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  “Yes, your grace. At once,” the stately butler said, bowing again, his expression deadpan. Bending down, he grasped the puppy by the scruff of his neck with his right hand, placed his left hand under the dog’s furry rump, and held the squirming puppy as far away from his fastidious self as the length of his arms permitted.

  “Now then,” the duchess said briskly, and Alexandra hastily stifled her wayward smile. “Anthony informs me you intend to go home.”

  “Yes. I’d like to leave tomorrow, after the memorial service.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You will accompany Anthony and me to Hawthorne.”

  Alexandra had been dreading having to return to her old life and trying to go on as if Jordan had never lived, but she had not considered going to Hawthorne. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because you are the Duchess of Hawthorne, and your place is with your husband’s family.”

  Alexandra hesitated, then she shook her head. “My place is at home.”

  “Rubbish!” the duchess declared stoutly, and Alexandra couldn’t help smiling at the return of the elderly woman’s familiar, autocratic manner, it was vastly preferable to the hollow shell that grief had made of her. “On the same morning you wed Hawthorne,” the duchess continued determinedly, “he specifically entrusted me with the task of making you into all you should be, in order that you might ultimately take your rightful place in Society. Although my grandson is no longer here, I trust I have enough loyalty,” she emphasized, “to carry out his wishes.”

  The emphasis on the word “loyalty” made Alexandra recall—as the dowager meant her to do—that she herself had told the duchess her grandson had admired that trait in her. Alexandra hesitated, caught between guilt, responsibility, and concern for her own welfare should she try to live at Hawthorne, removed from everything and everyone she knew and loved. The duchess was valiantly struggling to cope with her own grief; she could not help Alexandra shoulder hers. On the other hand, Alexandra wasn’t certain she could carry the terrible burden alone, as she had done when her grandfather and her father died. “You are kindness itself to suggest I live with you, ma’am, but I fear I cannot,” Alexandra declined after a moment’s further thought. “With my mother gone away, I have responsibilities to others, which must take first consideration.”

  “What responsibilities?” the duchess demanded.

  “Penrose and Filbert. With my mother gone away, they will have no one to look after them. I had intended to ask my husband to make a place for them at his house, but—”

  “Who” she interrupted imperiously, “are Filbert and Penrose?”

  “Penrose is our butler and Filbert our footman.”

  “I have long been under the impression,” said her grace with asperity, “that servants exist to care for their employers, and not the other way round. However,” she unbent enough to say, “I applaud your sense of responsibility. You may bring them to Hawthorne,” she magnanimously decreed. “I daresay we can always use another servant or two.”

  “They’re quite old!” Alexandra hastily interjected. “They can’t work hard, but they’re both proud, and they need to believe they’re desperately helpful. I’ve, well, fostered that delusion in them.”

  “I, too, have always felt it my Christian duty to ensure elderly servants are allowed to work so long as they wish to and are able,” the duchess lied baldly, hurtling a killing glance at her incredulous grandson. Converting Alexandra into a polished young socialite was a project she was bent on accomplishing. It was a challenge—a duty—a goal. She was unwilling to admit that the courageous girl with the gypsy curls, who had pulled her through her shock and grief, might have stolen a permanent place in her heart, or that she was loath to bid her goodbye.

  “I don’t think—” Alexandra began.

  Realizing Alexandra was about to refuse again, the duchess pulled out all the stops: “Alexandra, you are a Townsende now, and your place is with us. Moreover, it is your avowed duty to honor your husband’s wishes, and he specifically wished for you to become a credit to his illustrious name.”

  Alexandra’s resistance dissolved as the duchess’ last words finally struck home. Her name was Townsende now, not Lawrence, she realized with a burst of pride and pleasure. She had not lost everything when she lost him; he had given her his name! In return, Alexandra recalled with a sharp pang of nostalgia, she had solemnly pledged her word to Jordan to honor him and to obey his wishes. Apparently, he had wished her to become a proper lady worthy of his name and to take a place in Society—whatever that meant. Tenderness swelled in her heart as she raised her eyes to the duchess and softly promised, “I will do as he wished.”

  “Excellent,” said the duchess gruffly. When Alexandra left to see to her packing, Anthony leaned back in his chair and leveled his amused gaze upon his grandmother, who reacted by drawing herself up stiffly in her chair and trying to stare him out of countenance. The ploy failed. “Tell me,” he drawled in a laughter-tinged voice, “when did you develop this violent desire to employ elderly servants?”

  “When I realized it was the only way to keep Alexandra from leaving,” she replied bluntly. “I will not permit that child to lock herself away in some godforsaken village and wear widow’s weeds for the rest of her life. She is scarcely eighteen years old.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  HAWTHORNE, THE ANCESTRAL ESTATE of twelve generations of Townsendes comprised 50,000 acres of woods, parkland, rolling hills, and fertile fields. Imposing black iron gates bearing the Hawthorne coat of arms blocked the entrance, and a liveried gatekeeper came out of a stone gatehouse to push open the heavy gates so the elegant traveling chaises could pass.

  Sitting beside the duchess, Alexandra gazed out the windows as the coach swept down a smooth, curving drive that wound decorously through acres and acres of immaculately clipped green velvet lawns.

  Huge trees marched along on either side of the smooth drive, stretching their stately branches like leafy umbrellas above the coaches. Although Hawthorne belonged to Anthony now, in her heart Alexandra thought of it as Jordan’s. This was his home, the place where he was born, and where he’d grown to manhood. Here she would learn about him and come to know him as she had never had the chance to do in life. Simply by being here, she already felt closer to him. “Hawthorne is more beautiful than any place I’ve ever imagined,” she breathed.

  Anthony grinned at her awed enthusiasm. “Wait until you see the house itself,” he said, and from his tone Alexandra knew it would be very grand indeed. Even forewarned, however, she drew in her breath sharply when the coach rounded a bend in the drive. A half mile ahead, spread out before her in all its majestic splendor, was a three-story stone and glass mansion of over two hundred rooms, set against a backdrop of rolling green hills, crystal blue streams, and terraced gardens. In the foreground, across the drive from the house, swans drifted on the tranquil surface of an enormous lake, and, off to the right, a beautiful white gazebo with graceful columns in the classic Greek style overlooked the lake and parkland.

  “It’s beyond beautiful,” Alexandra whispered, “it’s beyond anything.” A half-dozen footmen were standing at attention upon the shallow, graceful steps that led from the drive to the front door. Stifling the feeling that she was being very rude, Alexandra followed the duchess’ example when she alighted from the coach and walked past the servants as if they were invisible.

  The front door was opened wide by a servant whose lofty bearing instantly proclaimed him head butler and ruler of the household staff. The duchess introduced him as Higgins, then walked into the hall with Alexandra at her side.

  A wide, curving marble staircase swept upward in a graceful half circle from the foyer to the second story, then across a balcony and up to the third story. Alexandra and the duchess ascended the curving staircase together, and Alexandra was shown into a splendid suite of rooms decorated in shades of rose.

  After the maid left them, the duchess turned to Alexandra. “Would