Leandra’s unwarranted faith in her absent spouse but she said nothing.
“There is nothing for it but to welcome them, I suppose. Show them in, Mrs. Stark.”
“In here, madam?” the woman asked, surprised that the duchess would want her family in her little sanctuary.
Leandra looked around the morning room and sighed. “Have they all come?”
“As to that, I wouldn’t know. So far there are four ladies and three children.”
“The earl didn’t come?”
Mrs. Stark shook her head.
“Very well. Have the children taken up to the nursery—we do have a nursery, do we not?—and appoint Bessie to watch over them if they have not brought their own maids. Have the blue, rose, and violet chambers prepared on the second floor. Be sure to place Lady Michaella in the yellow chamber on the third floor. Escort the ladies into the drawing room until their chambers are ready and I will join them shortly.”
The duchess withdrew to the door, then paused. Without turning around she said, “He will not be pleased about this, will he?”
“No, madam, he will not,” the old woman replied. She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand.
Leandra took her time about changing her gown and freshening up her appearance, delaying the inevitably distressing confrontation. Liza arranged her dark brown hair in curls and waves with a pretty gold ribbon and helped her into her emerald green silk gown with the gold velvet piping. She wore little gold slippers and a gold locket around her neck that had been loaned to her by Mrs. Stark. The dress was a trifle fancy for afternoon wear and lower at the neck than she was used to but the ensemble gave her a confidence that she was very much afraid she would need.
What she didn’t realize was that the gown made her look quite pretty. The green of the dress made her eyes stand out behind her spectacles like emeralds of the finest quality. The flecks of gold were still there and perhaps even more prominent because of the gold trim on her gown.
Leandra walked with a natural grace that most other women envied. The ladies from her old home were no different. When she entered the drawing room, Leandra noticed the barely veiled anger and hatred in the stares of her family. She ignored it and welcomed them to her home, hiding well her disinclination to do so.
The maid and footman standing at attention in the room were astonished at the lack of warmth in their mistress’s soft voice. She held her head at a haughty angle that was unusual and her smile did not reach the emerald of her eyes. In fact, they thought proudly, she looked every inch a duchess.
As was often the case, the servants had uncovered the circumstances of Leandra’s birth, something not very astonishing since Leandra herself was rather outspoken about it. Though at first they were inclined to condemn her, it didn’t take long for them to, for the most part, accept that she was a person worthy of their devotion and respect. Hence, they answered to no one but her or those directed by her.
“My dear,” the Dowager Lady Harwood—Leandra’s stepmother—gushed with every appearance of enthusiasm. “How are you, child?”
Something flickered in Leandra’s green eyes. They suddenly dimmed in color and appeared to change to a gold color very much like that of the dowager’s. Anyone who knew her well would notice the change. Her servants noticed.
She smiled though everything in her resisted. “My lady. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
Miss Michaella Harcourt, Leandra’s unwed stepsister, stood and curtsied properly, as befitted her half-sister’s new station. Rising gracefully, she then approached Leandra. “Are you well, Merri?” she asked, sincere concern quivering on every word.
Leandra gave her sister a genuine smile. “Oh yes, dearest Michaella. I am quite well. You look tired, though. Would you like to retire to your room for a rest?” She sensed it would be best for her gentle sister to be absent from the
“There is nothing for it but to welcome them, I suppose. Show them in, Mrs. Stark.”
“In here, madam?” the woman asked, surprised that the duchess would want her family in her little sanctuary.
Leandra looked around the morning room and sighed. “Have they all come?”
“As to that, I wouldn’t know. So far there are four ladies and three children.”
“The earl didn’t come?”
Mrs. Stark shook her head.
“Very well. Have the children taken up to the nursery—we do have a nursery, do we not?—and appoint Bessie to watch over them if they have not brought their own maids. Have the blue, rose, and violet chambers prepared on the second floor. Be sure to place Lady Michaella in the yellow chamber on the third floor. Escort the ladies into the drawing room until their chambers are ready and I will join them shortly.”
The duchess withdrew to the door, then paused. Without turning around she said, “He will not be pleased about this, will he?”
“No, madam, he will not,” the old woman replied. She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand.
Leandra took her time about changing her gown and freshening up her appearance, delaying the inevitably distressing confrontation. Liza arranged her dark brown hair in curls and waves with a pretty gold ribbon and helped her into her emerald green silk gown with the gold velvet piping. She wore little gold slippers and a gold locket around her neck that had been loaned to her by Mrs. Stark. The dress was a trifle fancy for afternoon wear and lower at the neck than she was used to but the ensemble gave her a confidence that she was very much afraid she would need.
What she didn’t realize was that the gown made her look quite pretty. The green of the dress made her eyes stand out behind her spectacles like emeralds of the finest quality. The flecks of gold were still there and perhaps even more prominent because of the gold trim on her gown.
Leandra walked with a natural grace that most other women envied. The ladies from her old home were no different. When she entered the drawing room, Leandra noticed the barely veiled anger and hatred in the stares of her family. She ignored it and welcomed them to her home, hiding well her disinclination to do so.
The maid and footman standing at attention in the room were astonished at the lack of warmth in their mistress’s soft voice. She held her head at a haughty angle that was unusual and her smile did not reach the emerald of her eyes. In fact, they thought proudly, she looked every inch a duchess.
As was often the case, the servants had uncovered the circumstances of Leandra’s birth, something not very astonishing since Leandra herself was rather outspoken about it. Though at first they were inclined to condemn her, it didn’t take long for them to, for the most part, accept that she was a person worthy of their devotion and respect. Hence, they answered to no one but her or those directed by her.
“My dear,” the Dowager Lady Harwood—Leandra’s stepmother—gushed with every appearance of enthusiasm. “How are you, child?”
Something flickered in Leandra’s green eyes. They suddenly dimmed in color and appeared to change to a gold color very much like that of the dowager’s. Anyone who knew her well would notice the change. Her servants noticed.
She smiled though everything in her resisted. “My lady. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
Miss Michaella Harcourt, Leandra’s unwed stepsister, stood and curtsied properly, as befitted her half-sister’s new station. Rising gracefully, she then approached Leandra. “Are you well, Merri?” she asked, sincere concern quivering on every word.
Leandra gave her sister a genuine smile. “Oh yes, dearest Michaella. I am quite well. You look tired, though. Would you like to retire to your room for a rest?” She sensed it would be best for her gentle sister to be absent from the
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