"Oh, Duchess Blackwell — welcome, my dear. I hope your journey was a pleasant one," said Duchess Howthrone.
"Don't ask," Duchess Blackwell replied with a weary sigh. "It didn't go very well, but we're here now. I don't see your son. Didn't he come to greet us?"
"I'm sorry — it may take some time for the news to reach him. The mansion is quite large," said Duchess Howthrone.
"I see," Duchess Blackwell said.
Duchess Howthrone paused, her expression thoughtful. There was little to be done. She offered a polite smile.
"It still seems he hasn't arrived," Duchess Blackwell added.
"Let's not wait out here," said Duchess Howthrone. "We'll go inside."
"Of course," Duchess Blackwell replied coolly. "But your son will have to come. He must meet me — and his fiancée. Right, Eveline?"
"Yes, Mother," Eveline said quietly.
She stood slightly behind Duchess Blackwell, her hands folded, her gaze lowered. To anyone watching, she appeared obedient and reserved.
Is she serious? Duchess Howthrone thought. I knew you when we were young — always mischievous, always testing limits. And now you parade respectability like a crown.
She kept the thought to herself.
"Of course," Duchess Howthrone said aloud, inclining her head. "You are quite right. My son should come."
Duchess Howthrone glanced briefly at Eveline. There was something unfamiliar there — not arrogance, not pride, but restraint. Careful restraint.
Interesting, she thought.