Chapter Twenty #2
Now that he was married and meant to share a bedchamber with his wife, they needed to figure out a workable routine here and in Weymouth.
“Yes, Your Grace. One hour, knock first,” Higgins repeated, and quickly backed out of his bedchamber.
Florence stirred shortly afterward. Trajan helped her don her nightgown and robe, doing more to undress her than assist because she had a truly gorgeous body and he could not get enough of her. He wanted to toss her back on the bed and claim her for a third time.
But they had a lot to accomplish today, and they would never get anything done if they did not get moving now.
The first item on his list was the matter of her clothes.
Much of her wardrobe was at her parents’ townhouse, but little of it would be suitable for a married duchess.
Fiona had given him the name of her modiste yesterday, and generously mentioned that Florence could borrow any clothes she needed from her in the meanwhile.
But Trajan wanted his wife to have her own things, for he could easily afford the best.
Visiting her parents was on his list, as well.
He wanted to understand their behavior toward their daughter.
Why did the mother treat Florence as though she did not exist?
Was it some odd family custom to ignore the girls and adore the sons?
Did that practice not die out along with medieval fiefdoms?
And girls were useful to give away in marriage to form alliances.
But her family was more intent on disowning her or fobbing her off on the wastrel son of a friend rather than matching her in any useful alliance.
He had also considered that Hermia might be her real mother, that Florence was adopted by her parents to protect Hermia from ruination, especially if she bore a child out of wedlock.
But Hermia was forthright and spoke her mind. She would have said something to Florence by now. Nor did Trajan get the feeling that Hermia was a mother looking after her secret child.
Instinct told him that Hermia was exactly who she claimed to be, a loving maiden aunt.
He told Florence what he wanted to do and why.
She did not look happy, but agreed to the plan. “I will need new clothes. But believe me when I say that I won’t need my family.”
“Would you mind if I went to them on my own?”
She shrugged. “If you think one visit to my parents will clear up something I haven’t been able to figure out in my entire lifetime, then you are welcome to try. We lose nothing by it, and they do need to be told I am married to you. I might come with you.”
“I hope you will, but I am not going to force you.”
“I think I must go with you. But if the visit becomes too much for me and I want to leave, then you must promise not to stop me.”
“I promise,” he said, placing a hand over his heart.
“If I do walk out, I’ll wait for you in our carriage. All right?”
“Yes.” Trajan did not know if this was helpful in any way to Florence, but he hoped it might be.
He doubted her parents would suddenly open up to him and reveal the dark secrets surrounding their treatment of her.
But it was important for him to get a sense of them and the friction within the family.
Frampton may have been a physical threat, soon to be squashed by Althorpe, but Florence’s family was just as bad. They had landed some heavy emotional blows on her and left deep bruises on her soul.
Florence went to her duchess quarters to prepare herself for the day while he remained in his bedchamber and did the same.
They met downstairs. He smothered a grin when he saw her, for she wore one of her sturdy muslin gowns and her walking boots. She looked ready to climb trees.
Well, she had little choice in what to wear, since she had only brought along three gowns for the journey. This was why they required an urgent visit to Fiona’s modiste, one Madam de Bressard, who seemed to be popular with the fashionable set.
They left immediately after breakfast for the modiste’s shop. Fiona, to Trajan’s relief, joined them, arriving only a few minutes after they had. “Here I am. Shall we get started?”
Florence groaned.
“You can do this,” Trajan teased. After all, she had just brought down one of England’s most vicious lords. Selecting fabrics for new gowns could not be all that difficult.
He was glad Fiona was with them. Florence liked her and trusted her fashion knowledge.
He also happened to know what looked good on a woman and what would suit Florence specifically, but she was not likely to accept his opinion, since he was a man and would choose what pleased him and not necessarily conform to current fashion standards.
They spent hours selecting an extensive wardrobe, for Florence could no longer wear her spinster gowns or her sturdy, bird-watching muslins with their secret pockets and utter lack of style.
Well, in his opinion—again, which did not count—Florence would look pretty wearing a potato sack.
As far as he was concerned, she could wear whatever she liked when in residence at Gull Hall.
But Fiona was right to insist on elegant gowns for London, since Florence was going to be watched and talked about everywhere they went.
The ton could be cruel. He did not want her ridiculed.
They made good progress, and arranged for a handful of gowns to be rushed so that Florence had something decent to wear these next few days they would remain in Town.
“I’ll arrange for the others to be forwarded to Weymouth once they are ready,” the modiste said in a crisp French accent.
“I’ll match each gown to your precise measurements from these first gowns fitted for you, so no alterations should be necessary.
Do not give them over to some local seamstress to butcher. ”
Florence smiled and promised she wouldn’t.
Fiona next led them to the shoemaker and haberdasher for all the shoes and accessories Florence needed.
“This is too much,” she protested. “I have a wardrobe full of clothes and shoes at my family’s house.”
“Florence, you dress to attract chickens and squirrels,” Fiona said, which was what Trajan was thinking but would never dare say it because Florence looked lovely, and her fashion sense, or lack thereof, suited just fine in the countryside, which was where he preferred to reside.
He next took the ladies out for lunch at a local hotel known for its elegance and fine dining. Durham joined them. “How did it go? Did Fiona exhaust you?”
Florence laughed. “Yes! I think we bought every bolt of fabric, glove, parasol, and shoe in London.”
“Well, you are the wife of a Silver Duke now, as I am sure Fiona explained,” Durham said.
“This means people will look at you wherever you go. You’ve bought yourself a little time because word has not spread yet about your marriage.
Everyone still thinks Trajan is a dashing, silver-at-the-temples bachelor on the prowl. ”
“Not after today,” Fiona remarked. “I’m sure my modiste is already spreading the word to her clientele. It is a coup for her, being among the first to learn of Weymouth’s marriage, and to be given the task of an entire new wardrobe for his duchess.”
Florence sighed. “Perhaps this will take a little more adjustment on my part than I thought would be required.”
They finished their meal in pleasant conversation, and then Durham took Fiona home.
Florence turned wistful once they were in Trajan’s barouche on their way to her family’s residence. “I look forward to returning to Gull Hall. It already feels like home to me. The Newton townhouse never felt like a home.”
“I know, love.” He was also eager to return to Gull Hall, but he dared not do so for another few days yet. Althorpe and the Home Office agents needed time to deal with Frampton and remove him as a threat.
Trajan took Florence’s hand and kept hold of it as they arrived at the Newton home and marched up to the front door. It was an elegant house, well maintained on the outside, and appeared to be properly staffed. He noted a head butler, who met them at the entry, and two footmen were passing by.
The butler stared from one to the other, apparently confused. “Lady Florence?”
She smiled at the man. “Good afternoon, Halliwell. I believe my parents are expecting us.”
“They were expecting His Grace and his mother,” Halliwell explained. “But it is nice to see you, Lady Florence. Are you back to stay? Or will you be traveling again?”
“Traveling again soon, I hope.”
Trajan noted that she made no mention of her new title, no doubt preferring to reveal the news to her parents before saying anything to the staff.
By the sudden brightening of Halliwell’s eyes, he must have caught on that the duchess reference was to Florence and not his mother. His expression immediately softened. “Come this way.”
He led them to the family parlor, a formal and elegantly designed room, and then left to advise her parents of their arrival.
“Is this where you grew up?” Trajan asked, surveying the well-appointed room that nonetheless felt cold and uninviting.
She nodded. “For much of my life.”
“It is nicely maintained. I’m not sure what I was expecting.”
“Yes, my mother loves everything about this house except for me,” she said with a snort. “If she could expunge my presence, she would. Will you stay close? I’m not sure I’ll hold up throughout this visit.”
He gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “Just take my hand whenever you feel the need to scream.”
“Or I’ll just bolt if it becomes too unbearable.”
Trajan was surprised by the extent of Florence’s struggles, but this was his fault. He had been raised in a happy family and did not fully appreciate the depth of harm done to her because she was so deceptively strong.
Florence was not merely strong, but also smart, capable, and had a big heart for loving. She had overcome her mother’s cold rejection in so many ways.
He cursed himself for a fool, for this meeting could turn agonizingly painful for her.
He should have understood and left it alone, contacted her parents later on his own.
But he’d thought to address this problem as he did every other and approach it like a charging bull.
Only it wasn’t Florence’s parents who would end up gored, but her.
Her father walked in first and seemed genuinely pleased to see his daughter. “Florence,” he said, giving her a hug, “how have you been? We’ve been so worried about you.”
“We?” She returned his hug before slipping out of his embrace.
He sighed. “I have been worried about you. And where is Hermia? I thought you were traveling with her.”
“I was. I am. We were in Weymouth.” She then took a deep breath and introduced her father to Trajan. “He’s my husband.”
Her father’s mouth dropped open. “Florence, I am delighted, of course. But…is this a jest? When did you marry? Why did you not tell your mother and me?”
“It all happened very quickly,” Trajan said.
“Not out of necessity,” Florence hastened to explain. “Ours is a love match.”
“I’ve known Florence for a little over a year now, and we happened to meet in Weymouth recently. That is my seat. I was delighted to see her again. I have loved your daughter since the moment we met and could not allow her to slip away from me this time.”
They heard a bitter laugh from the direction of the doorway.
Florence’s mother.
Gad, she sounded like a witch.
But she looked very much the elegant lady as she strolled in and held out her hand for Trajan to bow over.
He saw a look of caution flash in the eyes of Florence’s father, a warning aimed at his wife.
Bloody blazes.
Was this what Florence had faced every day of her life?
Trajan felt a palpable anger radiating from this woman, although she kept her words polite.
Well, moderately polite.
“Why did you not tell us, Florence? Are your father and I not good enough to share in your happy day?”
“It is a long story,” Florence said evasively. “We shall hold a party to formally celebrate, and all shall be invited. Should anyone ask you for details, you may tell them we were married in a quiet ceremony in London yesterday.”
Her mother’s eyes rounded in obvious surprise.
“The ceremony took place at St. Bridget’s in the presence of several Silver Dukes,” Trajan said. “They served as our witnesses and were the only ones in attendance, save for Durham’s wife, who was also present. She is a good friend to Florence.”
“Seems Florence values fleeting friendships over her own parents.” Her mother tipped her chin up.
“We also have good news. Your brother has been absolved of all his legal difficulties. I knew he was innocent of those preposterous charges. Thank goodness I was there to help him out. His sister certainly did not care.”
Trajan laughed incredulously. “Are you serious? Or deluded? Your daughter is the one who saved him, at no small risk to her life, I might add.”
Florence took his hand, no doubt to calm him. She was used to this nonsense, but he wasn’t.
Nor would he stand for his wife being insulted.
“Pray tell, madam. What do you think you did to miraculously free your wastrel son?”
“I gave reference as to his good character.”
“Did you also provide him with a false alibi?” Florence asked.
“Because that would have put you in prison for perjury. Do you think any judge would believe your word over those of a marquess and a dozen other lords who witnessed the duel? Not to mention the gambling debts he ran up, also in front of a dozen witnesses of rank. You have only to ask the Princess of Wales herself if you wish for confirmation about which of us truly saved him.”
“Am I supposed to believe you?” Her mother laughed. “When would you ever be admitted to see her?”
“We had tea with her yesterday,” Trajan replied. “Florence is a favorite of hers.”
“Florence? That is a jolly jest.” If this woman could spew snake venom, she would have done so. “Weymouth, do you have any idea what you have married?”
Florence’s father shot his wife another furious look.
The woman excused herself and stormed out.
Florence remained surprisingly calm as she watched her mother leave.
“Papa, it is time. My husband needs to know the truth. I can step outside if you do not wish to tell me. But he has the right to know. What did she mean? What am I? She has despised me all of my life. What does she see when she peers into my eyes?”