They walked back toward the house together, the three of them, along the edge of the rose walk. The bees hummed in the flowers behind them, quiet again at home. The house of Ashenford, when the doors closed behind them, was very still. The guests had all been swept into the drawing room on the west side, where they were being calmed with brandy and iced water and the assurances of two doctors. Vivienne could hear the distant murmur of it through the walls, and now and then the sharp voice of a lady demanding her carriage, but here in the great front hall, the noise was faint.
The stone floor was cool under her thin slippers. The tall clock in the corner ticked as though nothing had happened. The Duke set Petra down at last gently, and Petra at once caught Vivienne's hand. "The East Parlor," the Duke said to a footman. Send for my mother when she returns from the lawn.
Yes, your grace. Your grace. He turned to Vivienne. He looked at her a moment and she saw again the careful, quiet attention he had turned on the crowd from the terrace steps that morning. He was reading her.
She let him. You have been stung, he said. a little. Show me your hand. She held it out. There was a small red mark on the back of her wrist, no bigger than a pea, and another just below her thumb.
He looked at them. He did not touch her. They must be drawn out. I know. My mother has a woman for this sort of thing.
So did my father. He looked up sharply as though she had said something unexpected. Then he nodded once. He did not say anything else. The east parlor was smaller than she had expected.
It was a pale yellow room with tall windows looking onto a stone terrace. There was a low fire in the great, though it was July, and the smell of applewood was faint and pleasant in the air. Petra climbed at once into a large armchair and tucked her feet beneath her. She had not let go of Vivienne's hand. "Sit here," the Duke said, indicating the sofa.
"Please." Vivienne sat. Petra climbed off the chair and onto the sofa beside her and pressed against her side. Vivienne, without thinking, put an arm around her. The Duke stood by the window. He did not sit.
He did not pace. He simply stood. After a moment, he asked, "Why did you not run? I mean no offense by the question, but every other guest ran. Some knocked others down in their haste. My own footman ran. My mother would have run had she been able. You did not."
"No." "Why?"
She considered how to answer, aware of Petra's quick breathing against her side. "I saw where the child was," she said at last.
He was silent for a long moment. "That is not an answer that pleases me."