A Lady for a Duke

by Alexis Hall

“Though it does rather make one worry for Little Bartholomew. We can only hope he’s inherited my brains and his father’s looks.” “And,” asked Viola mischievously, “if it’s the other way round?” Lady Marleigh frowned. “Lord help us, I have no idea. I suppose we feed him to the nearest wolf and try again.”

“A child who can’t even make it past the age of seven without drowning itself in some brook or other,” she would have said, “is likely to make a very annoying adult.”

“Exactly. Breakfast is the best meal of the day—as it should be, to console one for having to get out of bed. I don’t like this current fashion for scraps of bread and watery tea. Frankly, I blame the French.”

Aren’t your ears supposed to burn when somebody’s talking about you? Or is that only if they’re saying nasty things? So you must have been saying nice things.” “I only say nasty things to people’s faces.” Lady Marleigh smirked. “What’s the point otherwise?”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been an apple tree. They only live for about forty years and they’re neither tall nor strong enough to support a hanging.” Given the subject matter, the authority in Lady Marleigh’s tone was slightly disconcerting. As, for that matter, was Lady Miranda’s undimmed curiosity. “Is that so? What are the superior trees for hanging oneself? Well, let me show you this one and you can assess its merit as an instrument of self-destruction.”

And perhaps… perhaps he would still feel warmly towards her, the lady’s companion with whom he had passed a few short weeks one bleak January. Invite her to visit now and then with the Marleighs, so she could watch as the halls of Morgencald filled up with other people’s joy.

Crying, sobbing

“My point,” Lady Marleigh continued doggedly, “is that I don’t see what use we can be to others if we must deny our own most fundamental selves. We all have the right to be recognised for who we are.”