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ask one’s husband through an intermediary the types of questions she was considering? Miranda spent most of that and the next few days pondering her next move and then decided that, in the proper way of things, a wife did not ask. But she also decided that she would. If there was any chance, no matter how slight, of peeling back the layers and reclaiming the man she’d married, it was worth the risks.
    Three days after the duke left London for their estates in the north of England, the duchess received a note from her friend that caused her to send her own polite regrets to Lady Crispin and to the dowager. It would appear that neither the Duke nor Duchess of Windmere would be present for the ball on Saturday next, after all.

Chapter Four
    A drian watched out the window of his study as work on the estate continued as usual. His breathing had eased now, but he’d suffered two attacks during his travel here. Usually, the air felt easier to breathe in the country than in London, where the ash and dust and fog could make it rather uncomfortable. So long as he stayed away from the stables and the gardens, he remained free of those attacks the physicians and apothecaries called “hay fever.” It was the others, the more virulent, breath-stealing ones, that seemed to be on the increase.
    The last seven days had been grueling for him—first traveling north to Windmere Park and then the extensive review of all his estate and family documents. If his steward here thought it strange that he should appear and demand to see all the records, he would never say so. They’d ridden to outlying farms, visited the rector in the village that lay on his property, and spoken tomany of his tenants. Repairs and some changes to the summer and autumn crops were planned where needed. A larger selection of books was ordered for use by the rector’s wife to teach the children of the village.
    The most difficult task yet lay ahead of him. His solicitor should be arriving either this day or the next, and Adrian would review and update his will. Although his title and most of the accompanying estates were entailed, he still had some discretionary properties and funds. He would feel better once those decisions and arrangements were made for everyone who depended on him for support or a living.
    Turning from the window, Adrian picked up the glass of wine and drank from it. He’d learned the hard lesson of overimbibing the night he’d discovered his fate. His stomach had remained unsettled for days, and he’d had to stop several times on the road north to empty it rather forcefully. No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.
    It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.
    The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the treessurrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.
    As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.
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