She hobbled through the yellow drawing room, the music room, and a hall of ancestral portraits. Expressions suggested backbones of steel, aristocratic arrogance, an obsession with spaniels, and frankly, what had to be at least one uncomfortable case of gout. She remembered similar portraits in her father’s hall, especially a young child in a lace ruff that still occasionally haunted her nightmares.
“Percy, there you are,” the duke bellowed before Basil had a chance to announce her. He might have passed his seventieth birthday, but it had done nothing to quiet his voice. As always, his shock of white hair was tamed into a queue fashionable when he was a younger man. She curtsied and a clump of dirt fell from her sleeve onto the pristine white tablecloth.
“You’ve been in the fields,” he said approvingly. “It’s never too early for a true antiquarian, is it, my girl?”
Conall shook his head with a grin. “And I thought you were bad, Pendleton.”
“Conall, my boy, it’s good to see you! It’s been too long.”
Persephone had to hide a smile to hear a man such as Conall referred to as a boy.
“Where’s your sister?”
“Priya follows in the carriage. I imagine she’ll arrive within the hour.”
“Good, good.”
“I didn’t think she was coming.” Persephone perked up. She hadn’t seen Priya in months. They wrote letters of course, but it was so much better when they could see each other in person. The duke’s goddaughters were famous—well, infamous—for their quirks. Having a duke for a godfather, especially one that encouraged eccentricities and was perfectly happy to support a veritable tribe of ladies so they did not have to marry if they did not wish it, perplexed society and thrilled his goddaughters. A man with any lesser title would never have been able to get away with it half so well. As it was, they were often referred to as the Cinderellas. And as the Cinderellas stuck together, most of them cared not a whit for Persephone’s ruination.
“All my goddaughters will attend to me,” the duke preened. “Why wouldn’t they, for our triumph?” His sharp gaze snapped at Persephone. “Why are you listing to the side? It’s making me feel seasick.”
“She had a tumble in the village,” Conall explained before she could wave it away.
Persephone slid into the nearest chair. “I wrenched my knee. It’s nothing.”
“Tut,” Mrs. Hasting said, bustling through the door with a basket of medical supplies and a cloth full of ice from the icehouse. “We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hastings,” Persephone replied. “But I don’t need the ice. His Grace will need it for his guests.”
“Hang the guests,” Conall interrupted, taking the bundle of ice and dropping it unceremoniously into her lap. Gone were his city manners and devilish smiles. “Go on.”
Persephone’s own smile wilted at the edges. Everyone was staring at her. She wasn’t about to fling her skirts up over her head with Conall standing so close. She might not have much of a reputation left but she probably ought to safeguard what remained of it.
“Conall, you’ll embarrass the girl,” the duke barked. “Have some coffee and let her be.”
Conall held Persephone’s gaze for a moment. Her cheeks must be as red as the day she’d gotten burned digging too long without her bonnet. She was used to staring, at least from displeased aristocrats. She wasn’t used to this kind of staring.
He was very, very good at it.
Something flickered in his eyes.
And he knew it.
“The ice will do you more good than it will in someone’s lemonade glass,” he said, as if there wasn’t some other conversation going on silently between them. She wasn’t sure what was being said but she was fairly certain it was inappropriate. He had heard about her, then. She looked away, hiding her disappointment. It was absurd to be mad at the rain for being wet. What was, was. She was ruined and therefore Society had different rules for her, plain and simple. It was hardly a revelation.
“He’s right, dear,” Mrs. Hastings agreed. She turned subtly, blocking Persephone with the widths of her skirts. Persephone propped her foot up and slid the ice bundle over her knee. She made a little sound of relief. Conall’s jaw tightened.
“Breakfast?” the duke asked him.
“I’ll wash the road off before I sit down,” he said. He bowed to Persephone. “Lady Persephone.”
“Thank you for your assistance, Lord Northwyck.”
“So formal,” the duke sighed. He expected it for himself, but it did seem to irritate him and please him in equal measure between his godchildren. “You’ve known each other too long for that nonsense.”
“It’s been years,” Conall said. “I wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t been down a hole.”
Persephone wrinkled her nose. The duke laughed. “That’s my Percy. Did you know she is single-handedly going to make my festival a success? Fairweather can choke on it.”