Ophelia was far more complex. She had grieved and was still mourning, unless he was wrong. She had faced life alone—in more than one way. She and her husband had been partners, but not soul mates. Not the way he and Marie had been.

That thought made his heart ache for her.

But she didn’t need or want his pity.

Somewhere in that conversation he’d gone badly wrong. He was banished from the house, and his chance of winning her hand had diminished.

Think as hard as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on what he had said wrong.

In the morning, the young footman returned his clothing, immaculately cleaned and pressed. His sword made an appearance as well, and Hugo buckled it on without inquiring how the coachman explained possession of the duke’s weapon.

Fiddle ushered him into a charming breakfast room and informed him that Her Ladyship always broke bread with her daughter in the morning. One of Lady Astley’s carriages was at his disposal, and Fiddle would order it to return His Grace to the Lindow townhouse after the meal.

Ophelia must be in the nursery. Hugo would be damned if he’d leave without saying goodbye.

He finished the meal without haste, talking to Fiddle of this and that, learning far more of the household than the butler imagined he had revealed. Ophelia’s eggs were brought from her country house, as was her meat, “and as much produce as Lady Astley deems practical,” the butler said, more than a hint of pride in his voice.

Fiddle was brother to Ophelia’s coachman in that: Bisquet had made it clear that he was proud to serve his mistress, and he would lay down his life to protect her.

Hugo’s servants were loyal too. His butler, Prism, was devoted to the duchy and his position as head butler of several estates. In fact, most of the servants were proud of being part of the duchy. They enjoyed wearing his livery.

Ophelia was not only complicated; she had built a life for herself that he would be hard-pressed to match. No one knew better than he that the life of a duke or duchess could be a tedious, even lonely one.

Everything he did was considered interesting. If he went to chapel, by the time the service ended, there would be a throng of people outside, waiting for him to throw alms, or simply gawking at his clothing.

At his carriage.

At his children.

Could he subject Ophelia to that much scrutiny? He looked around him. The breakfast room was painted pale green, and plaster arabesques covered the ceiling. Every piece of furniture was exquisite, and each spoke to Ophelia’s taste.

In contrast, Lindow Castle was a hodgepodge, a huge, sprawling mélange of towers and wings, with secret passageways, suits of armor, dusty tapestries, endless staircases.