Chloe crossed the room to her husband, set a cup of coffee down on a table close by, and rested a light hand on his sleeve. She felt his arm stiffen, though he did not flinch quite away from her.
“Ralph,” she said softly.
“Everyone,” he said without turning his head, “keeps calling me Your Grace.”
“I have poured you some coffee,” she said. “And there are fresh scones.”
“I want nothing,” he said.
“He went peacefully,” she told him. An utterly foolish thing to say, of course. But what did one say?
“You became a countess yesterday,” he said, “a duchess today. It is the stuff dreams are made of.”
Her hand tightened a little on his arm before she removed it. Did he mean . . . ? But of course he did not.
“I beg your pardon.” He turned his head sharply to frown at her. “I do beg your pardon, Chloe. I did not mean that the way it sounded.”
For once there was something in his eyes more than the usual blankness. There was apology there, and pain.
“Oh, I know,” she said. “But it is the truth nevertheless, and I wish it were not so. Drink your coffee, or I will bring you tea if you prefer. And try to eat a scone. I shall fetch some for both of us, though I have no appetite either.”
Such mundane matters when there were worlds of emotions to feel and realities of which to think and speak! One of the most horrible realities about the death of someone closely related, she remembered, was the necessity of going on almost immediately with the trivialities of living. As though nothing of any real significance had changed.
“Coffee will be fine,” he said, his eyes straying to the cup. “I’ll share a scone with you.”
She went to fetch it and to pour herself some tea, and then she returned to stand beside him again. They ate half a scone each from the same plate before he took up his coffee. Last night, just a few hours ago really, they had consummated their marriage. It seemed an eon ago. She was suddenly terribly glad they had married in time.
“Weller and Mrs. Loftus have ruled Manville with an iron thumb apiece for longer than I can remember,” he said. “I understand they came close to falling apart last night, however. They were quite devoted to the duke, of course. But you held them together and now, I understand, all is running smoothly again.”
“They would have done very well without me,” she said.
“They would have managed, of course,” he agreed, “but they looked to you for leadership and you gave it.”
She set down the empty plate, pleased at his approval, and picked up her cup and saucer. “I am your wife,” she said. And she was. In every way.
“You are my duchess.” He frowned at her. “Which fact makes me the duke. Hell and damnation.”
He did not apologize for his shocking words. Perhaps he did not even realize he had spoken them aloud.
“I had better start behaving like one,” he said, setting down his empty cup and saucer. “Come.”
And he moved toward the fireplace and waited for Chloe to seat herself before speaking.
“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the physician and the vicar, “I thank you for coming out so promptly in the middle of the night and for the words of comfort you have offered to Her Grace, my grandmother, and to my wife and me. We are indeed grateful. We will need to discuss the funeral, Reverend Marlowe. Not now, though. I will be sending my grandmother and my wife to bed soon. They both need to sleep or at least to rest if sleep is not possible. Perhaps you will return later.”
Both men recognized their cue to leave. Ralph saw them on their way, and Chloe was alone with his grandmother for a few minutes. Her Grace was staring into the fire, but both the cup and the plate beside her were empty.
“It is the strangest feeling in the world,” she said. “One moment someone is there, speaking one’s name. The next moment his body is still there but he is not. And never will be again. There is no calling him back. What was not said before he went will never be said now. His body is still upstairs. It looks like him and yet does not. He is not there.”
Chloe clasped her hands and refrained from offering words of meaningless comfort.
Her Grace turned her head and smiled at her.
“But we celebrated your wedding yesterday,” she said, “and we were both happy, Worthingham and I. Perhaps it was selfish of us not to persuade the two of you to wait and marry with all the proper pomp and formality in London. But I cannot feel sorry we were selfish. Somehow it felt like the loveliest wedding I have ever attended, with the possible exception of my own. And you cannot know the comfort it is to me today, Chloe, to know that Ralph is married and has a wife to see him through this difficult time. And to know that you are no longer just my guest, my dear Clemmie’s granddaughter, but my own granddaughter by marriage. I could not bear to be the duchess any longer, you know. I am so glad that your position as Ralph’s wife has relegated me to the position of dowager duchess. Oh, Chloe, my love.”
Her eyes welled with tears, and Chloe hurried over to perch on the arm of Her Grace’s chair and wrap an arm about her shoulders.
“How am I to go on without him?” Her Grace asked, tipping her head sideways to rest on Chloe’s shoulder. “Oh, the selfishness of the man to go before me.” She laughed shakily and fumbled for a handkerchief. “But in some ways I am glad he did. I shall do better without him than he would have done without me. He would have been lost . . . I just wish we could have gone together.”