Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Duchess Freya
It is done in far too short a time. I am Duchess of Fairwynd before I can quite draw a breath.
I nearly swoon when the Crown Prince approaches me and feel the steadying presence of my new husband’s hand on the small of my back. I curtsey clumsily, and when I rise, His Highness’s eyes are laughing. Somehow, I do not believe he means to mock me.
“You are quite a lovely duchess. Congratulations, Your Grace.”
“I… thank you for your… kind compliment, Your Highness.”
“Indeed… I must congratulate you both. Well done, Your Grace.”
I look between my new husband and the Prince, frowning as I try to understand.
“Thank you, Your Highness. Your presence here… flatters me.”
“You would not mind if I was to kiss your bride before you have the opportunity, would you, Greyonyx?”
My puzzlement increases as my gaze flits between the two men. The Crown Prince is giving the duke a little mocking smile, and the duke’s own lips are quirking, though he tries to squelch it.
“Of course not, Your Highness.”
I am quite startled by my husband’s answer, but before I can either swallow or release the protest that works its way up my throat, the prince takes my gloved hand in his. He bows over it and presses his lips to the back of my hand.
“Congratulations again, Your Grace.” He gives me a saucy smile I cannot begin to understand as he rises. “You do great credit to your new rank. Do try not to make a hash of it, Greyonyx. Farewell.”
The entire exchange baffles me, but then, that could be said of the entire day. My new husband seems unbothered by anything the prince said; indeed, he is wearing a small, amused smile.
“You… you are acquainted with the Crown Prince?”
The duke smooths his expression as he regards me. “I am.”
“How—”
“My dear, I am sorry for intruding, but we must make haste,” a voice says.
I turn to see my mother standing on my other side. I have been so dazed by everything, I did not even hear her approach.
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the carriage awaits, and I fear our modest repast grows cold.”
“Of course, Lady Denham.”
My mother takes my hand in hers—the same hand upon which the Prince had placed his kiss upon—and gives it a squeeze. “You are radiant, my dear. We shall speak more at home.”
Then she is gone in a swirl of skirts, and I watch as she joins my father, who does not spare me a glance.
My heart flutters wildly, and my stomach tightens.
I long to go with them, as I always have done, but I know I cannot.
I look to the duke, wondering what kind of husband he will be—what kind of father?
“Your mother is most correct. Shall we take our leave? You must be close to being faint with hunger.”
I shake my head, but when he offers me his arm, I take it. Even that slight contact causes me to feel as though the world sways beneath my feet. I draw a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm as befits my station.
“Are you truly not hungry?” the duke inquires for my ears alone as we head from the room with slow, measured steps.
“I… I broke my fast and overindulged.” I offer the lie in the hope of stopping this conversation.
“Even so… you need to be sure to keep up your strength.”
I examine his face. Does he attempt to lord his newly given authority over me so soon? But despite my fervent search, I find nothing but soft concern. He meets my eyes, and an unfamiliar pang seizes my breast so that I hurriedly avert my eyes and allow him to lead me out.
Duke Gregor
“What a lovely bridal breakfast.”
My new lady wife gazes resolutely out the carriage window, apparently determined not to converse with me. She has not spoken a word since we entered the carriage to depart from her family home, no matter what I say in vain hope to engage her.
She truly is a sight to behold. Her posture is perfect, and though she does not honor me with her discourse, I take pleasure in being able to observe her as long as I please.
I follow the beauty of her angelic face to her neck, long and swanlike, and am drawn to the sight of her bosom swelling over the top of her gown.
Tonight, I shall be free of this madness. It is a relief, and yet, I have been carrying the sickness of unrequited want for so long, I can scarcely recall life without it. My shaft, quite hard and trapped within my breeches, cares not for any future beyond plunging into her intoxicating depths.
“We shall arrive soon. I dare say you will be most pleased with your new home.”
This does not seem to merit an answer, either.
I study her, a picture of loveliness itself, and yet her mute tongue gives me pause.
I have never found Freya coy or given to silence, which must mean this display of deliberate coldness is for my benefit.
The only question is how I will choose to handle it.
The lady leaves me the entire course of the journey to weigh the matter. I study her ceaselessly, pondering the object of my desire.
After two long hours, the horses pull the carriage over the final hill that reveals the wide expanse of land that is now mine.
It is field after field of vibrant green, and the sight has, thus far, never ceased to stir something inside me.
The horses’ hoofs clop onward—they move faster now, for they also seem to long to return to the serene majesty of Fairwynd.
“We are home, my lady,” I murmur, glancing once to my new wife before looking back out of the carriage window.
As soon as the great house itself comes into view, I feel a swell of pride.
Much as I imagine I shall feel when I introduce the newest duchess to her household—whether she speaks to them, or no.
The coachman calls to the horses, and then the carriage stills.
Boots crunch on the gravel, then the door is swept open, and the footman bows deeply.
Sparing one last look for Freya, who is doing her best to appear bored and unaffected, I emerge from the carriage.
The house’s honeyed walls gleam exquisitely in the late-afternoon sun.
“Welcome home, Your Grace.”
I nod to my footman, and then inspect the line of the household staff. They stand stiffly in their finest clothes, waiting for a word from me. “I see Fairwynd is well ordered. You have my thanks.”
The instant I am down the steps I turn to offer my hand to Freya. I can feel her hesitate, but she puts her gloved hand in mine and emerges from the carriage, her gown rustling with every step. Her hand in mine, she descends the steps and together we approach the line of staff awaiting our arrival.
“Welcome to your new home, my lady,” the butler murmurs.
“I… I thank you.” She glances to me, then away again, as though she fears she has lost the game she’s been playing.
She is more intriguing by the moment, but she will soon learn there are no games she can play with me and expect to win.
“My lady, permit me to introduce you to those who will oversee the household in my absence.” I gesture to the butler.
“Mr. Turner, my butler, is quite skilled at making sure all is in order. He manages all within the household.”
Mr. Turner sweeps a low bow, his voice the epitome of formality as he says, “My lady, be assured I shall undertake my duty to serve you with the utmost integrity.”
The new duchess smiles warmly at him. “I feel quite certain of it, Mr. Turner, and I thank you.”
I have never seen my butler astonished, but after words from the new duchess, it appears he is struck silent. He merely bows low once more.
I do my best to conceal my amusement as I indicate the housekeeper. “Mrs. Whitmore, the housekeeper, oversees all the female staff with, I am told, an iron hand.”
The older woman is severe in her decorum, and ignores my teasing, though I am nearly certain her lips quirk. She dips into a stately curtsey before I can see if she will lose the battle to the smile that threatens. Once she rises, it has gone entirely.
“My lady, I will see that your apartments and the household is maintained to your liking.”
“Indeed, I have no doubt of that,” Freya returns, in the same warm tones.
I cannot help but feel the sharp prickle of jealousy—and over my housekeeper, no less! Truly, I have begun to think her incapable of such warmth and genial disposition. I put it out of my mind and indicate the remaining staff. “The rest of the household greets you as well, my lady.”
She inclines her head in acknowledgement, a soft smile playing on her full lips. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. I trust we shall all work quite well together.”
Together, and still hand in hand, we enter the house together. I am distracted by the puzzle that is my new wife and determined to solve it soon so that I may at last find some measure of peace.
Duchess Freya
“My lady? Are you unwell?’
My attention flits to the duke as I tumble out of my thoughts that have seemingly rendered me inattentive to whatever he has been saying. “I… yes. I am quite well, Your Grace, thank you.”
But far from allowing the matter to drop, as I hoped, he scrutinizes my plate from across the formally set dining table. “You have not eaten. Is the food not to your liking? I can ring for cook if—”
“No.” I wave a hand, dismissing his words. Then, recalling the servants, I hastily add, “Thank you, but that will not be necessary. The dishes are… most satisfying.”
“I am so pleased to hear it. Pray, tell me why you have not eaten any of them?”
His tone has turned from cordial to grave. I long to look elsewhere, but my body seems attuned to him as I sit up straighter, my shoulders tensing. My pulse races and my stomach spasms, though I cannot give the reason. “I am not hungry just now.”
The duke narrows his eyes at me from across the long table. “If the day has been too tiring, we need not prolong the evening unduly.”