Chapter Seven
“Help me,” pleaded Amsonia, as she did every night. “Help me or let me loose to find my family.” And as he did every night, Qavox cocked his horrible head above her in the shadows, and said absolutely nothing at all . . .
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
“Oof,” Ana exclaimed as her body connected with something rock solid. Not the floor.
The duke.
Once again he held her tight against his enormous, muscular body. She wriggled one hand free and peeked out of the dust covering, giving him a cheery smile. “Why, good morning, Your Grace. And how are you this fine day?”
His eyebrows met, giving him the glowering look of a minotaur she’d once seen, painted on the side of an ancient Greek vase in Lady Claridge’s library.
He set her feet down on the carpet and began unwrapping her.
She tumbled out, breathless, laughing heartily.
“Thank you for catching me. I’m afraid I became rather tangled.
” Where were Tessie and the footmen? It appeared she was all alone with the duke.
And he didn’t look happy to see her. He helped her to her feet, still silent, though his eyes spoke volumes.
His gaze swept from her unruly hair to her bare feet.
She snatched up the dust covering and wrapped it around her torso.
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing my dressing gown?”
“I didn’t have anything else to wear, did I? My things haven’t arrived yet from the boarding house, and I wanted to get started on airing out my new chamber. I love this room. It’s perfect for my—”
“You may choose any room but this one.” His face was immobile and determined, the face of a statue carved from Pentelic marble.
“But why? I love this rosy wall covering, and this mirror.” She twirled in front of it. “Whoever saw such a large looking glass? I’ll have the footmen move the desk closer to the windows so that I might gaze out while I write.”
“Did you not hear me?”
“I heard you, but you didn’t answer my question. Why can’t I choose this room?”
“You can’t. And that’s final.”
“But why? I don’t understand. Did—did someone die here?
” She clapped her hands, the thought rather delighting her.
“Is there a ghost? Maybe it hides by day in these patterned wall coverings! Ooh, I read about such a thing once, a spirit that materialized at night from a painted design featuring great boughs of cherry blossoms and an ornamental urn. Popped right out of the urn and scared the bedroom’s occupant straight to death, so that there were then two ghosts in the room, and so on until the room’s spirits outnumbered the cherry blossoms! ”
He was still as stone, waiting for a chink in the wall of chatter she was erecting.
“Or perhaps . . .” She glanced around the room, her gaze alighting on the large wardrobe she hadn’t explored yet. She was in a fanciful mood that set her eyes sparkling. “Or . . . are you hiding something in here?” She danced toward the wardrobe.
“Do not open that.”
“I knew it!” she cried. “I’ve stumbled upon a secret collection of scandalous novels. Your Grace, how delightfully rakish of you.” She turned her back to him and fumbled with the lock.
“You’ll have no luck with that. It’s kept locked. For a reason.”
She shrugged merrily. “It’s a wonder what a hairpin can do.
” She turned back, hairpin in hand, waving it at him, before flinging open the wardrobe.
Rows of lace sleeves and gossamer silk skirts greeted her surprised face.
She turned to the duke, an unasked question on her lips, momentarily silenced by the sight.
He had already turned away, wincing. “Allow me to say it one last time: you cannot have this chamber. Now kindly remove yourself and choose another.”
“Why?”
“Because I wish it to be so.”
Which she assumed was the standard response to so many things in a duke’s life. Because he wished it to be so, it was. Because he was wealthy and titled and male and the world must do his bidding.
“But doors are meant to be unlocked,” she exclaimed. “Chambers to be lived in. Curtains to be opened to allow the sunlight in.”
He crossed his arms over the vast bulk of his chest. He held out his hand. “Come with me, Miss Crewe. I shan’t ask again. I shall bundle you back up into that dustcloth and forcibly carry you out of here.”
She ran to the open window, putting distance between them.
“But only look at this spectacular view, Your Grace. Why, just this morning I observed an attempted pickpocketing and lovers quarreling in the park. And there is a family across the street, I don’t suppose you know their names?
They have a remarkable number of children.
I count nine in all, and the eldest daughter must be making her debut this year because there is an inordinate amount of fuss over her wardrobe.
I’m quite attached to her after only an hour of observation.
I’ve decided that her name is Cygnette, because of the lovely curve of her neck, and that she will be the diamond of the Season.
It’s wonderful fodder for the novel I’m writing. ”
He paused, halfway to her, brows knitted together. “Which novel, the one with the dragon?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I visited Norwood & Pennington yesterday, before I met you, and Mr. Norwood didn’t want to publish my fantastical novel, but he said I might attempt to take up Lady Claridge’s mantle as the authoress of a new Clovercote tale.
I have a detailed outline dictated by my mentor before she passed.
I promised Mr. Norwood that I would submit half of the novel in a fortnight’s time.
Hence, I require the best writing desk in the house. ”
“You may have the desk, but not the room.”
Immobile. Unmalleable. He truly was carved of stone.
“But why?” she asked, hands on her hips, exasperated now.
He didn’t bother to answer this time. He advanced on her, eyes stormy, with the obvious intent of bundling her back into the window covering.
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” She rolled her eyes and exited the room as gracefully as one could in an overlarge dressing gown that dragged upon the floor, nearly tripping her with every step. “But don’t think this is over,” she whispered softly.
“I heard that, Miss Crewe,” the duke said tersely as he locked the door and pocketed the key.
“Now, go and make yourself presentable. Your possessions will have arrived by now. My aunt Glynis—Lady Glynis to you—is coming soon. She’s to be your chaperone.
She can’t find you looking like a . . .” He waved his hand at her.
“Hellion, Your Grace? I did warn you about my character,” she said archly.
He grunted. “Be in my study in precisely half an hour.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.
Tessie was waiting for her in the old room. “Was he very angry, milady? I never should have suggested that room, they do keep it locked except for cleaning! I only thought you would like the view ever so much, but I shouldn’t have taken you there.”
“Don’t fret, Tessie. Why such a fuss over one room? It’s ridiculous. And high time for a change! The duke is keeping secrets, Tessie, and I aim to uncover them.”
“I should think that’s not advisable, milady. You might come to trouble that way.”
“I’ve already come to trouble. The duke thinks I require a chaperone, though I don’t see the need for it. I’m to go and meet Lady Glynis in a half hour. I was told to make myself presentable.”
“Your trunk arrived, milady. I’ve already hung your gowns.”
“Thank you, Tessie. Which shall I wear, do you think?”
“The dove gray gown with the white lace collar.”
Tessie helped her dress, fastening the buttons at the back.
“Will I do?” Ana asked.
“What about your hair?”
“What about it?”
“If I were a lady’s maid I’d help you tame them curls with hot tongs.”
“That sounds like I might be scorched. I’ve never done anything with my hair except twist it into a knot at the back of my head and pray too many curls don’t escape.”
“At least a ribbon, perhaps?” Tessie found a pink ribbon in Ana’s trunk and looped it around her head, tying it in a bow at her ear. “That does look nice.”
“Thank you, Tessie. You’re a wonder.”
Tessie’s cheeks reddened. “I’ll do my best, milady. But honestly, wouldn’t you want a real lady’s maid? One with training, like?”
Ana shook her head. “I want you, Tessie. Now, do you know where the duke’s study is?”
“I’ll take you there.”
When they arrived, Ana knocked on the door. The duke’s gravelly bass voice bade her enter. She glanced back at Tessie, whose eyes were wide with fear. “Go on, milady.”
Ana took a deep breath and entered the room. A tall, thin woman with iron gray hair and iron gray eyes regarded Ana steadily. Her immaculate posture matched that of the duke at her side, who was also staring straight at Ana with a concentration that made her feel slightly breathless.
“This is the girl?” Lady Glynis asked.
“This is my ward, Miss Analise Crewe. Miss Crewe, this is my aunt, Lady Glynis.”
“How do you do?” Ana made a curtsy.
“Humph.” Lady Glynis narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t a proper curtsy at all. And what are you wearing?”
“A . . . gown?”
“It’s drab and does nothing for your complexion. Come here, girl.”
Ana approached her in the same way a plaintiff might approach a judge seated high on their throne, gavel in hand.
She grabbed Ana’s chin and tilted her face toward the light. “Freckles. How unfortunate. Equally unfortunate, the color of your hair—not red, not blonde. I’ll admit your eyes are a pleasing green. Open your mouth.”
Caught off guard, Ana did as she was told. Lady Glynis inspected her with growing disdain. “Crooked teeth. You’ll have to smile with your mouth closed.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Keep your mouth closed and smile demurely.”
“I’ll have to open my mouth to speak.”
“You’ll speak as little as possible.”
Ana glanced at the duke. He was reading a ledger on his desk, oblivious to the fact that she was being evaluated like a broodmare in a stable.
“Hold out your hands.”