Hester knew the hand before she knew anything else. Upright, clerkly, a little old-fashioned in its capitals: Miss H. Bennett, at Ashcombe Park, near Marlborough, Wiltshire. And in the corner of the seal, pressed into the red wax, the small device of a quill crossed with a key that belonged to Mrs. Ormsby's Registry for Governesses and Companions, Hanover Square.
"I have not opened it," the Dowager said. "I did not need to. Mrs. Ormsby has supplied this house with four governesses in three years. I know her seal as well as I know my own."
The Duke's voice came from behind Hester's shoulder. "What is it?"
"I imagine," said his mother, "that it is an answer." Her eyes had not left Hester's face. "Miss Bennett has been seeking another situation. Have you not, Miss Bennett?"
There were a number of things Hester might have said. That a governess's correspondence was her own. That the Dowager might have sent the letter up with a footman like any other letter and chose instead to carry it herself, at this hour, into this room. That she had not meant anyone to know until she knew herself.
"Yes, ma'am," she said. "I have."
She took the envelope. It was thick, two sheets at least. She did not look round at the Duke. She could feel him there, the way one feels a fire in a room with one's back to it.
"Edmund," said the Dowager, "I should like a word with you in my sitting room. Now, if you please."
For a moment Hester thought he would refuse. He was a duke in his own house, and he was thirty years old, and he had not been ordered anywhere by his mother in a very long time. But Rose was looking up at him, and whatever he saw in her face made him bend, quite suddenly, and put his hand on her hair.
"I'll come at seven," he said to her. "As always."
"Is it for Miss Bennett to go?" Rose asked.
No one answered her. The Duke went out. His mother followed, and the heavy door closed behind them with its heavy sound, and Hester was left standing in the gold light with a letter in her hand and a child looking at her.
She put the letter in the pocket of her apron, unopened.