"May Miss Vivienne come?" The Duke straightened. He looked at Vivienne again. She thought for a heartbeat that he was going to refuse. Instead, he said in the same quiet voice, "If Miss Ashcombe pleases." Vivienne was pleased. She did not say so.
She simply nodded and Petra pulled her forward and the three of them walked back up the rose walk together out of the shade and into the bright busy noise of the party. The moment they stepped onto the lawn, heads turned. Vivienne felt the shift like a change in the wind. Fans paused. Conversations dipped.
She saw her aunt across the grass, one hand pressed to her chest. She saw a tall young woman in yellow silk, whose face went first pale, then tight. She saw a footman, who had been about to speak to the Duke, change his mind and stepped back. Petra did not notice any of it. She was telling Vivienne about a rabbit she had seen in the kitchen garden that morning.
The Duke walked on Petra's other side, matching his pace to the child's short one. He did not speak. He did not need to. His presence beside Vivienne was speaking loudly enough on its own. They reached the great cedar.
Under it, a small circle of chairs had been set up, and in the largest chair sat an old woman in black. Her hair was white, and her eyes were sharp. She held a walking stick across her knees. "There you are, child," she said. Her voice was dry, but not unkind.
"And who is this?" "Miss Ashcombe, grandmother," the Duke said. "Miss Ashcombe, my mother, the Dowager Duchess." Vivienne curtsied again. The old woman studied her without blinking. Ashcombe she said of Maravel house. My aunt is Lady Maravel.
Your grace your father was Colonel Ashcombe. Yes. He kept bees. Vivienne. Vivienne's breath caught.
He did more. Remember the Dowager Duchess tapped her stick lightly on the grass. He sent my late husband a jar of honey once. It was the best honey I ever ate. I said so at the time.
Your father wrote me back a very civil letter. He said the credit belonged to his bees. Vivienne smiled. It was a small sudden smile that she could not stop. That sounds like him.
She said. Sit down child. The Dowager Duchess said, "Not you, Petra. You are wanted at the pony. Ashenford, take her." The Duke did not argue with his mother.
He held out his hand to Petra, and Petra took it, but not before she squeezed Vivienne's fingers hard once and whispered, "Do not go. I will be here." Vivienne whispered back. The Duke lifted Petra onto his hip as easily as though she weighed nothing and walked away with her toward the far side of the lawn where a small brown pony had been led out for the children of the guests. Vivienne watched them go. She could not help it.
Sit, the daer said again. Vivienne sat. For a moment, the old woman did not speak. She simply watched her grandson cross the grass with the child on his hip. Her sharp eyes softened, then hardened again.