Chapter 16
When Bridget woke the next morning to a dampness between her thighs, she tossed her head back against her pillow and inhaled deeply.
She had finally realized something about what her body wanted, and it did not take much thought to discern the cause.
Bridget had fallen asleep thinking of her most recent kiss with His Grace, after all.
She was beginning to wonder if she would wake every morning with the phantom sensation of his lips pressed against hers.
She was to be his wife, after all. Tomorrow was the wedding.
“Good morning, my lady,” Amelia said, cheerful as always. “I hope your sleep was restful.”
Bridget pressed her thighs together, warmth rushing to her face. It was a senseless reaction, for Amelia would certainly not notice the dampness between Bridget’s thighs, but she nonetheless felt the need to hide herself just a little.
“It was,” Bridget lied. “Restful, indeed.”
“That is fortunate,” Amelia said. “Especially as the next few days will be quite busy. There is so much to be finished before the wedding!”
Was there? Bridget could scarcely imagine what there was left to plan when she had offered nothing to the conversation of her own wedding, leaving Elias and Dorothy to make the required arrangements.
That was assuming that she was to marry the Duke of Wheelton, of course. For all his insistence that she was to marry him, Bridget still wondered about his grandmother. She had learned far less about the woman than she had hoped at the ball.
“Has my sister suggested that I not marry?” Bridget asked. “To your knowledge?”
Amelia blinked, appearing confused. “I imagine you would know before I would, my lady, but I have heard nothing of the sort.”
That meant Dorothy had learned there was no truth to the rumors, or she had not found sufficient proof either way. Bridget pursed her lips together, thinking. She supposed that she could call on her sister and ask.
Bridget sighed. There was a small part of her that found the prospect of marriage far less intimidating than it initially had been, and after that kiss, Bridget was thinking that she might enjoy that reward.
It might even be worth behaving as the perfect wife for the Duke of Wheelton, but her chest tightened when she thought of relinquishing her one chance to find true love.
“I wish to visit the Dowager Duchess,” Bridget announced.
“The dowager…?” Amelia trailed off.
“Yes,” she said. “My groom’s grandmother. If I am to marry His Grace, I must meet his only surviving relative before the wedding, mustn’t I?”
Amelia smartly did not mention that it was far from unusual not to meet all a suitor’s relatives before marriage. “Of course, my lady.”
As the lady’s maid went to prepare the appropriate gown, Bridget drew aside the bedclothes and climbed from the bed. She ran her hands through her hair, mind awhirl with all the sensations from the day before.
Bridget tentatively reached between her thighs and cringed in embarrassment at the dampness between her legs.
It was quite unfair that the man should have such an effect on her when they were not even near one another!
With a scowl, she walked to the vanity and seated herself there.
Amelia had laid out a pale green gown trimmed with froths of lace that fell over Bridget’s shoulders like the fronds of a weeping willow tree.
Bridget gave it a nod of approval and faced her mirror, awaiting Amelia’s ministrations.
“Have you heard any gossip about the Dowager Duchess?” Bridget asked.
It was well-known that servants delighted in gossip, after all. And hadn’t Dorothy also suggested that one might know something? Bridget did not imagine that Amelia would know anyone from the Dowager Duchess’s household, but she might have come into some secondhand knowledge.
“Regrettably, no,” Amelia said.
The lady’s maid gently worked rose oil into Bridget’s hair until her ringlets shined. Then, she began gently coaxing pins into place.
“A pity,” Bridget said. “I was hoping you might have heard something.”
“I can ask around if you like,” Amelia offered.
“That would only be helpful if you learned something before tomorrow,” Bridget said dryly. “I am trying to learn if His Grace is unkind to the woman.”
“Unkind to her? Do you mean to say that your husband is a brute?” Amelia asked.
“Yes,” Bridget said.
But that was not entirely because of the rumors.
She shivered, remembering how the man had loomed over her in the darkness.
Bridget’s heart had hammered violently against her ribs just from being in his presence, and when he had pulled her against him, Bridget had a passing thought that he was a massive man and probably dangerous if he wanted to be.
He had not been dangerous with her, though. Instead, His Grace had been all passion, and Bridget had been a willing and eager participant in their dalliance. For all his insistence that she abandon her fantasies, the Duke of Wheelton cut the image of a dark, brooding hero.
“No thoughts on the matter?” Bridget asked, noting that Amelia had offered no reply.
“I am uncertain what to say, my lady,” Amelia said. “I would not wish for you to marry a brute, but I also know that your affairs are far more complex than my own. You must make choices that I will never have to.”
“I do not believe he presents a threat to me,” Bridget said.
Or did he? He had promised her pleasure if she was his perfect wife. What would he do if she was not, though? Would he have her locked away like the poor Dowager Duchess?
“He cares too much for his reputation and what the ton might say to harm me,” Bridget said.
Bridget knew she was trying to convince herself of that as much as she was Amelia.
“If you are certain,” Amelia said, stepping towards the gown.
“I am,” Bridget said, standing. “But just to be certain, we will try to speak to the Dowager Duchess. We will go at once.”
If she waited, Elias would anticipate her presence at breakfast, so Bridget would leave immediately.
The ride to the Dowager Duchess’s townhouse only took a few minutes.
Bridget descended from the carriage, a swell of disappointment blooming in her chest. A small part of her had anticipated a slightly more foreboding structure, a fitting place to hide one’s shameful relatives, but the home looked like any other.
The facade was white and austere, framed by rose gardens on all sides. It was, in a word, beautiful.
Not at all a forbidding place to keep someone captive, but Bridget supposed that His Grace might be a clever villain. He would not want to be caught committing his misdeeds.
“It is lovely, my lady,” Amelia commented.
Bridget had not been so foolish as to leave home without an escort.
“It is,” she said. “As is to be expected, of course, from a man with such a substantial fortune as the Duke of Wheelton.”
Bridget stepped onto the path that wound neatly through the roses and approached the door with her head held high and her shoulders back. Amelia rapped her knuckles lightly against the door, and they waited.
And waited.
Bridget furrowed her brow. “Well, this is rather unexpected. Someone ought to have come to us by now.”
“Maybe Her Grace prefers to keep a small staff,” Amelia said. “She must be quite old by now. Maybe she has grown to enjoy the silence.”
Bridget inwardly balked at the suggestion. She could not imagine living without sound—laughter, conversation, and music. And why would anyone choose to deprive herself of a proper staff?
Frustrated, Bridget knocked once more on the door, and at last, it was pulled open.
Rather than a butler, a portly woman stood in the doorway.
Her brown hair was pulled severely back and mostly hidden beneath a cap, but rather than giving her countenance the sharpness that Bridget associated with matrons and governesses, the woman still maintained a softness.
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
Bridget bristled at the unusual greeting but forced a bright smile, summoning all her charm to win over the strange woman at the door. “I am Lady Bridget,” she said. “My brother is the Duke of Reeds, and I am soon to be the Duke of Wheelton’s bride.”
“Yes,” the woman said, offering a belated curtsey. “I am Mrs. Clove.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Bridget said. “I have come to call on the Dowager Duchess. Because I am to marry her grandson, I feel it is long past time that we met.”
Mrs. Clove narrowed her eyes and surveyed Bridget carefully. “I am afraid that is impossible,” Mrs. Clove said. “Her Grace is declining all calls at the moment.”
Bridget blinked, a little taken aback. “Why is that?”
“Because she desires to,” Mrs. Clove said. “Respectfully, it is a private matter, my lady, and one which I am not at liberty to speak of.”
A private matter. That might be anything, though. Bridget bit the inside of her cheek and considered her approach.
“I would request that you ask her again,” Bridget said.
“I shall not,” Mrs. Clove said. “Her Grace has made it quite apparent that she does not wish to be disturbed. I will not broach the subject, for that would be disturbing her.”
“When will she again be taking visitors?” Bridget asked, keeping her tone reasonable.
“I am afraid I do not know, my lady.”
Bridget frowned. She had not anticipated being denied, and she was uncertain how to handle the firm rejection. How brazen did she dare be? With icy dread, it occurred to her that His Grace might learn of her questioning and not take kindly to her trying to learn the truth about him.
“Is she allowed to have visitors?” Bridget asked. “Or is it that the Duke forbids his grandmother the comfort of companionship?”
Mrs. Clove inhaled sharply, her face the very picture of shock. “My lady, that is a dreadful thing to suggest! His Grace cares greatly for the Dowager Duchess.”
Of course, Mrs. Clove would say that. The Duke paid the woman to be a member of this household, and she was beholden to him. A woman in such a position would defend her employer, no matter how despicable his actions might be.
“I am to marry this man,” Bridget said. “I need to know that I am safe with him.”
“You are,” Mrs. Clove said, her expression hardening. “His Grace is a kind and thoughtful man. With all due respect, my lady, I think you should go.”
Rather than waiting for an answer, Mrs. Clove simply shut the door. For a heartbeat, Bridget stared at the townhouse, but the door did not open again.
“What an unusual exchange!” Amelia exclaimed.
“Indeed,” Bridget said.
They turned away from the townhouse and began the short trip back to the waiting carriage.
“What will you do now, my lady?” Amelia asked. “You did not learn much at all.”
“No,” Bridget mused, climbing into the carriage. “But I learned more than I knew before.”
It was not enough, though.
“Do you intend to marry him without knowing?” Amelia asked.
Bridget leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
She did not know if she would be safe with the Duke of Wheelton.
However, the possibility remained that maybe the Dowager Duchess was in poor health and chose seclusion, rather than having it forced upon her.
There was one way to find out, though. If she married the Duke of Wheelton, he would have to introduce them eventually.
“I think…” Bridget trailed off. “After some consideration, I think I must marry him.”
“Truly, my lady?” Amelia’s eyes were wide. “Perhaps your brother could speak to His Grace and learn the truth of the matter.”
“And take care of me again?” Bridget asked. “I will not have Elias managing my life for me. If I am sufficiently mature to marry, I can handle my own affairs. No, I am set on marrying the Duke of Wheelton.”
For better or worse.