Free Twelfth Night Secrets by Jane Feather

was officially over. I was interested in seeing the situation for myself.”
    “And was that why Nick was there?” She asked the questions casually, trying to conceal her passionate interest in his answers.
    “I gather so. He was with a group of curious friends, and we met and took to each other immediately.”
    “I find it strange that he never mentioned you to me,” she observed. “I knew most of his really good friends.”
    He shrugged, saying with a half laugh, “Well, as I said, perhaps I valued the friendship more than did Nick.”
    She turned to look at him then, her green gazesearching. “Nick valued friendships he could trust, sir. He valued openness in his friendships. Perhaps he felt you were withholding something from him?”
    His black eyes held hers in a steady gaze for a moment, and then he said, “I have the habit of reticence. Sometimes that impedes as close a friendship as I would like.”
    It seemed like a confidence, and she was debating how to respond when the sound of carriage wheels on the driveway below broke the instant of silence. “Oh, Lord, that’ll be Great-aunt Augusta. I must go down at once.”
    Julius watched her disappear in a blur of green muslin. He walked to one of the long windows overlooking the drive and stood looking down, stroking his chin thoughtfully. A massive Berlin carriage stood below, six horses in the traces, the roof piled high with luggage. A woman, clearly a lady’s maid, judging by her black pelisse and bonnet, was fussing with an armful of shawls at the carriage steps as a lady descended on the arm of a footman, who held a small pug in his other arm. The lady was swathed in furs, batting at the footman with her muff as he tried to take an enormous reticule suspended from her arm. Julius could hear nothing, but he could hazard a guess at the gistfrom what he’d heard of Great-aunt Augusta. Harriet appeared, hurrying down the steps, and surreptitiously he pushed open the window, leaning close to listen.
    “My dear ma’am, you must be frozen,” Harriet declared, anticipating the first complaint as she curtsied to her relative. “There is a good fire going in your parlor, and hot water for a mustard bath if you feel you may be catching cold. Dacre, her ladyship’s bedchamber is prepared, and if her ladyship should need a posset, you must send instantly to the kitchen.” The maid disappeared up the stairs in a waft of black taffeta, giving instructions left, right, and center with all the assurance of one who knows her importance.
    “Ah, Harriet . . . there you are at last . . . let go of my arm, you silly man.” Augusta swatted the attendant footman with a degree of vigor. “Take poor Horace to my chamber, and fetch him some chicken livers. I am afraid he is catching an ague . . . such a dreadful, interminable journey. I don’t know why we don’t just stay at home, but of course, dear child, I must do my duty. My dear brother must have a hostess for his endless parties. Now, let me look at you.”
    A pair of surprisingly sharp green eyes subjected Harriet to an intent scrutiny. “Well, you don’t look too bad. You’ve left off mourning, I see.”
    “It was the Duke’s wish, ma’am. Nick has been gone almost a year,” Harriet responded. She had been prepared for this, and the sooner it was over and done with, the better. “Will you come inside? The Duke will be waiting to welcome you.”
    “Well, where is he, then?” The lady raised a lorgnette to her eyes and looked pointedly around. “Can’t be troubled to come to the door, I see.”
    “He was with his estate manager, ma’am. He asked to be informed the moment you arrived,” Harriet said soothingly. “Please come inside out of the cold.”
    Her ladyship allowed herself to be ushered up the steps into the house. As Harriet set foot on the bottom step, something drew her eyes upwards. Julius, standing at an open window of the Long Gallery, touched his forehead in a mock salute