Chapter Five #3
Looking up and all around her in wonder, she saw the house was a display of vast wealth—from the marble floors to the high ceilings with glittering chandeliers and a huge, sweeping staircase leading off from the hall.
Would she one day be duchess of it all? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
‘In here, we have the drawing room, where we receive guests,’ he said, gesturing with his head for her to follow.
‘Do you,’ she frowned, ‘I mean, will we, have many of those?’
‘My father tends not to, but if we want to host, that will be up to us.’
We. Us. It was a lot to comprehend. She had been alone for so long.
She imagined Edward had a lot of friends. He was easy to like.
‘I shall introduce you to some of my acquaintances. Perhaps you will find some friendships among them.’
It was a kind and generous offer, but they both knew these acquaintances of his might not want to socialise with her and may even shun them both after word of their union got out. Once they discovered Edward had married a serving maid because they’d had a son out of wedlock.
She tried to shake off her dark thoughts and instead focus on her surroundings.
Striped, green wallpaper adorned the walls of the beautiful room, and floor to ceiling widows framed by heavy cream drapes offered stunning views over the parkland.
There was an array of rosewood tables and comfortable chairs.
‘Through this way is the dining room, where we shall dine a little later.’
Her gaze landed on the magnificent silver candelabras and she was in awe. She had never seen such riches up close.
‘Will your father be joining us?’ she asked, apprehensively, her fingers trailing over the large table and chairs, which were set in the middle of an enormous rug in the centre of the intimate space. There was a huge open fireplace at the far end of the room. Dinner for three would be interesting.
‘He is confined to his rooms most of the time. I doubt we shall be seeing him today.’
Relief washed through her. She was uncomfortable in the older man’s presence and she didn’t think she could face another confrontation today.
But then again, if he didn’t join them, that would mean she and Edward would dine alone.
Her stomach tightened as she remembered their picnic at the inn.
She stared down at the rug, then up at Edward, his eyes shimmering, as if he knew what she was thinking, where her thoughts had drifted, and her face heated.
He cleared his throat. ‘In here, we have the morning room.’
‘Do you work in here?’ she asked, following him quickly, noticing the desk.
‘My father used to. It’s where he would carry out the paperwork for the estate, write his correspondence, although I have begun to do that for him of late.’
She stole past him to head down the next corridor—she didn’t want to linger in the Duke’s space, but Edward’s hand on her arm tugged her back.
‘Bea, we do not go down there,’ he said.
‘We don’t?’ she asked, surprised.
‘No, they are the servants’ quarters.’ His hand still lingered on her arm. His touch seared her skin.
‘Oh.’
She wondered if she would feel more comfortable down there with the staff of the house than she did walking through these opulent rooms with its handsome heir.
They both seemed to have come to some silent agreement to try to get along and she was grateful he was attempting to make her feel at ease.
She only wished she didn’t feel this dreadful excitement every time they touched, or a rush in her stomach when he so much as looked at her.
They walked past a few other rooms, but they were all empty, or contained furniture covered in large sheets, until they finally came back full circle to the hallway.
He began to ascend the stairs, leading her towards what he called the central wing.
‘This way is the library. If you like books, we have all types.’
Memories returned of him telling her of how he would lock himself away in here to read, his hands pressed over his ears until his parents had stopped arguing, and her heart went out to him. What had happened in this house? Would her son be happy here?
She turned her attention to the colourful spines, in wonder of the vast collection. She had never wanted to read so much in her life, but she knew she could not lie. ‘I can’t read—I wish I could,’ she said. It was better to come out with it now, although really, that was the least of her secrets.
‘I can have someone teach you, if you would like.’
They carried on to the music room, where there was a grand piano. ‘For more genteel accomplishments,’ he said. ‘Again, you can have lessons if that is how you would enjoy spending your time.’
She couldn’t imagine she would have time to do such a thing while looking after Thomas, would she?
They stood on opposite sides of the magnificent instrument. ‘Are the women in the ton expected to play?’
‘It is seen as a prized accomplishment, tied to marriageability,’ he said.
‘Heavens, why ever did you marry me then?’ she jested, masking the insecurity she felt.
‘I cannot play, I cannot read and I certainly cannot dance. However have I survived up until now?’ He swung to look at her, seemingly shocked that she should be able to poke fun at herself.
But she would far rather say it than others say it for her.
‘Perhaps your father was right and you should have chosen someone else to be your bride.’
He shook his head. ‘My father is rarely right.’
Her breath stalled as he came around the piano towards her. ‘You need not worry, Bea. If you cannot dance, I can help you with that,’ he said. ‘It will be expected when we attend events in the ton.’
Her thoughts leapt to him taking her in his arms, holding her close, teaching her how to move against him as he had once before, and her blood raced.
Her traitorous body wanted that. Yet she couldn’t imagine him leading her round a ballroom while all eyes were upon them.
How would he feel to be seen in her company?
Would she be a source of deep embarrassment to him?
‘Do you play?’ she asked, changing the subject, running her hands over the smooth lid.
‘Not anymore.’
She followed him along the corridor and thought how small he must have thought the inn was that night, when he was used to living in such a vast place. ‘What else are women expected to know how to do?’
‘Sing, write…do you still like to draw?’
He remembered? Her heart stuttered. ‘Yes, although I haven’t had the time or means to do so of late.’
‘Then I shall get you some paper. Some charcoal.’
A lump rose in her throat. ‘Thank you, Edward. I have been obsessing over the art through the windows of that small printing shop in Haymarket.’
‘McLean’s?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘You have not been inside?’
‘Apparently I lack the sophistication to appreciate such things,’ she said.
His brow rose. ‘Who told you so?’
‘The owner.’
Edward seemed to bristle on her behalf. ‘Well, you will be able to step inside and view the work up close, now you are my wife.’
That was hard to get her head round. She had so often envied the men and women in their finery who had pushed past her on their way in. How strange that marrying Edward had opened doors for her—literally. That suddenly, she might be seen as a lady, when she was the same person as before.