Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I wanted to read his last letter to her.
And I loved that Ian told me that story about Duncroft, a happy one, a bedtime story that wouldn’t lead to nightmares.
I kept moving and came upon David and then Virginia.
But I moved by them swiftly until, not far down the line, I got to Richard and Jane.
He was in a hunting outfit, red coat and all, and I couldn’t help my lip curling, because of course he’d set out to chase down, exhaust and allow his dogs to tear apart a fox.
Jane’s portrait, like David’s, was painted when she was much younger. Probably late twenties. And although the bloom hadn’t gone off the rose to this day, when she was younger, she was astonishing. A goddess. An angel. Sitting, the skirt of her gown a sea of filmy pale pink wafting around her, the perfection of her face effortlessly composed, I felt myself start to get angry that Richard was the kind of man who would break her heart with impunity.
But I was glad to know he didn’t break her spirit.
There was space for more, the room was vast, so Ian would have his place, and I loved that for him. With all his stories, his knowledge of this house and the people in it, it was obvious he was proud of his home, and he deserved to be part of its legacy because of that, along with simply being born to it. And I hoped somewhere down the line, some ancestor told happy, and maybe even juicy stories of the love he created in this house.
Although it might seem weird, if I had more time in Duncroft, I could see myself coming up and spending it here, sitting on one of the six button-topped, cerulean velvet, Queen Anne benches lined down the middle of the room.
It was quiet. Peaceful. Like a museum that was closed and only you were there to breathe in the peace.
I was about to head out, thinking maybe I’d have a hot bath before I got in bed, when an odd-woman-out portrait, mounted away from the rest, caught my eye.
I’d noticed the Earls Alcott had good taste in spouses, and she was no different.
But she was openly haughty.
It was a common trait in others, but hers was explicit. Almost a dare. Even a threat.
I looked to the plaque.
Joan Katherine, 10th Countess Alcott
1920-1922
I stared at the plaque.
I then moved back to Virginia’s.
Virginia Elizabeth, 10th Countess Alcott
1922-1959
Dowager 1959-1963
I looked to David’s.
Edward “David” Frederick Thomas, Earl Alcott
1918-1959
Dpsd. 1959-1960
Dpsd? What did that mean?
I moved to another painting of an earl.
There was also the Dpsd. note.
Dpsd as in deposed?
I continued on.
All of them had the same, either Dpsd. or Dowager.
Except Thomas and Joan and the ones before them.
Good Lord, did Thomas’s shenanigans lead to the covenant that ousted the earl at thirty-eight?
And how were there two 10th countesses?
Who was Joan? And how was she countess at the same time David was earl? From her portrait, she unquestionably was not his mother.
I jumped and twirled when I heard a throat cleared.
Brittany was standing there.
She didn’t give me the creeps like Laura did, but she was certainly a cold fish.
“Lord Alcott requests you to attend him in the Dogwood Suite,” she announced.
The Dogwood Suite?
“The actual lord,” she finished.
The…?
Richard?
Richard was asking me to his bedroom?
“Why?” I queried suspiciously.
“I’d hardly know,” she replied. “Do you need me to show you the way?”
I didn’t. I knew it.
But something about her pushed me to be catty.
“Yes, since I don’t make a habit of going to an old man’s bedroom at”—I looked at my phone, thumbing the screen to activate it—“nine thirty at night.”
“Then follow me.”
She stood with her hand on the light switches.
I walked to her.
She turned the lights out before I got there, plunging the room into shadows.
Not a cold fish.
A bit of a bitch.
She didn’t say anything as we made our way into the hall, down the stairs, or to Richard’s room. She still didn’t say anything as she knocked softly.
She then gave me a lip curl and walked away.
The door opened.
Good news, he wasn’t in his underwear or a gaping dressing gown.
Bad news, I didn’t know what this was about, and I’d had a trying day. I didn’t need his shit.
“Are you all right?” I asked. “Do you need something?”
“Yes, please, Daphne. To talk to you.”
I had a feeling Daniel had been at his dad, told him the jig was up with the carnations, and Portia’s money, and Daddy-o was intervening.
He stepped aside so I’d enter his room.
I did, but when he went to close the door, I said, “I’d rather you keep it open, please.”
He appeared startled, then pissed. “I’d hardly be inappropriate.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
He scowled at me but did as I wished, leaving the door open before he walked into the room.