A KIND MAID HELPED AN OLD WOMAN MOCKED IN A DRESS SALON — UNAWARE SHE WAS THE DUKE’S MOTHER

Chapter 2

The old woman finished her tea and sat by the iron stove for a long while, letting the warmth seep into her bones. She watched the fine ladies of London drift past her like brightly colored ships, none of them meeting her eyes. She was three-and-sixty years old, and she had been a great lady all her life, and she had grown weary of the way greatness lied to her.

Her son, Evander, the Duke of Stonehurst, was of an age to marry. Every ambitious house in England had thrown its daughters at his feet. They came to Stonehurst House in their silks and their pearls, and they smiled at the Dowager Duchess and called her dear and pressed her hand. And Isold, who was no fool, watched their eyes when they thought she was not looking, and saw in them only the glitter of the title her son carried.

She had wished, just once, to know how such women behaved toward those they believed beneath them. So she had borrowed a gardener’s cloak and a charwoman’s boots, and she had gone out into the city as a beggar. She had been turned from three doorways before she came to Harrow Street. And there, in the cruelest and finest room of all, she had found Lydia.

She set down the empty cup, rose, leaving the warm flannel folded on the chair, and walked toward the door.

Saraphina’s voice followed her, light and amused. “Do mind the snow does not melt on the Aubusson, dear. We have only just had it cleaned.”

Isold stopped. She turned, and something flickered in her bent old frame that made Madame Belmont’s smile falter. But the moment passed. The Dowager Duchess went out into the falling snow.