclined her head, but her expression betrayed her confusion at his rather abrupt leave-taking. “That would be acceptable. Perhaps you would join us for luncheon tomorrow. No doubt you would like to meet the duke.”
Leopold’s heart thumped painfully, but he managed to nod, climb to his feet, and leave her presence. As he crossed the entrance hall to collect his hat, he briefly regretted his decision not to press for information today. He didn’t want to remain in the district longer than he had to where loneliness for his family would only build in strength. He would avoid the usual haunts he and his brothers frequented and keep the memories of old close to his chest for another night.
But tomorrow he would come to dine and meet the infant duke. Tomorrow he would meet his last known living relation.
Chapter Four
Despite the shocking impropriety, Mercy’s joyous shriek echoed around the drawing room, bouncing off the formal portraits of the Dukes of Romsey quite nicely. Satisfied beyond measure, Mercy settled back into her chair and turned her head. “See, I told you we would be perfectly safe.”
Blythe sat where Leopold Randall had been moments before, but her expression hinted there would be a lecture coming. “You must keep up your guard at all times. He is an ambitious man by all accounts.”
Mercy threw her hands up to stop her words. “Oh, posh. Mr. Randall wouldn’t hurt anyone. He seems much too nice for all the evil you’ve just told me.”
Blythe scowled. “I merely repeat what I overheard your husband mentioning to mine years ago when he asked about the lack of family in the Romsey line. If you had been at his side as you should then you would heed the warnings. You must be on your guard from now on.”
Mercy chose to ignore the fact that Blythe had known about Leopold Randall’s existence before today and not told her about him. However, she honed in on the comment that she’d been a poor wife to her husband to have ever left his side. Blythe had doted on her husband. Yet Mercy had not had that kind of marriage. They had sometimes gone a whole week without speaking more than a few words together. It had stung, at first, but Edwin had made it clear that he preferred his privacy to her company.
She raised her hand toward Blythe to end her prattle. “Edwin had his physician on hand to care for him. Everything that could be done, was done. Should I have left my son in the care of servants during that terrible time of illne
ss? I could not have borne it.”
Blythe’s face grew taut with strain. “The nurse I recommended would have spared you the necessity so you could be at your husband’s side during his last days. You knew he had never fully recovered after the fever that took my Raphael and Adam.” Blythe’s voice cracked at the mention of her son’s name. Little Adam’s death was still a sharp loss for her sister.
Mercy pressed her lips together. They’d been down this road before, arguing over every small detail of wifely responsibility, and Mercy’s failure. She was so sick of feeling her younger sister’s censure. Blythe had had a marriage to make a woman envious. Mercy had not. But because of Blythe’s grief, she often held back from saying exactly what she thought of her sister’s advice on the subject of husbands. It took two willing people to make a marriage perfect. Mercy had been willing, Edwin had not.
She ran her hand over the silk of her gown, thinking of Leopold Randall’s visit. “He is handsome, don’t you think?”
Blythe fussed with the folds of her gown, heightening her appearance of prim respectability. “I hardly think a duchess should notice those things about men.”
Oh, Mercy noticed. Yet she’d never met a man to put such thoughts into her head so quickly. Mr. Randall’s sun-kissed complexion, his obvious good health and virility, appealed. “Duchess I may be, but I think Mr. Randall is quite attractive. Do you think he spent many years in India?”
Blythe shuddered. “By his own words, he suggested as much. But I am not interested in speculating about such heathen places. We have more important things to discuss.”