Page 78 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
Grief, she had learned, could not be stopped forever, but it could be delayed. She could prevent herself from giving in to it entirely yet. All she needed was this time alone to sink into herself and remember from where—and whom—she had come…
And where she would go after this.
Alexander would not be the end of her.
Alexander looked at yet another small sitting room on the second floor, frescos on the ceiling, and white-and-gold furniture gathered around a small, low table. The fireplace was large and highly decorated.
“This room has a view over the wood and was where the former Lady Blackmoor wrote her letters.”
“A pleasant room,” Alexander agreed somberly. “Have you redecorated much since taking the house?”
“Very little,” Lord Harrogate admitted. “A little in the main body of the house, but these rooms, as you see them, are as the duchess would have known them.” He sent Alexander a quick glance. “That is the purpose of your tour, I presume?”
“I cannot imagine how difficult it must be coming to this house when it used to be her home.”
“Strange. My wife assures me that Her Grace has no strong feelings about it.” Lord Harrogate hesitated, a line between his brows. “I don’t know how true that can be, but—”
“I doubt it is true at all,” Alexander said shortly. “She may not be resentful or upset, but I imagine she does have strong feelings about the house. This was a place of joy and grief.” And, he reflected briefly, very different from his own manor.
She had not taken any steps to modernize or change Halston, but now he wished she had. If this house better reflected her tastes, then she did not prefer the heavy, dark furniture of their house, nor the oak-paneled walls of some rooms.
Alexander looked at yet another small sitting room on the second floor, frescos on the ceiling, and white-and-gold furniture gathered around a small, low table. The fireplace was large and highly decorated.
“This room has a view over the wood and was where the former Lady Blackmoor wrote her letters.”
“A pleasant room,” Alexander agreed somberly. “Have you redecorated much since taking the house?”
“Very little,” Lord Harrogate admitted. “A little in the main body of the house, but these rooms, as you see them, are as the duchess would have known them.” He sent Alexander a quick glance. “That is the purpose of your tour, I presume?”
“I cannot imagine how difficult it must be coming to this house when it used to be her home.”
“Strange. My wife assures me that Her Grace has no strong feelings about it.” Lord Harrogate hesitated, a line between his brows. “I don’t know how true that can be, but—”
“I doubt it is true at all,” Alexander said shortly. “She may not be resentful or upset, but I imagine she does have strong feelingsabout the house. This was a place of joy and grief.” And, he reflected briefly, very different from his own manor.
She had not taken any steps to modernize or change Halston, but now he wished she had. If this house better reflected her tastes, then she did not prefer the heavy, dark furniture of their house, nor the oak-paneled walls of some rooms.
These rooms were light and airy, dressed in greens and golds and pale, pretty colors.
Going forward, he would take more steps to make the house a place in which she could feel she belonged. Not because she had made a home there, but because it washersin every tangible way. For so long, he had let the place rot—neglect in condemnation.
He ought to have done more.
She had told him she was content, and he had taken her at her word without giving the subject more thought.
He was a fool. And she deserved far better than he could ever offer. But he would do better. If she would have him, he would do everything to ensure her comfort and happiness.
As they turned, Alexander's gaze snagged on a portrait hanging near the window—a small thing, easily overlooked. A young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, with auburn curls and solemn eyes that seemed to hold some private grief.
He stopped.
“Ah. An old portrait of the duchess as a child,” Lord Harrogate explained, following his gaze. “Marie and I have been meaning to have it sent over to Halston Manor. I'm certain Her Grace would treasure it.”
Alexander stepped closer, something nagging at the back of his mind. The girl's expression—that particular tilt of her head, the way her hands were clasped before her... There was something achingly familiar about it, like a melody he'd once known but could no longer quite recall.
“When was this painted?” he asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
“I believe shortly before Lady Blackmoor's passing. A year or so before father and daughter left for London.” Lord Harrogate paused. “A difficult time for the family, by all accounts.”
