How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

“I imagine not. I was trapped on the roof for a bit when the door got stuck and then finally managed to find my way here. Which was not as helpful as I might have hoped.”

He glanced at her quick drawing of the hills and rivers from the vantage point of the roof. “You’re very good, Miss.”

“Thank you.”

“May I?”

She handed him the sketchbook, her fingertips stained with ink and charcoal. She curled them into her palms. “These are just studies, really.”

He didn’t flip through the pages quickly, like most people, but slowly, taking the time to really look. There were marble busts, of course, and Roman noses and curled hair and strong shoulders. Flowers, a judgmental barn cat, more statuary.

“These are lovely,” George remarked. “I wish I could draw.” There was yearning in his voice. He shook his head. “Foolish thoughts of an old man, forgive me.”

“Why foolish?” She asked. “There’s no reason you couldn’t learn to draw. I’m sure Dou-, that is, the duke, would be happy to hire you a drawing master.”

“Oh, I’m not so grand as that.”

“I never had a tutor either,” she admitted. “Sometimes all you have is paper and a pencil and it’s all you need. It’s all about the practice, at the end of the day. Seeing the shadows. I started with apples.”

“Apples,” he said. “We have an orchard full, so that should be easy enough.”

“Keep your first drawing,” she said, amiably. “Especially if it’s awful and you despise it.”

His eyebrows lifted. “If you say so.”

“I do. Come back to it every so often and you will feel quite invigorated with your progress.” She leaned in as if telling a very great secret. “I framed mine. My mother thought it was a beetle. My father was certain it was a badger’s face. They argued for days.”

“But it was an apple.”

“I was very proud of my sad, lopsided smudge.”

He grinned. “Then I will be proud of mine.” He handed her back her book. “Shall I escort you back?” He asked, then paused, almost shyly. “Or would this be a good time for a tour? I won’t bore you with all of the historical trumpery, as Colin calls it.”

“I would love a tour, and to hear some history,” she said. “Not just because it will help us on our hunt but also because you can’t know how refreshing it will be to hear something that is not from Ancient Egypt or Ancient Rome. Or even a Druid’s barrow full of mad spirits.” She adored her friends, but they were a tad obsessive. Tamsin insisted on telling her about every place in England where someone’s head had been chopped off and might have left a ghost behind. Headless ghosts were surprisingly plentiful.

“This house is not nearly so old as that, I’m afraid.”

She perked up. “Sold!” She took his arm, and he straightened proudly, patting her hand softly, like a grandfather. “I cannot condone missing tea,” she added. “So be sure to point out any secret passageways.”

They headed down the hall, dust clinging to their shoes. “I assume this is where they hide the family secrets and scandals?”

“When they are not naming them dukes.”

She chuckled. “I am sure it was high time the duchy had some shaking up.”

“You have a kind soul, Miss Swift, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

They stopped in front of a door which George had to kick with one foot and lift up from the handle to get it to budge. It was clearly a system he’d had some practice with. It opened onto a small square room with a staircase in the center. Meg huffed out an annoyed breath. “How is anyone supposed to find their way around if even the stairs are hidden? Never mind treasure.”

“I believe this was the servants’ quarters over a hundred years ago but they closed it up. I guess they thought it was easier to build new than fix it.”

Meg snorted. “Showing off, is what it was.”

“Oh, perhaps—”

She thought of her uncle and his wagers and spending habits and nodded smartly. “Showing off.” She nodded to a large hole in the wall. “Though it would seem the mice have been here since.”

George nodded. “I find the oddest holes in the wall and old trinkets scattered about.”