company.
She came back around the house with only John for company. She conferred briefly with his coachmen, who were sharing a smoke. They snuffed their pipes and stowed them under their greatcoats, then pulled themselves back up on to their seats. They nodded respectfully in his direction, and drove away, taking the lantern light with them.
‘Now you, my lady,’ she said, coming to him.
‘Are you going to hoist me over your shoulder, as well?’ He wondered if she was as suddenly conscious as he that they were alone together in the dark. Marooned on this desert island.
‘Hold your skirts in tight,’ was all she said, before turning. Assuming he would follow her. He watched her disappear into the dark.
He followed her.
She went slowly, and held branches away from him as he passed. The silence pushed against him and his sense of her became muted. By the time he came through the gate she held open to him, into the kitchen garden, his skin was damp and breathing was a sickening exercise.
He had begun to think the house abandoned, wild, but light spilled from two spotless leaded windows into the garden.
Miss Sutherland opened the heavy kitchen door, giving it a practised shove with her shoulder. He caught the shake of her head as he swept past her. Not a communication to him. A simple, bodily denial that this was in any way a good idea. She had not, after all, exaggerated when she told him her house was not fit for a duke.
The kitchen was as clean as its windows, though most of its surfaces were worn and there was little evidence of crockery or pans.
‘This is Liza,’ said Miss Sutherland, gesturing to a red-faced woman whose hands gripped tightly into her apron as she hovered in a curtsey. Miss Sutherland placed a hand on the maid’s shoulders, and it was a soft touch, Darlington thought, confused. ‘Liza is a right angel, come to save my poor hands from cracking any worse than need be.’
The maid swatted Miss Sutherland’s hand from her, bobbed one last curtsey in Darlington’s direction and turned back to kneading dough on the large wooden table that dominated half the room. Miss Sutherland jerked her head towards the door on the far side of the kitchen and made to walk through it.
‘Now there I must protest,’ he said. ‘I know we have left London far behind us, but am I really to follow your gestures like a trained dog?’
She became unnaturally rigid.
‘Do please forgive me, my lady. Would Your Ladyship prefer that I bow and scrape and ask Your Ladyship’s permission for every little thing, in my own home, because Your Ladyship has graced it with her presence?’
I would prefer that you be kind , he thought, then pulled away from the thought, embarrassed.
‘The common courtesies should suffice,’ he simpered. He gestured for her to lead on and put as much condescension as he could into it.
Her golden eyes narrowed, but she bobbed her head. ‘If you would follow me, my lady.’ The door opened into a hall and he thought he heard her whisper a curse on the other side of it.
‘Please wait here, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I’ll announce you.’
‘You needn’t —’
‘No, please, let me announce you.’
‘Miss Sutherland, I didn’t mean for you to —’
‘I want to greet my mother without you watching me do it! I haven’t seen her for seven weeks.’
He sank into a deep, graceful curtsey. ‘Of course.’
She opened the next door down the hall and entered that room. He followed quietly in her wake and pressed his ear to the door after she shut it.
‘Ma,’ she said quietly, and then again, a little louder. She laughed, the sound evidence of a warmth in her he hadn’t been allowed to see.
‘. . . sleep you silly old woman.’
‘Katherine Grace.’ This voice was softer, indistinct. ‘. . . never manage . . . manners . . . woman. Let me look at you. Oh . . . graceful, very . . .’
‘Don’t fuss over me, Ma, it’s just Lydia playing dress-ups with
She came back around the house with only John for company. She conferred briefly with his coachmen, who were sharing a smoke. They snuffed their pipes and stowed them under their greatcoats, then pulled themselves back up on to their seats. They nodded respectfully in his direction, and drove away, taking the lantern light with them.
‘Now you, my lady,’ she said, coming to him.
‘Are you going to hoist me over your shoulder, as well?’ He wondered if she was as suddenly conscious as he that they were alone together in the dark. Marooned on this desert island.
‘Hold your skirts in tight,’ was all she said, before turning. Assuming he would follow her. He watched her disappear into the dark.
He followed her.
She went slowly, and held branches away from him as he passed. The silence pushed against him and his sense of her became muted. By the time he came through the gate she held open to him, into the kitchen garden, his skin was damp and breathing was a sickening exercise.
He had begun to think the house abandoned, wild, but light spilled from two spotless leaded windows into the garden.
Miss Sutherland opened the heavy kitchen door, giving it a practised shove with her shoulder. He caught the shake of her head as he swept past her. Not a communication to him. A simple, bodily denial that this was in any way a good idea. She had not, after all, exaggerated when she told him her house was not fit for a duke.
The kitchen was as clean as its windows, though most of its surfaces were worn and there was little evidence of crockery or pans.
‘This is Liza,’ said Miss Sutherland, gesturing to a red-faced woman whose hands gripped tightly into her apron as she hovered in a curtsey. Miss Sutherland placed a hand on the maid’s shoulders, and it was a soft touch, Darlington thought, confused. ‘Liza is a right angel, come to save my poor hands from cracking any worse than need be.’
The maid swatted Miss Sutherland’s hand from her, bobbed one last curtsey in Darlington’s direction and turned back to kneading dough on the large wooden table that dominated half the room. Miss Sutherland jerked her head towards the door on the far side of the kitchen and made to walk through it.
‘Now there I must protest,’ he said. ‘I know we have left London far behind us, but am I really to follow your gestures like a trained dog?’
She became unnaturally rigid.
‘Do please forgive me, my lady. Would Your Ladyship prefer that I bow and scrape and ask Your Ladyship’s permission for every little thing, in my own home, because Your Ladyship has graced it with her presence?’
I would prefer that you be kind , he thought, then pulled away from the thought, embarrassed.
‘The common courtesies should suffice,’ he simpered. He gestured for her to lead on and put as much condescension as he could into it.
Her golden eyes narrowed, but she bobbed her head. ‘If you would follow me, my lady.’ The door opened into a hall and he thought he heard her whisper a curse on the other side of it.
‘Please wait here, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I’ll announce you.’
‘You needn’t —’
‘No, please, let me announce you.’
‘Miss Sutherland, I didn’t mean for you to —’
‘I want to greet my mother without you watching me do it! I haven’t seen her for seven weeks.’
He sank into a deep, graceful curtsey. ‘Of course.’
She opened the next door down the hall and entered that room. He followed quietly in her wake and pressed his ear to the door after she shut it.
‘Ma,’ she said quietly, and then again, a little louder. She laughed, the sound evidence of a warmth in her he hadn’t been allowed to see.
‘. . . sleep you silly old woman.’
‘Katherine Grace.’ This voice was softer, indistinct. ‘. . . never manage . . . manners . . . woman. Let me look at you. Oh . . . graceful, very . . .’
‘Don’t fuss over me, Ma, it’s just Lydia playing dress-ups with
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