Chapter 15
He’ll enjoy disciplining me… What on earth does he mean by that?
Camelia’s mind swirled with the Duke’s warning from the wedding breakfast, conjuring images of torture, and she shivered. She was… intrigued.
“No man will ever tame me!” she hissed under her breath.
Her chamber was vast and beautifully designed. Camelia knew instantly that the Duke would not be sleeping with her when she saw the delicate furniture and light pink decor. There was no hint of him there.
She felt lonely sitting on the edge of the bed in her new home. The Duke had left her puzzled.
A knock at the door sent her thoughts spiraling in all directions.
“You may enter,” she called, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a silver-haired woman in crisp black bombazine stepped inside, hands folded primly at her waist.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I am Mrs. Weber, your new maid.” Her tone was warm but firm, the kind that suggested she had managed dukes since infancy.
Camelia rose, offering a genuine smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Weber. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Mrs. Weber’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “The pleasure’s mine, Your Grace. His Grace sent me to prepare you for dinner.”
Camelia sighed. “Dinner already? I’ve barely digested breakfast. Time conspires against me in this house!”
“Time conspires against everyone in Brentmere,” Mrs. Weber said with quiet humor, moving to the wardrobe with practiced efficiency. “Shall we choose the pale blue gown for tonight?”
Unable to help herself, Camelia blurted, “Perhaps I should wear armor instead?”
“Only if you fancy denting the silver.”
They burst into laughter.
Mrs. Weber pulled out the pale blue gown and directed Camelia in front of the mirror as she began to dress her.
“How long have you worked in Brentmere Manor?”
“Thirty years in this house, Your Grace. I’ve seen dukes come and go. You’ll do well.” Mrs. Weber paused, holding up the gown behind Camelia. “Now, let’s armor you.”
She pulled on the laces of the corset, causing Camelia to gasp lightly.
“I do hope the Duke will approve of me at dinner.” Camelia struggled to keep her thoughts in line in front of her maid. It must be the loneliness of Brentmere that made her chatter away.
“He will adore you; you look stunning!”
The memory of their searing kiss flashed through her mind, and she felt her nipples pebble, pressing insistently against the inner lining of her corset as Mrs. Weber tugged the laces tighter.
The sensation was both exquisite and maddening, a reminder of the Duke’s effect on her.
“Hold still, Your Grace,” Mrs. Weber said, her tone kind but clipped as she adjusted the corset, her hands deft and practiced.
The older woman, with her gray-streaked bun and calm demeanor, moved with quiet efficiency, arranging Camelia’s evening gown for her first dinner with her husband. The blue silk gown was breathtaking as it flowed around her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weber,” Camelia said, forcing a smile as she smoothed her skirts. “I do hope you can help me around. I would love to know more about His Grace and Pamela.”
Mrs. Weber stepped back, lowering her gaze to the floor. “It is my job to help you, Your Grace, but there is not much I can say about His Grace and Lady Pamela. I am just their servant.”
Camelia felt terrible for making her uncomfortable.
“I apologize, Mrs. Weber. Your help around Brentmere Manor is more than enough for me.”
Mrs. Weber beamed at her. “You’re ready for dinner now, Your Grace.”
Camelia thanked her, but her heart sank slightly.
Brentmere feels like a fortress of secrets.
She already missed her sisters’ lively chatter, Iris’s stern wisdom, and Margaret’s quick wit. She wished they were there to brighten this strange new world.
“You may lead the way, Mrs. Weber,” she said, sounding brighter than she felt.
The maid guided her through Brentmere’s grand corridors. Each wall was adorned with tapestries and gilded frames. Camelia’s eyes caught the portrait of a striking young woman, her ebony hair cascading in soft waves and her serene expression hauntingly familiar.
“Who is she?”
Mrs. Weber shuffled her feet. “That is Lady Josephine, Your Grace.”
“She’s beautiful,” Camelia whispered as she admired the painting. “But there’s a sadness in her eyes.”
“Yes, she was very beautiful.” The elderly woman looked up at the painting with glassy eyes.
“Was?”
“She is no longer with us, Your Grace.”
Camelia longed to probe Mrs. Weber further, but she knew that it was useless to ask a loyal servant for an explanation.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said gently.
Mrs. Weber responded with a soft smile, before they resumed walking.
But the portrait lingered in Camelia’s thoughts as they reached the dining room.
A long mahogany table was set with gleaming silverware and candles. Lady Pamela sat stiffly next to His Grace. Her delicate features composed and her hands folded primly under the table.
The Duke stood at the head. His presence filled the entire room, and Camelia felt the familiar flutters in the pit of her stomach when her eyes landed on him.
“Welcome, Duchess,” he said authoritatively, gesturing to her seat. “You’re punctual. That’s good.”
Camelia offered a small smile, hoping it would mask her annoyance. “Do you think so little of me, Your Grace?”
The Duke’s jaw worked, and he glared at her as she sat opposite Lady Pamela, who watched them in utter shock.
“I half-expected you to run by now,” he retorted.
“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you or Lady Pamela waiting.” She hoped he picked up on the sarcasm in her tone. She turned to Lady Pamela, determined to break through the girl’s reserve. “Lady Pamela, do you have any favorite pastimes? Perhaps you enjoy reading or sketching?”
Lady Pamela’s eyes flicked up briefly, then dropped to her plate. “I… read, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice barely audible.
“Oh, that’s lovely!” Camelia beamed. “What books do you enjoy? I adore novels; perhaps we could read one together?”
“There will be no time for reading. You and Pamela have work to do,” the Duke butted in as a footman brought in the soup.
“If you insist on labor, do get rid of the enormous library you have. Books, like women, grow restless when they are neglected. And if Lady Pamela agrees, reading makes for a good pastime. It is educational and enjoyable.”
“It is a fine pastime,” the Duke conceded, his jaw tight. “But not now. A duchess has duties, and Pamela must prepare for her debut.”
Camelia purposefully ignored him and kept her eyes on Lady Pamela. “Lady Pamela, would you like to give up reading?”
Lady Pamela’s lips tightened, and she nodded meekly. “Perhaps not, Your Grace.”
Camelia tried hard to suppress a victorious grin.
“You may read in your free time, after your lessons.” The Duke’s tone left no room for argument, and they left it at that.
They quietly enjoyed the soup until Camelia decided to break the silence again.
“I saw a beautiful portrait in the hall of a young lady with raven hair just like yours.” She pointed at Lady Pamela. “Who is she?”
Lady Pamela paused, her expression tightening. “That’s my aunt.”
“She’s quite lovely,” Camelia said.
“She died years ago. It’s not a topic for dinner,” the Duke interjected curtly.
A thick silence draped the dining room like a mourning veil.
Camelia’s heart twisted, the spoon frozen halfway to her lips. Whispers she had overheard resurfaced: the late Duke’s daughter, a girl who had simply vanished from Society, her name erased from guest lists and dance cards as cleanly as chalk from a slate.
The rumors were gossamer-thin, shrouded in mystery, yet they struck a chord deep in Camelia’s chest as she remembered the beautiful portrait.
Is she the same woman?
The secrets of Brentmere might be darker than she had initially assumed, and nothing frightened her more. Yet the portrait’s haunting familiarity tugged at her, an elusive recognition she couldn’t quite place.
Shaking off the unease, she convinced herself it was simply the resemblance to her husband, as they were related. But a faint shadow of doubt lingered in her mind.
The Duke sipped his wine, then fixed her with a steady glare that made her squirm in her seat. “I’ve drawn up a schedule for you and Pamela. As you are aware, you’ll have duties to fulfill, and preparing Pamela for her debut is paramount.”
Camelia tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “A schedule? How very… organized you are, Your Grace.”
The Duke didn’t smile and kept his voice firm.
“Indeed. In the mornings, you’ll oversee Pamela’s lessons.
Etiquette, dancing, and conversation. In the afternoons, you’ll manage household affairs and correspond with the ton.
In the evenings, we’ll dine together, and you’ll ensure that Pamela’s comportment is flawless.
I expect precision, especially from my Duchess. ”
Camelia’s lips twitched, amused by his rigidity. “Do you schedule our smiles as well?”
Lady Pamela choked on a morsel.
The Duke’s eyes darkened. “Be careful, Duchess. You’ll learn to speak with respect and follow my lead, both here and elsewhere.”
Camelia’s cheeks flushed at the implication, her mind flashing to his earlier words about disciplining her.
“If I am not mistaken, I was promised some freedom, Your Grace. I’m sure that I’ll manage your schedule, but only on my terms,” she said calmly, although her heart beat frantically beneath her corset. “Do not be surprised if I add a touch of spontaneity to your schedule.”
“Camelia,” he warned. “If you fail at your duty—”
“I will not fail, Your Grace. Trust me. I have two sisters who can vouch for me,” she said confidently.
“Your sisters are not my daughters.”
His curt response left her reeling, but she noticed the hint of curiosity in Lady Pamela’s eyes when she mentioned her sisters.