Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(75)

During the month they had been apart, Emma seemed to have grown taller. She came into the London villa, red curls flying, and launched herself at Tasia with a peal of laughter. “Belle-mère! I've missed you and Papa so much!”

“I've missed you too,” Tasia said, hugging her tightly. “How is Samson?”

“We had to leave him in the country.” Emma pulled back and made a face. “He cried dreadfully. It took two servants to keep him from running after the carriage. He kept howling like this—” She demonstrated a mournful dog wail, making Tasia laugh. “But I told him it wouldn't be long before we all returned.”

“Have you been keeping up with your lessons?”

“No. Grandmother never makes me study, except the times she tells me to ‘go along and read a big book.’ And Grandfather is always busy paying calls to his friends, or lurking in corners trying to pinch the housemaids.”

“Oh, dear.” Still smiling, Tasia walked with Emma to the front of the entrance hall, where the duchess had paused for a private word with Luke.

Her Grace, the Duchess of Kingston, was an imposing woman, tall and slender, with brilliant silver hair and dark, hawklike eyes. She was dressed in pearl-gray and plum silk, and a remarkable straw hat with a high “flower-pot” crown. There were two dead stuffed birds perched on the sloping brim of the hat.

“She killed them herself,” Emma said in a deadpan tone, and grinned at Tasia's wide-eyed glance.

Luke stood with his mother, listening attentively as she gave him a detailed account of Emma's behavior for the past month. “She would be more at home living in the woods with wild creatures than under a civilized roof,” the duchess proclaimed. “Fortunately I have a calming influence on Emma. She always benefits from the time she spends with me. You'll find she is much improved since you saw her last.”

“How gratifying,” Luke said, giving his approaching daughter a wink. “Where is Father?”

The duchess frowned. “Away on some romantic peccadillo. He snaps up silly young girls like an old cat hunting baby birds. You should be pleased by his absence. Otherwise he would be busy chasing your new bride round the villa.”

Luke grinned and kissed his mother's wrinkled cheek. “Nothing that tying him to a heavy chair wouldn't solve.”

“You should have suggested that years ago,” the duchess replied sourly, appearing to store the idea for future consideration. She raised her voice and turned toward Tasia and Emma, who waited tactfully nearby. “I came to see what kind of woman could manage to bring my son to the altar. I would not have thought it possible after so many years.”

Luke watched with pride as Tasia stepped forward to greet the duchess. “Your Grace,” she said softly, and dropped in a supple curtsy. The duchess looked at Luke, making no effort to hide her surprise. Whatever his mother had expected, it was not a young woman with such royal bearing.

Tasia looked particularly beautiful that day, her dark hair swept in a chignon fastened with diamond-studded hairpins, her white throat gleaming through a scarf of blue gauze. Her gown was a close-fitting blue sheath, molded to her slender waist and hips. The skirts were drawn back to a small pleated bustle and draped to the floor in a slight train. Aside from the hairpins, the only jewelry she wore was her gold wedding band and a cross on a gold chain around her neck.

Luke tried to see her through his mother's eyes. Tasia had a quiet self-possession that was uncommon to anyone outside a convent. And there was a sweet solemnity in her eyes, the look of a child at evening prayers. How she could keep that look of innocence in spite of his corruptive influence was a mystery to Luke. But his mother would definitely approve, in spite of the fact that she still believed Tasia to be a mere governess.

“Welcome to the family,” the duchess said to Tasia. “Although one must observe that you entered it under curious circumstances.”

“Your Grace?” Tasia said, pretending not to understand.

The duchess frowned impatiently. “There is gossip in every corner of England concerning your mysterious appearance, and your precipitous marriage to my son. So precipitous, in fact, that the duke and I were not even invited.”

Luke interrupted hastily. “We decided to keep the ceremony private, Mother.”

“So it seems,” came the frosty reply.

Tasia winced, remembering her brief conversation with Luke over the question of inviting his parents, ending with his flat statement that they would only bring interference and unwanted questions to the ceremony. Her slight movement caused the gold cross to swing on its long chain, attracting the older woman's interest.

“What an unusual piece,” the duchess remarked. “May I see it?” Receiving Tasia's nod of permission, she lifted the ornament in her gnarled fingers. The filigree cross had been designed in the Kievan Russian style, with many tiers of thin gold thread and tiny gold drops to give it texture. The center was inset with a cluster of blood-colored rubies and a small, perfect diamond. “I've never seen such workmanship,” the duchess said, carefully releasing the necklace.

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Tasia replied. “From the time of her baptism until her death, she always wore a cross around her neck. This was her favorite.” Obeying a sudden impulse, she removed the necklace. She took the duchess's heavily veined hand in her own soft one and pressed the cross into her palm. “I would like you to have it, ma'am.”