Chapter 8 #2
Our mood seems to be contagious, and all down the line ladies begin to laugh and the gentlemen begin to flirt.
For the remainder of the dance, my concerns fade away, and only the music remains.
Only matching steps with my dance partner.
I have never seen the duke on the dance floor before and would not have expected him to be an accomplished dancer, but there is no denying it.
He possesses a mastery of the steps that is beyond the others and manages to smile and charm me all the while.
By the time the music fades and he has bowed deeply and I have curtseyed, my heart is more buoyant than it has been in many months.
“Now perhaps you would care for more lemonade?” my husband murmurs as he leads me from the dance floor. “I assure you, I can fetch just as well as Lord Pembroke.”
There is a touch of reproof there, so subtle I nearly miss it.
But when my ears detect it and I raise my eyes to search his face, I see the slight tightening of his mouth.
“Surely you do not possess a jealous nature, my lord?” I ask lightly, in a jesting tone, but I truly desire to hear how he will answer.
My heart beats all the faster while I wait.
“Indeed,” he says, stopping near the refreshment table, but instead of releasing my hand, he holds it tighter still, pulling me to him until there is scant space between us.
I should worry what people will say. I should be concerned about the onlookers, for there are always one or two wallflowers keeping an eye out for gossip. But I can think of little else save the way he looms over me, and the way my heart skips beneath my breast as his scent reaches my nose.
“I can be quite jealous,” he admits, his tone sincere, yet stern. “Do not give me cause to be, my dear, I pray you.”
The flush that is becoming all too familiar to me suffuses my cheeks.
The air seems to grow thinner until I am acutely aware of every movement he makes.
I can hear my heart in my ears and am conscious of the rise and fall of my bosom.
“That was not my intention, Your Grace, I assure you. I had no notion that Lord Pembroke would seek me out to speak with me.”
The duke arches a brow, his eyes roving as he assesses my face. At last, he seems satisfied and nods. “Very well. You dance magnificently, my dear.”
I cannot help but be surprised and am flattered by his sudden compliment. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I see that the next dance will be the waltz that is suddenly all the rage.” He quirks his eyebrows, and I cover my mouth in time to smother my laughter. His eyes flash with pleasure in having amused me. “Shall we see what we make of it ourselves, my duchess?”
“My lord!” I admonish in a scandalized whisper, trying to hide my smile. “They say it is… indecently close.”
“I, too, have heard it whispered. I thought perhaps you might brave the scandal with me?”
It is upon the tip of my tongue to say no. To deny him as he has been denying me—and yet, the prospect of trying a new dance, the lightness this teasing has brought, and the notion of him holding me tightly to his person…it is too much for me to resist.
“If it pleases you, Your Grace, I will be most amiable in this regard.”
“Oh, how happy you make me, my dear.” He clutches his breast dramatically. “Now if only I can find the secret to make you amiable in every regard, that would be something.” He allows his own amusement to play upon his lips, which coaxes my own smile out of hiding.
Much to my surprise, I am quite enjoying the evening, and very much looking forward to this new dance. Unfortunately, I am in great need of relieving myself at present. “I must beg you to excuse me—I have a small matter to attend to, but I shall return shortly.”
His dark eyes regard me, swirling with an intensity that robs me of breath. “Of course, my lady. Know I shall await your return—but pray, do not tarry too long.”
I duck my head, and turn away, my gowns rustling against the floor as I hurry toward the powder room.
I scarcely know what has come over His Grace, but I cannot deny that I have enjoyed his company more now than ever before.
And if he wishes to dance the waltz, then it surely must mean that he wishes to be close to me as much as I have come to desire the very same.
I feel lighter and more at ease than I have in many a fortnight as I make my way to the royal withdrawing room.
I have been so consumed by emotion, that I have failed to notice the castle’s elegance.
Yet, it is impossible to miss as I must ascend the grand staircase, my slippers whispering along the marble steps.
It is quite long, and when I finally achieve the summit of the curved staircase, I see a wall of ornate, gleaming frames that hold oil portraits of somber, regal monarchs.
My needs are becoming greater, and I have no time to observe them as I wish. Making a silent vow to linger over them later—perhaps the duke might even escort me after our waltz—I hurry to the antechamber.
Thankfully, a maid is just inside the room and seems to sense my desperation. She quickly shows me where to go, and I have only just gone behind the screen and am attending to my private need when I hear the soft murmur of gleeful voices.
“The new earl seems most taken with you.”
The observation is met with a soft, fluttering laugh. “Indeed. Though I believe he reaches higher than he can manage.”
The women laugh quietly together, and I smile behind the privacy of the screen.
“That reminds me. I have glimpsed the new duke of Fairwynd, and his new bride. She makes the most delightful duchess, do you not agree?”
My amusement vanishes at once, and my entire body stiffens at becoming the subject of their gossip. It occurs to me that I should make my presence known, but I hesitate. I cannot help but wish to know what they will say.
“She is indeed. It is evident to all she is a great credit to her renowned family.”
Slowly, I let out my pent-in breath. I am greatly relieved.
“However, if the whispers are to be believed, she cannot be as perfect as she would appear.”
“Whatever can you mean, Charlotte?”
Yes, Charlotte—what do you mean?
“Well.” The young women’s voice goes so soft, I lean forward, straining toward the sound of her voice. “It has been said that she and the duke have not yet consummated their union! Can you imagine? They have been wed nearly a fortnight!”
I draw back so suddenly, I nearly hit my head on the wall. I slide my hand up to cover my mouth, then I bite my own gloved palm. No! How is this possible? No one can know… unless… surely His Grace would not tell anyone? He is a most vexing man, but I do not believe him to be cruel!
“No! That surely cannot be!” The other woman sounds horrified and titillated in equal measure.
I, unfortunately, being the source of their mirth, do not have the luxury of being anything other than horrified. Particularly when the full weight of this revelation hits me—had I the misfortune to be standing, it would throw me off balance entirely.
I am with child. The Duke knows this all too well, as does my father. Perhaps, given the evidence of my new husband’s wagging tongue, we are not the only ones. Regardless, now that the ton seems aware of my husband’s disdain for me, when my child is born, no one will believe it to be the duke’s.
He knows this! He must have known it all the while!
He will find no shortage of ways to shame me in this marriage.
I thought him merely playing a game… but unless I humiliate myself by becoming a beggar and pleading for something no wife has to ask for, he will see me gossiped about for the rest of my life!
Shock gives way to horror, which bends the knee to fury unlike any I have ever known. It robs me of good sense, and I do not care that the ladies—whoever they may be—know I am here, or that I have overheard them.
I slip out from behind the screen and walk straight to the wash basin.
I can feel the heat of their gazes and my ears detect the soft sharp intake of breath as I am noticed.
I do not spare either of them a glance as I begin to wash my hands.
I do not look at the lady’s maid as she proffers a cloth to dry my hands.
I have no need of the pity I am certain I will see in her face.
After I dry my hands, I wave off the maid who steps in to fix my dress and check my hair. I can find it within me to care what I look like, not to the duke, or anyone else. I lift my chin and begin to make my way toward the door.
“My l—Your Grace, please, do wait a moment.”
I do not so much as pause until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I shake it off and spin around so quickly, I become lightheaded from the effort. “Yes?” My voice is as regal as one could hope. My dear mother would be proud.
“Please…” A blonde in a deep blue gown wrings her hands in worry. “We did not know… that is… what I mean to say…”
“Yes, by all means, do get to the point so that I may take my leave,” I say, my frosty tone making her cringe.
“We did not know you were here. We did not intend you to overhear.” Another woman steps into view—the Princess Amelia.
Even if I had not already admired the emerald of her gown earlier, perfectly offsetting her red hair, I would have known it was she.
She is too poised, too regal of bearing to be anyone else.
Still, I do not soften, not even for the princess, though tradition demands my knees bend.
“Please, do rise,” she says, and her features truly appear remorseful. “Come, sit with us just a moment, I implore you.”
“My lord husband waits for me,” I answer, my voice no warmer than before.
“Please, we shall only detain you for a moment longer,” she entreats.
I allow her to tug me to the blue velvet settee. She is a member of the royal family, after all. Who knows when her favor might one day come in useful?
“Your Grace, I ask your forgiveness. We spoke thoughtlessly,” she begins. Though she and I are seated, the third woman only hovers above us, still wringing her hands.
“We did say you make a splendid duchess,” her companion adds, her expression drawn.
“So, you did,” I murmur, studying my clasped hands in my lap.
“We, of course, have no way of knowing whether this latest morsel of gossip is true.”
I look up sharply, careful to school my expression—I am facing a princess, after all.
“I assure you, I am not inquiring,” she hastens to add. “I merely thought to share some knowledge most high-born mothers forget to pass on to their daughters.”
I gaze back, still holding myself stiffly, but willing to listen.
She regards me with somber green eyes. “All men, though they might appear quite different, they are the same in one way—you are the beauty, which means you have the power, Duchess, no matter what he would have you believe.”
I cannot help but be moved by her words and loosen the slightest bit. “I… I do not know. He does not seem to… feel that way.”
The princess shocks me by throwing her head back and laughing.
It is such a beautiful sound, like the tinkling of an overeager, merry bell, that rather than feel offended as I ought to, I find the corners of my lips turning upward.
“Forgive me, Duchess, I do not wish to offend you further. But… if you will permit me to say so, if he has told you that, then he is a liar. And not a very good one.” Her gaze goes to her friend who, though she still stands, has stopped wringing her hands and is smiling. “Do assure Her Grace, Belinda.”
Before I can insist that I do not wish to listen to their flattery, Belinda is nodding and her earnest words wash over me.
“Forgive me for speaking so boldly, but anyone in the room can see it. That was what I was just about to remark on to Her Highness…” The lady at least has the decency to blush. “It seems odd—quite unbelievable, actually—that the whispers could be true, given how His Grace looks at you.”
I weigh their words carefully for several minutes before I decide how I wish to respond. “If such a thing were true… if, say, His Grace were waiting for me to declare my love before…” My throat tightens before I can find the rest of the words. It is such a terrible thing to say aloud.
The princess seizes my hand with a fierceness that surprises me. “You must not allow him to govern you in this matter. It is clear he desires you, Duchess. Do not play his games, make him play yours.”
Before I can find my voice, Belinda adds, “You must never allow him to know it, of course, but if you play your cards very carefully, you can win without his ever being the wiser. This is how you have a successful marriage.”
I startle. “You… you are married?”
Her expression turns somber and she gives a short nod. Clearly, it is not a happy union, and my earlier ire softens. She is tall and has an air of melancholy even her beautiful dress cannot hide. And, it would seem, she has a game of her own to endure.
“Do say you forgive us,” Princess Amelia pleads. “And we shan’t speak of this conversation—nor any other we have overheard.”
I look from the two of them. Both beautiful women in their own right, though they could not look more different. Belinda’s hair is a mass of blonde curls, and she is tall and even her corset struggles to give her curves. Yet, for all their regal bearing, they clearly are not too proud to apologize.
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh, wonderful!” The princess claps her hands in an unexpected show of delight.
“You are most gracious, Duchess,” Belinda says, but before I can answer her the princess
throws her arms around me and squeezes me until I am unsure whether she or my corset pulls me tighter.
“Splendid!”
She releases me at last, and it is splendid indeed.
“We shall be the closest of friends, I just know it! You must come to the palace soon for tea. Perhaps your dilemma with the duke will be resolved by then.”
I am quite taken aback by such exuberance, but when I look to Belinda, she seems unsurprised. I face the princess and clear my throat. “Yes, Your Highness. That would be lovely.”
“Oh, you must call me Amelia, at least when it is just us!” she says, her smile bright.
Fearing she might enclose me in another embrace, I hasten to agree. “Of course. Thank you, Amelia. I must return to my husband.”
“Yes.” Her smile fairly twinkles. “You must. And do not forget what I told you.”
“I shall not,” I promise, and I have never meant anything more.