Anthony shook his head at the mention of Rosemeade. "I don't think she ought to shut herself up alone at Rosemeade, and I cannot remain there with her for more than a sennight. Hawthorne—Jordan's seat—is an enormous estate, with a thousand servants and tenants who are all going to require direction and reassurance when they learn of his death. I have my work cut out for me trying to learn to manage his investments and familiarize myself with running all of his estates. I would vastly prefer that my grandmother accompany me to Hawthorne and remain there."

"That would be much better for her," Alexandra agreed. To set his mind at rest about her own plans, Alexandra told him she intended to go home after the memorial service. "My mother meant to begin traveling and enjoying herself immediately after my wedding," she explained. "She promised to write and let me know her direction, so if you will have her letters sent on to me at home, I'll write to her wherever she is and tell her my husband is…" She tried to say "dead" and couldn't. She could not believe the handsome, vital man she had married was no longer alive.

With a determined scowl upon her face and Ramsey trailing solicitously upon her heels, the duchess walked slowly into the yellow salon the next morning, where Anthony was reading the newspaper and Alexandra was sitting at a desk, staring pensively into space.

As the duchess gazed at the pale, courageous girl with the hollow cheekbones who had pulled her through her grief, her expression softened, then underwent an immediate, radical change as her glance fell on Henry, who was alternately chasing his own tail and tugging at the hem of Alexandra's black mourning gown. "Be still!" she commanded the undisciplined beast.

Alexandra started, Anthony jumped, but Henry merely wagged his tail in greeting and renewed his gleeful play, undeterred. Caught off guard by this unprecedented case of flagrant defiance, the dowager attempted to stare the rambunctious puppy into submission and, when that had no effect, she rounded on the stately butler. "Ramsey," she commanded imperiously, "see that this deplorable creature is taken for a long, exhausting walk."

"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."