Chapter 5 #2
My genteel composure seems to unsettle her even further, and she narrows her eyes. “You know very well. You have… have tricked my father in forcing me to marry you! You are deceit itself, Your Grace, and I will never be pleased to be wed to such a man.”
“Ah.” I incline my head for a moment to hide my smile. When I have gathered myself, I allow myself to meet her eyes once more. “You mean in the same way you intended to deceive Lord Pembroke. Then we agree: we are well matched, my lady.”
She gasps and her narrowed eyes flare in shock at my daring. I shock her further by taking her by the arm. It is against the observances of good breeding, and people might stare. Tongues might wag.
Yet, the instant my fingers seize her arm, her consternation disappears, replaced by something else. And when she softens into my touch, when I begin to walk and she falls into step beside me, submitting to my guidance whether she realizes it or not, I care about nothing else.
Lady Freya
“Darling, you must hold your breath if I am to get the stays to sit properly.”
I scowl at the wall, but only because Mother cannot see it. “I shall try.” I suck in my breath sharply and do my best to hold it, but it is not easy. A month has passed since our engagement, and the time has flown by far faster than I ever would have thought possible.
I cannot hold my breath, because my heart is pounding with such haste it might injure my breast. I did not manage a single moment of sleep, knowing that today I will be wed and forever united to the duke in a most disagreeable duty.
I was already awake when my mother burst into my bed chamber as the gray light before the dawn streamed through my windowpane.
“You must try harder, dearest. Believe me, you shall thank me when the duke remarks upon your lovely figure.”
I doubt I shall care much what the duke thinks. I manage to cover my snort with a dainty cough, but not without my lady’s maid, Kate, hearing.
The chestnut-haired beauty catches my eye, and I must look away before I laugh. My mother’s patience is already taxed trying to get me into my corset.
“The modiste must have taken your measurements down wrong.” My mother huffs as she continues to yank until breath is but a memory.
“Kate, I require your assistance.”
My maid gives me a look of regret and then moves around to where Mother is. I feel the shift behind me as she surrenders the laces to Kate.
“My lady, breathe out once more, if you please,” Kate urges.
“I have,” I gasp as she tightens them mercilessly, the whalebone pressing into my ribs as if to permanently rob me of breath.
“Again, dearest.” My mother’s genteel tone grows sharp under the strain. “And do remember your posture.”
I force myself to stand straighter still, though I protest, “I do not think I can manage it. Perhaps there is another corset—”
“Nonsense!” Mother snaps, the laces pulling tighter still. “You can bear it. Consider it your first duty as a duchess. Duty is not always pleasant, dearest, but it must be done. Now, be still.”
My mother, having never spoken to me in such a tone, commands my silence. With groaning, grunts, and gasps for precious air, at last she is satisfied, though I hardly can say the same.
“You are a vision, dearest.”
“I did not need a new gown,” I snipe at her, sulky both with nerves and the inability to breathe properly.
“It is your wedding day. Of course you must look your best.”
“The duke has not even seen most of my gowns,” I return, determined to be petulant.
“He shall see them soon enough. Now, Kate, see if you cannot manage to get some color into her complexion, hmm?”
“Of course, my lady,” she answers dutifully.
“And Freya…” My mother waits until she has my eye, then regards me with a look that offers equal measures of tender affection and stern warning.
“I am not certain why you are intent on making yourself so disagreeable on this most auspicious occasion. I am certain it is just nerves, darling, and undue concern. The duke will be a good husband to you, for you will content yourself with being a good wife to him.”
“Yes, Mama,” I murmur, and am immediately rewarded with one of her warm, beaming smiles.
“There, now, you see? You can be most pleasant when you wish to be. Do be sure and recall that with your husband.”
Having imparted her maternal wisdom, my mother—a vision herself in a gown that shimmers as though it holds jewels in the fabric—sweeps from the room in a flurry of petticoats, most certainly intent on the next item that awaits her expert attention.
“You are the very picture of loveliness,” Kate remarks as she comes back into my sight. “His Grace will be most pleased.”
“How nice for him,” I remark dryly, frowning ever so slightly.
Kate has been my lady’s maid since I was but ten and three, and we played together as children long before that. She knows my expressions, my moods, and her brow creases. “Are you not pleased with the match, my lady?”
Sighing, I shrug a shoulder. “It does not matter much what I feel. You know how these things are done.”
She nods somberly. “Well… I shall be there at last. And if he displeases you, or is beastly, I shall know it.”
“What shall you do?” I ask. My lips quirk despite myself. Kate never fails to lift my spirits.
“Why, I shall be your lady’s maid,” she returns, moving to the dressing table to pick up a small pot before returning to my side.
She twists off the top before continuing, “There are a great many things I can do, my lady.” She dips a finger into the pot and withdraws it, then begins to smooth the rouge onto my cheeks.
“Oh, do let me know what you plan.”
Kate smiles most wickedly as she continues in her ministrations. “Why, I shall brew his tea in the water from the pigs’ trough. I shall fill his shirts with nettles. The kind his eye will miss, but his back will surely find!”
“Kate!” I attempt to scold but end up laughing instead. “You cannot! His valet will be sent away!”
She shrugs, and gives me a look that is so innocent, I nearly miss the determined gleam in her gaze. “And so? He will surely learn his lesson in time.”
I press a fist to my mouth to stifle my giggles. If Mother hears, she will return to scold us both.
“Do be still, my lady,” Kate instructs, intent on her duty, even though her gaze glows with her mischievous mien.
I trap my amusement and swallow it down and do my best to follow her instructions.
“You did not sleep,” she observes, her fingers still smoothing over my skin in circles.
“No,” I agree in a small, timid voice.
Slumber deserted me due to nightmares of what my future might look like. Despite the new duke’s wealth and lands, he is not highborn. There is no assurance of what kind of life we will have together. But more than that, every time I find myself in his company, illness seems to nip at my heels.
“May I be permitted to guess the reason?”
I snap my gaze back to Kate, though she is intent at her work.
She knows the reason, for she has been with me for so very long.
She knew the moment an acquaintance became something more…
and indeed, it is she who has hidden the evidence of my condition from the other servants.
Though we have never spoken of it, I know it to be true.
That has always been her way—silent and unquestioning loyalty.
I owe her much, and I do not hesitate to share my thoughts.
“I try not to think of him.”
“No one would blame you for that, my lady.”
“They would blame me for a great many things, if…” I have fought off thinking of such things, for I cannot change what has happened.
I cannot change my condition. But it is a relief to speak of it at last, especially to someone who knew him.
“I miss him—Lord Ashbury,” I admit, my tone soft.
“We were great friends, you know, before…” We were friends from a young age, and lovers only once, as a balm for the lord before he returned to war.
We never had a thought to him leaving a part of himself behind.
“Yes. I recall quite well, my lady.”
My eyes grow misty over my memories—at the fear that lurks behind every thought. “I feel certain he would have made an excellent husband and father.”
“I think you quite right, my lady.”
“But…” Words fail me and I draw a sharp breath.
“War is an awful business.”
My throat constricts and all I can manage is a nod.
Kate sets down the pot and reaches for the powder. “It shall go well for you, my lady. I know this man was not your choice, but he shall serve just as well as Lord Pembroke.”
“Lord Pembroke was an unexciting choice, perhaps, and yet, I know him to be an honorable man. Every time my mind strays to the newest Duke of Fairwynd…” I trail off. I tell Kate a great many things, but I cannot confess to being over his lap, feelings the way the duke’s knees dug into my stomach.
It was humiliating. It was shameful. And the memory of my mortification always manifests in my cheeks, and the heat spreads to fill every inch of me until it is a real, pulsing thing in the pit of my stomach.
“Do you think he shall be a good father?” I whisper, the words so soft I am not sure my lady’s maid heard them. My worst fear spoken aloud for the first time.
Kate sets down the powder and the puff and meets my gaze. “I do not know much of the new duke, my lady,” she admits in a tone that makes it plain she has been making inquiries. “But I know he is quite besotted with you. I think he will be most inclined to be a good father.”
I wish with all my heart to believe her, to have a measure of her steady assurance, but my own faith falters. Whenever my thoughts turn to the duke, my mind’s eye recalls looking at the rug in the sitting room, and the sound of his hand smacking my bare seat. I wince to recall it.
“Now, let us have a look.” Kate grasps my hand and tugs me to the looking glass. “Hmm. I did not use that much rouge.”