"Today she chose you. From the moment I found her in the rose walk with her hand in yours, she had chosen you already. The bees only made me see it."
Vivienne did not know what to say.
"I do not know what you did," he continued. "I do not know how, and I do not need to know." "I did nothing, Your Grace. There was a bee. I helped it. She helped it. We spoke of my father. That is all."
"That is a great deal." He looked into the fire, then back at her. "I am not a man who says pretty things, and I do not intend to begin today, but I would ask you a favor."
"Ask it."
"Stay a few days as my mother's guest, not mine. She will send for your aunt, and it will all be proper. Stay until my niece has had a chance to know you better. She has taken to no one in a year. I will not squander that."
Vivienne thought of Petra's small hand on her wrist and of the Duke's face when the child had laughed on the pony. "I will stay," she said. "For the child."
"For the child," he agreed. He rose, bowed gravely, and left the room.
He rose and bowed to her gravely and left the room. She sat where she was for a long time after he had gone. The fire crackled softly. Outside, someone was sweeping broken glass off the terrace. The sun had begun its long, slow slide toward the west.
The days that followed were quiet in a way Vivienne had not known for years. Her aunt arrived the next morning with three trunks and a great deal of advice. Most of it whispered. Vivienne heard none of it. She rose early.
She took breakfast in the small parlor with the Dowager Duchess, who spoke little and watched much. She spent the mornings in the nursery with Petra, and the afternoons in the garden with Petra, and the evenings, when Petra had been put to bed, in the library with a book she had not yet begun to read. She saw the Duke often, and yet never alone. He came in to say good night to Petra. He sat at the head of the table at dinner.
He passed her once in the long gallery and once in the stable yard when she had gone with Petra to see the pony and once in the walled garden at the far end of the estate. Each time he stopped. Each time he spoke a few words no more. Each time she felt his careful, quiet attention on her face. He was not caught her.