"I would like that. But you will not stay?" "I cannot."
He bowed his head. "Then I will not press you. You do not deserve to be pressed."
She turned and walked back toward the house. At the small side door, she paused with one hand on the wood and said without turning, "I hope you will be happy, Your Grace. Truly, in whatever way you can be."
"I do not think I can be happy in the way I want." "Then I hope for you a lesser happiness that is real."
She went inside and closed the door. She did not sleep that night. She lay in the dark with her hands folded on her chest and let the tears fall sideways into her hair. She did not sob or shake. She simply let it happen the way one lets rain happen.
She did not shake. She simply let it happen the way one lets rain happen. In the morning, she washed her face and went down to breakfast and smiled at Petra and made her plans to leave. Her aunt was furious. Her aunt saw at once from Vivienne's face that something had happened and knew at once from the fact that Vivienne would not speak of it that the something had been the wrong thing.
Her aunt scolded her all through breakfast in a low sharp voice. Her aunt said the Duke had all but proposed and Vivienne must have thrown it away. Her aunt said Vivienne was a fool. Her aunt said, "You will die a spinster. Mark me and it will be your own doing." Vivienne bore it.
She did not answer. She spread butter on her toast and did not eat it. The Dowager Duchess watched all of this over her cup of chocolate. She said nothing. But when breakfast was done and Lady Maravel had swept off to write letters, the Dowager Duchess touched Vivienne's arm and said, "Come walk with me in the small garden." The small garden was on the south side of the house.
The small garden was on the south side of the house. It had a stone bench, a fountain, and a great bed of lavender that hummed with bees. The Dowager Duchess sat on the bench and said, "Tell me what he said to you last night."
"How did you know?" "I saw him this morning. I have not seen his face like that in a decade. I know my son. Tell me."
Vivienne told her. Not all of it, but enough. The Dowager Duchess listened with her hands folded over the head of her stick. When Vivienne had finished, she was silent for a long time.
"My son is a fool," she said at last. "But he is an honest fool. That is more than most." "He is not a fool, Your Grace." "He is where you are concerned." The old woman looked at her. "You will leave tomorrow?"