Seeking Persephone

by Sarah M. Eden

  “And I am always asking you to leave. How is it that their requests are adhered to and mine are ignored?” Adam asked, facing Harry, only part of his face even visible to Persephone.

  Adam still hadn’t looked at her. He’d come close that morning at the paddock, in the moments before he’d left. He hadn’t stayed to watch her attempt at riding. She’d been working so hard at being brave and unintimidated. Persephone had hoped to show Adam that she wasn’t nearly as flawed as he thought, to hopefully gain a grain of his respect, and he hadn’t even stayed to see.

  Harry shrugged. “Because I know you do not actually want me to go.”

  Adam didn’t bother to reply beyond a look of ironic disbelief.

  “How long will you be in Hawick?” Persephone asked, reminding herself that duchesses are not afraid to take up a conversation.

  “I take it, then, you wish me to return?” Harry looked genuinely pleased by the sentiment.

  Persephone glanced quickly at Adam. She didn’t want to upset him or say something to further convince him she was unsuitable.

  Adam’s eyes darted quickly toward her before he just as quickly looked away again. “Harry will come back regardless of how you answer,” he said dryly. “He’s one of those friends who never disappears for long.”

  Persephone smiled a little. Adam had called Harry his friend, even though his tone was disapproving. She wondered if he even realized what he’d said. Harry seemed to, though. He actually winked at Persephone as if to say, “I told you.”

  “You had better be suffering from an uncontrollable muscle tic,” Adam grumbled, still seemingly concentrating on the food on his plate.

  “Completely uncontrollable.” Harry’s smile belied his words.

  “Good. Otherwise I would think you were just winking at my wife.”

  “And if that were the case, you would be forced to call me out. Too bad I’ll be gone in the morning.”

  “Certainly you mean, ‘Good thing I’ll be gone in the morning,’” Adam corrected, taking a bite of beef.

  “On the contrary.” Harry’s casual demeanor did not slip in the least. “I would rather enjoy being called out by you. Gives a fellow a certain distinction to have survived a duel with the infamous Duke of Kielder.”

  “Who says you would survive?”

  Harry did not appear concerned. “You would shoot the gentleman you only just referred to as a friend?”

  “I never called you anything so mawkish,” Adam grumbled.

  “And now you’re using cant?” Harry asked with mock surprise. “Are you feeling well, Adam?”

  Persephone thought she heard a, “Shut up, Harry.”

  All conversation ended at that point, Harry looking remarkably pleased with himself, Adam looking as disgruntled as ever. She watched their reactions unfolding with such an enormous lack of understanding that she felt completely out of place.

  “Your Grace.” Barton’s voice broke the silence as the last remove was brought into the dining room. He set a calling card at Adam’s right arm.

  Persephone craned her neck slightly, hoping for a better look. She sat too far distant to read the inscription but saw that the corner was turned down. A visitor at Falstone Castle?

  “Where have you put him?” The tension in Adam’s jaw didn’t bode well.

  “In the drawing room, Your Grace.”

  “He, no doubt, has come with luggage.” Adam’s annoyance could hardly have been more obvious.

  Who could the visitor possibly be?

  “Quite a lot of luggage, actually, Your Grace,” Barton confirmed.

  “Is it snowing, Barton?” Adam asked.

  “No, Your Grace.”

  “Then throw him out.” Adam tossed the card onto the table beside him.

  “His conveyance was obtained on the road, Your Grace,” Barton said. “It has already departed.”

  “He can walk.” Adam was perfectly serious.

  He wouldn’t throw a man out into the night, Persephone said to herself.

  “Very good, Your Grace.” Barton made the appropriate bow and turned to quit the room.

  Persephone felt a rising panic. “Barton,” she called out to him, stopping his departure.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Barton faced her and dipped his head.

  “Who is the visitor in the drawing room?” She saw out of the corner of her eye that Adam was looking at her. If his expression weren’t so full of shock, he might have appeared disapproving. Do not be intimidated, Persephone reminded herself.

  “Mr. Gordon Hewitt, Your Grace.”

  “What is your argument with Mr. Hewitt?” Persephone asked Adam, turning her head to look at him. Adam immediately looked away. And he did not answer. She glanced at Harry, hoping for some information.

  “Mr. Hewitt has had the effrontery to be the heir presumptive.” Harry gave her a knowing look.

  “He is family?” Persephone asked, her shock growing.

  “Unfortunately,” Adam muttered.

  Persephone sat in complete indecision. She couldn’t imagine throwing a member of her family out of her house. And, yet, Adam seemed so insistent. Do not be intimidated.

  “Is it absolutely necessary, Adam, for Mr. Hewitt to leave Falstone tonight?” Persephone quickly covered the nervous break in her voice.

  “Obviously you haven’t met the man.” Adam’s tone fairly crackled with dryness.

  “Would it be such an imposition for him to remain for the night?” Persephone forced herself to continue. “You could just as easily insist that he depart in the morning.”

  Silence reigned in the room, stretching out uncomfortably. She clenched her hands in her lap to stop their nervous shaking. Never had a man so intimidated her, but she was determined not to let him see that.

  Adam tapped his fingers on the table, his mouth set in a tense line, his countenance that of man pondering something. She couldn’t tell if he was angry.

  Maybe Harry was wrong. Maybe shows of courage and determination didn’t garner Adam’s respect but his condemnation.

  What have I done? Persephone silently asked.

  Harry and Barton seemed entirely unaffected by the tense silence, as if Adam’s disapproving mood were a common occurrence, which, Persephone quickly acknowledged, was probably the case.

  “Excellent suggestion, Persephone,” Adam quite suddenly said. “I do believe Hewitt may liven up the castle during Harry’s absence.” Adam turned to Harry. “How long do you intend to be in Scotland?”

  “A fortnight or so.” Harry sported a mischievous grin.

  Adam nodded as if in approval. “Barton.” Adam’s usual authority asserted itself in full measure. “Put Hewitt in the Orange Chamber.”

  Barton bowed his understanding and left the dining room.

  Harry sputtered in an attempt to stifle a laugh. “He’ll never last the fortnight.”

  “He’ll last,” Adam insisted. “But he’ll hate every minute of it. The West Tower is only slightly more welcoming than the dungeons.”

  “I am actually sorry to be missing this,” Harry said.

  “Hewitt will not make a return visit.” Adam nodded decisively. “And he’ll leave mewling like a kitten.”

  Persephone actually regretted her interference when faced with the satisfaction on Adam’s face as he contemplated the apparent misery of Mr. Hewitt. It seemed she’d only made things worse.

  * * *

  Two gentlemen were in the breakfast room when Persephone arrived the next morning. One was Adam. The other was a stranger to her.

  “Persephone.” Adam rose as she entered. “Come and meet our cousin, Mr. Hewitt.” He motioned her into the room.

  She moved a little warily to where Adam stood, his arm extended to her. “Persephone, may I present Mr. Gordon Hewitt of Yorkshire, eldest son of my father’s cousin. Hewitt, this is my wife, the Duchess of Kielder.”

  The look of shock on Mr. Hewitt’s face was unmistakable, as was the satisfaction that turned up the side of A
dam’s mouth that she could see.

  “How long ago were you married?” Mr. Hewitt asked Persephone after Adam had filled a plate for her and she had seated herself, at Adam’s insistence, directly beside himself.

  “On the first of the month.” Persephone proceeded to feign a great deal of interest in her toast.

  “Forgive me for not attending,” Mr. Hewitt said. “I fear my invitation must have gone astray in the post.”

  “Tragic,” Adam answered with obvious sarcasm.

  “And where do you hail from, Your Grace?” Mr. Hewitt asked Persephone.

  “Shropshire.” Her determination to be courageous failed her miserably, leaving her response quiet and uncertain. She was confused. Adam’s obvious dislike of his cousin bewildered her, though not nearly as much as her husband’s sudden attentiveness.

  Mr. Hewitt seemed quite pleased with her answer. “My mother’s family are in Wales, and so I have often passed through Shropshire. It is, perhaps, the most beautiful of counties.”

  Persephone smiled at that. “It is, indeed, but then, my opinion is terribly biased.”

  “Biased, it may be,” Mr. Hewitt replied, looking kindly at her, “but it is also entirely accurate.”

  Images of her home and environs passed quickly through her thoughts, and Persephone found herself sighing. “I shall miss the River Severn.” She hadn’t admitted as much out loud since leaving her childhood home.

  Mr. Hewitt was all empathy. “And, in another month or so, I fear you will miss the milder weather of Shropshire as well.”

  “Milder? The weather in Shropshire can be quite extreme.”

  “Can be,” Mr. Hewitt acknowledged. “The weather at Falstone is extreme. Especially in the winter.”

  “Have you been here often, then?” Persephone felt herself warming to Mr. Hewitt’s easy conversational style.

  “Actually, no.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I came several times as a young man. But only once in the past ten years.”

  “Only once?” He was the heir presumptive. It seemed strange that he would visit so seldom.

  “Yes. After another cousin’s passing placed him in the role of heir presumptive.” Adam made the observation in a tone of obvious disapproval.

  Mr. Hewitt shook his head. “My family had not returned to Falstone Castle after my father died,” he explained. “As he was our connection to the Boyces, we felt it would be rather presumptuous to visit without him.”

  That confession struck a chord with her. “My mother passed when I was young, and we do not see her family as often as we once did.”

  Mr. Hewitt nodded. “Precisely.”

  “Were you planning to ride again this morning?” Adam interrupted the exchange, addressing her with less of his earlier pleasure and a great deal more of his usual shortness.

  “Yes, I was.” Though she was still sore from the previous day’s attempt, Persephone intended to give it another go.

  “I will accompany you to the stables.” The offer sounded more like an order.

  Do not be intimidated, she reminded herself. “Thank you.”

  “Do you ride, Your Grace?” Mr. Hewitt asked.

  “I certainly hope so,” she answered.

  Adam cleared his throat in what sounded like a stifled laugh. Persephone turned and looked at him, knowing she was smiling and hoping he was as well. She’d made him laugh, certainly he could appreciate that.

  But Adam didn’t look amused or pleased. He looked the same as ever: indifferent, perhaps a touch disdainful.

  Persephone stopped her instant dejected reaction with the reminder that he had laughed. Almost. And she’d shown him she could be courageous. He still didn’t look at her, except out of the corner of his eye. And she didn’t fully trust the sudden friendliness that had been in his tone when she’d first arrived. But he had laughed.

  Adam held his left arm out for Persephone to take, which she did, rising from her seat. “Mr. Hewitt.” She nodded her leave of him.

  “Your Grace.” Mr. Hewitt returned the acknowledgment. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Adam didn’t speak a single word as he led her from the castle, past the formal gardens, under the arch of the inner wall and to the paddock and stables. John Handly was there to greet them, probably having spotted their approach long before they arrived. Falstone was nothing if not expansive. Two stable hands led Zeus and Atlas from the stables. Persephone smiled to herself at the irony of those names.

  “Did Atlas behave himself yesterday?” Adam asked without preamble.

  “Do you mean did he try to throw me off?”

  “He didn’t, did he?” Adam actually sounded concerned. Could it be that he cared in some tiny way?

  “He was perfectly well behaved,” Persephone answered. “Though probably thoroughly bored.”

  “You weren’t jumping fences, then?” Was that a joking tone?

  “Only small fences.” She borrowed a page from Harry, choosing to reply with a witty rejoinder. Harry insisted that Adam held him in respect. Adam himself called Harry his friend. “We’ll be tackling the outer wall this morning.”

  Another suspicious throat clearing. How Persephone wished he would smile. Smiles had been commonplace in her home growing up.

  Persephone realized something in that moment. She wanted Adam’s respect. But she wanted to see him smile as well. She wanted him to be happy. And she had no idea how to accomplish that.

  “Will you stay and watch my attempts at staying in the saddle?” Persephone tried to make the question sound casual.

  “Zeus would never stand for anything so sedate,” Adam said.

  “Sedate as clearing the outer wall?” Persephone hoped Adam saw the humor in her reply.

  He didn’t seem to. “Enjoy your lesson,” was the extent of his reply.

  A moment later, Adam was mounted and riding out the enormous iron gate that marked the entrance to Falstone Castle’s fortified courtyards.

  Her goals for this marriage, she was beginning to realize, would not be easily achieved. She only hoped they were attainable.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I didn’t poison the port.” Adam and Hewitt sat in uncomfortable silence after dinner the night after the interloper’s arrival at Falstone. “It’s actually quite good.”

  “Yes, of course.” Hewitt cleared his throat nervously and raised the glass of red liquid shakily to his lips.

  Adam managed not to roll his eyes. How could this man possibly be related to him? He had no backbone whatsoever.

  “Delicious,” Hewitt croaked out, seemingly surprised to find he was, indeed, still alive.

  In an apparent effort to please his host, Hewitt threw back his entire portion and promptly found himself in the midst of an all-consuming bout of sputters and coughs. “I . . .” He coughed, making an almost pained face. “. . . that was . . .” He cleared his throat several times. “. . . delicious.” Hewitt wiped a tear from his eyes. “Delicious.”

  “Yes.” Adam nodded, taking a more moderate portion from his own glass and watching Hewitt quite as if nothing untoward had just occurred. “What brings you to Falstone?” Adam set his glass on the table and turned his intense gaze on his cousin.

  Hewitt went just a touch pale. Coward. “My—my mother.” His voice even cracked as he spoke, despite his being several years Adam’s senior. “She suggested I stop on my way back to Yorkshire.”

  “Unless you were returning by way of Scotland, I seriously doubt Falstone was ‘on your way’ to Yorkshire.”

  Hewitt cleared his throat and looked very much as if he wished for another glass of port, sputtering or no. “I did tell Mother that.” Hewitt tugged at his cravat. “She felt certain you wouldn’t mind.”

  No doubt she also wouldn’t mind if Hewitt fingered a few things to take back with him to the bevy of “G”s at home.

  “How do you find your accommodations?” Adam propped his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers and resting his chin on them, keep
ing his eyes glued to Hewitt’s face. The scrutiny made Hewitt fidget. People always revealed more than they planned when they felt uncomfortable.

  “The Orange Chamber is . . . is very . . .” Hewitt finally decided on “quiet.”

  “Quiet?”

  Hewitt looked away. The Orange Chamber could be very quiet—it being the most remote of the castle’s fifty-plus guest chambers.

  “It has a fine view,” Adam added. The Orange Chamber overlooked the back courtyard of Falstone, where the remains of a still-usable gibbet and stocks stood. Adam wondered if Hewitt recognized what he saw out his bedchamber windows.

  “Yes,” Hewitt said quietly.

  Adam stood. “Let us join Her Grace in the drawing room.”

  Adam let his eyebrows furrow as he led the way from the dining room, Hewitt only a few steps behind him. The man was as much of an idiot as he had been on his last visit, even if he had refrained from summing up the value of his future acquisitions. Probably because there was nothing left for him to assess.

  A footman opened the drawing room doors as Adam and Hewitt approached, effectively warning Persephone of their arrival. In fact, she watched the door as they entered, a smile touching her face, though not the blinding smile she’d offered Harry the morning before.

  Adam felt an inexplicable twinge of regret.

  “I am afraid we haven’t much to offer by way of entertainment,” Persephone said to Hewitt. “I am hardly a musician, nor am I much of a conversationalist.”

  The apology grated at Adam. She ought not to feel the need to apologize to Hewitt. He was the interloper, the uninvited guest. Hewitt ought to be whimpering and sniveling and taking himself off in a fit of devastation at her very presence. Persephone’s arrival at Falstone, as far as Hewitt knew, spelled the end of any hope the G. Hewitts had of getting their hands on the Kielder legacy.

  “Then we must simply speak of Shropshire, Your Grace.” Much of Hewitt’s early discomfort dissipated. “I passed through your home county only this week, you must realize.”

  “Did you, indeed?” Persephone’s eyes widened with obvious pleasure. “How did you find Shropshire?” She motioned for Hewitt to take the chair near the sofa where she sat.