“Tell him,” she managed calmly enough, “that I called. Is he anywhere near to…” She didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to know, but she and Riggs had become allies in their care of Balmoral. At least she had achieved that, the taking of the major rook on the chessboard of his household. “I would say another day,” Riggs said. “Good enough.” “I’m sorry, Mistress Verney.” She glanced at Riggs’s face, at the scar that made him seem sneering, yet he wasn’t. He felt pity for her. It was a shock to see that. She walked to the Stone Gallery, found a chair to curl up in. He’d had a fit only two weeks ago, a day or so after that madam died. It was too soon for another. Once a month she could manage, but twice or more? She looked down at her hands. When truth looks you in the face and says boo, pay attention, she told herself; if you marry him, this will be your life. Is a dukedom worth this? With the dignity and honors and pride of bearing his name will come this.
