hit her own chest with her fingertip. ‘That is where we are different. I do not want to be in society. Bonnets pull my hair. Slippers pinch and corsets squeeze. The flowery world has nothing for me.’
‘A husband helps if you want children of your own—and it is best for the child to be born within a true marriage, one with love. You know that as well as I.’
‘Even children are not worth a husband. I have a niece and two nephews. They are my babies.’
‘You are hiding. From everything. From the past and the future. The duchess needs you. You know how long the nights can be after a death and we had each other. We had the three of us, you, me and Thessa. You are just like our pateras, our father.’ Melina crossed her arms.
‘That is an evil thing to say. I am surprised your tongue does not choke you for forcing those words past it.’
‘You are like Father. Of the three of us, you are the most like him,’ her sister continued, pacing the room. ‘Even Mana said so, just not where you could hear her.’
Bellona raised her voice. ‘I am not like him.’
‘When we angered him, he would go paint.’ Melina swaggered with her shoulders as she walked. ‘When he did not want to do something, he would paint.’ She stopped and mused. ‘Did you ever notice how paint brushes are shaped almost like little arrows?’
‘You’re wrong to speak so. I practise archery. I do not live for it.’
‘Even the way you stick out your chin. Just like him.’ She jutted out her jaw in an exaggerated pose.
‘You always say that when you have no better words to fight with.’
Melina returned her stance to normal. ‘I cannot believe my own sister has no kindness in her heart for a woman with no daughters or sisters.’
Bellona raised her chin. ‘I will tell the duke I will stay a short time with his mother. It will be better than listening to you. You are the one like Father, insisting on having your way.’
‘Only when I am right.’ She examined Bellona. ‘Please arrange your hair before you see the duke.’
‘Of course.’ Bellona patted both sides of her head, achieving nothing.
‘Much better.’ Melina paused. ‘I expected you to pull a strand loose.’
‘I thought of it.’ Bellona sighed. But the duke probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
Melina reached to Bellona and pushed her youngest sister’s hair up at the sides, moving the pins around. ‘There. Now you look as well as me.’
Bellona walked past her. ‘Now you see why I do not show my face in society.’
Melina’s chuckle followed Bellona from the room out into the hallway.
When Bellona reached the sitting room, the duke’s gaze swept over her. The rock stood, unyielding.
Even with a scowl on his face, she still wanted to look at him. The thought irritated her.
‘I will return to your house,’ she said curtly.
The flicker behind his eyes—the intake of breath. She would have imagined he’d just been hit, except his face softened much the same as Warrington’s did when her sister walked into the room. The duke inclined his head in acknowledgment. ‘It will mean a lot. To the duchess.’
Bellona arrived at Harling House the next morning and the housekeeper appeared at her side almost instantly. The woman had a sideways gait, but moved forward so fast Bellona hurried to follow.
After being shown a chamber whose ceiling would need a heavy ladder to reach, she mused, ‘I could put an archery target in here and practise without leaving the room.’
‘We have no targets which are suitable for use inside.’ The woman’s face pinched into a glare that would stop any servant.
Bellona gave the woman the same look Warrington had given her countless times. ‘I suppose if I asked the duke, he would arrange something.’
‘Of course,’ the housekeeper said. ‘This was his childhood room. Let me know if you need anything.’ Then she darted away.
The room had the same scent of the storage rooms in Warrington’s house and made her miss the sea air. No flounces and lace adorned it. Instead there were walls the colour of sand and darker curtains that required strength to move. She wondered if every trace of the boy had been removed, or if the room had never had anything of him in it.
The huge chamber didn’t feel like home, but she was tired of looking for Melos in everything she saw and not finding it.
She placed her bow in the corner. Her mother would not have believed such a large room existed for one person to sleep in.
Someone knocked at the door. A maid, who looked almost the same as the one from Warrington’s house, suggested Bellona go to the library to meet with His Grace. Curiosity and the desire to see more of the house pulled her straight to him.
* * *
‘Miss Cherroll. Welcome,’ the duke greeted her. Quiet words, almost cold, but his quick turn from the window, and one step in her direction, caused a flutter in her stomach.
The last year of his life might have been no easier than the duchess’s, she realised. If Bellona had lost either of her sisters to death, the world would have become dark and bleak and suffocating.
He surprised her by the merest corner of his lips turning up at the edge. ‘The maid who is unpacking for you will store your arrows and knives in a safe place. She will direct the footman to bring them to you each time you need to practise marksmanship and he will take them when you return to the house and make sure they are properly cared for.’
‘You are most thoughtful of my property,’ she said, thankful he did not know of the knife in her boot.
‘Of course.’
‘Then let us discuss payment for my stay.’
‘Certainly.’
‘I want another two score of arrows. The best that can be made. I also require a dagger perfectly balanced. And I must have a pistol that will fit my hand and someone to show me how to clean, load and shoot it. I have heard there is a Belgian hidden-trigger boot pistol in which the trigger does not fall down until it is cocked. I would like to see one of those. You can have someone bring selections of these things for me to choose from.’
‘Ah.’ The word wasn’t clearly formed from his lips, but was more of a sound. ‘No duelling swords? Fencing lessons? Cannons?’ he asked, blinking once each time he named a weapon.
‘Cannons are heavy, and—’ she touched the bridge of her nose ‘—so are swords. A man with long reach can best me any day. I could not practise enough.’
