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Authors: Sarah M. Eden
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to be in receipt of a letter from you reinstating his employment and wishes to express his most heartfelt thanks.” Barton delivered the message without so much as a change in expression.
“Tell Mr. Jones that if he wishes to show gratitude, he can do so by taking himself off.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Barton executed a dignified bow and took his leave down the corridor, no doubt to deliver, verbatim, Adam’s response.
Jones would scurry away like a frightened rabbit. Adam had some satisfaction in that knowledge, at least.
He allowed a glance in the direction of Barton’s retreating back, his thoughts on the confrontation he would be missing. His attention, however, was quickly recalled when he realized Persephone still stood quite near, her gaze riveted on his face.
He would not be stared at in his own house.
“Haven’t you some household duty to see to?” He turned his back once more, closing the distance between himself and his book room.
“Several,” he heard Persephone answer in a tone clearly laced with resignation. “I ought to have seen to them before now. Another of my obvious flaws, I suppose.”
Though he doubted her reply was meant to be barbed, it stung just the same. He hadn’t intended to imply that she was flawed, only the idea of a marriage between the two of them.
Persephone’s footsteps sounded, muted by the long, woven rug running the length of the stone floor. Adam turned his face and watched her go. She held her head high, her posture perfectly straight. But as he watched her retreat, Adam saw Persephone wrap her arms around her waist, and he knew, watching her, it was a gesture of self-comforting.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. The realization shocked him. Not so much the hurting without meaning to as the idea that he hadn’t set out to cause her pain. When, he silently asked himself, was the last time he’d met someone whom he hadn’t instantly felt the need to lash out at?
At what point had he grown weak and vulnerable?
Emotions had no place in his life. No place, whatsoever.
That, he reminded himself, could never change.
Chapter Nine
Dear Persephone,
We have been home for two days now and I am nearly dead with boredom! Athena spends all her time reading fashion magazines and practicing country dances, which she does not perform well, at all. I do not think she will find a husband dancing like she does. No gentleman wants to marry someone who dances like a cow.
Persephone smiled for what felt like the first time since arriving in Northumberland. Poor Artemis, to endure the raptures Persephone could easily imagine Athena, at the very romantic age of eighteen, indulging in at the prospect of a London Season. Athena ever was the romantic of the family. Daphne was the shy, practical one, even at eleven. And Artemis, though only eight, had the reputation for dramatics.
Papa has engaged a governess, but she will not arrive for another week. So I am running around like a heathen (that is what Mrs. Russell says) and terrorizing the neighborhood. It’s lovely. I wish you were here so we could be heathens together.
When can I come explore your towers? You did promise. Do duchesses have to keep promises? I have been wondering about that.
I will have my birthday in London, Daphne says. I think that could be fun, but I am not sure yet. I will invite you. If the duke wants to come, he can too, even if he never did talk to me once while I was at his castle.
Please write to me. Be sure to put the guinea under the seal.
Your sister,
Artemis
“You seem in good spirits this afternoon.”
Persephone looked up at Harry Windover, who had apparently entered the sitting room while she was reading. “I have been reading a letter from my youngest sister, Mr.—” A disapproving look changed the words even as they left her lips. “Harry,” she corrected with a smile.
“She writes with good news, then?”
“She has written a letter filled with crises, actually.” Persephone
“Tell Mr. Jones that if he wishes to show gratitude, he can do so by taking himself off.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Barton executed a dignified bow and took his leave down the corridor, no doubt to deliver, verbatim, Adam’s response.
Jones would scurry away like a frightened rabbit. Adam had some satisfaction in that knowledge, at least.
He allowed a glance in the direction of Barton’s retreating back, his thoughts on the confrontation he would be missing. His attention, however, was quickly recalled when he realized Persephone still stood quite near, her gaze riveted on his face.
He would not be stared at in his own house.
“Haven’t you some household duty to see to?” He turned his back once more, closing the distance between himself and his book room.
“Several,” he heard Persephone answer in a tone clearly laced with resignation. “I ought to have seen to them before now. Another of my obvious flaws, I suppose.”
Though he doubted her reply was meant to be barbed, it stung just the same. He hadn’t intended to imply that she was flawed, only the idea of a marriage between the two of them.
Persephone’s footsteps sounded, muted by the long, woven rug running the length of the stone floor. Adam turned his face and watched her go. She held her head high, her posture perfectly straight. But as he watched her retreat, Adam saw Persephone wrap her arms around her waist, and he knew, watching her, it was a gesture of self-comforting.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. The realization shocked him. Not so much the hurting without meaning to as the idea that he hadn’t set out to cause her pain. When, he silently asked himself, was the last time he’d met someone whom he hadn’t instantly felt the need to lash out at?
At what point had he grown weak and vulnerable?
Emotions had no place in his life. No place, whatsoever.
That, he reminded himself, could never change.
Chapter Nine
Dear Persephone,
We have been home for two days now and I am nearly dead with boredom! Athena spends all her time reading fashion magazines and practicing country dances, which she does not perform well, at all. I do not think she will find a husband dancing like she does. No gentleman wants to marry someone who dances like a cow.
Persephone smiled for what felt like the first time since arriving in Northumberland. Poor Artemis, to endure the raptures Persephone could easily imagine Athena, at the very romantic age of eighteen, indulging in at the prospect of a London Season. Athena ever was the romantic of the family. Daphne was the shy, practical one, even at eleven. And Artemis, though only eight, had the reputation for dramatics.
Papa has engaged a governess, but she will not arrive for another week. So I am running around like a heathen (that is what Mrs. Russell says) and terrorizing the neighborhood. It’s lovely. I wish you were here so we could be heathens together.
When can I come explore your towers? You did promise. Do duchesses have to keep promises? I have been wondering about that.
I will have my birthday in London, Daphne says. I think that could be fun, but I am not sure yet. I will invite you. If the duke wants to come, he can too, even if he never did talk to me once while I was at his castle.
Please write to me. Be sure to put the guinea under the seal.
Your sister,
Artemis
“You seem in good spirits this afternoon.”
Persephone looked up at Harry Windover, who had apparently entered the sitting room while she was reading. “I have been reading a letter from my youngest sister, Mr.—” A disapproving look changed the words even as they left her lips. “Harry,” she corrected with a smile.
“She writes with good news, then?”
“She has written a letter filled with crises, actually.” Persephone
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