Chapter Nine #3
Katie scowled. “Fine. I am in the wrong and everything is my fault. I will accept that. Can we not speak of it again? Or at least not for a week—or perhaps a month? After all, I will be paying penance for the remainder of my life.”
Becky shook her head and nimbly unwound Katie’s hair, brushing it to a shine before sweeping it up into an elegant French twist, all without speaking.
Good. Because silence was better than incessant berating. Hy’s cutting words had rung in Katie’s head over and over again, no matter how hard she had tried to forget them. The last thing she needed was Becky adding to the mental din.
“Mrs. Kent said that His Grace’s last wife did not occupy the mistress’s chambers but stayed in rooms all the way at the other side of the house,” Becky offered, evidently deciding not to punish Katie with silence. “She said the last woman to use these rooms was His Grace’s mother.”
Katie glanced around at the rather faded pink bed hangings and heavy velvet drapes.
“It does look a bit dated.” She suddenly recalled what Andrew had said about Dulverton’s last wife and how she had taken many lovers.
Had she brought other men into the duke’s own house?
That might account for her not taking an adjoining room.
She felt a bit ill thinking about that. After her brief affaire with Jasper and five Seasons, she hardly expected ton marriages to be faithful.
But surely it would be egregious to entertain other men under your husband’s roof?
And if Dulverton had been telling the truth about never having a ton lover—and the man had no reason to lie—did that mean he had been faithful to his wife?
Or did it mean he’d kept mistresses? Katie suspected it was the latter.
Aristocratic men were hardly known for their abstemious ways, after all.
“His Grace’s valet, Mr. Court, is quite… odd.”
“Odd how?”
Becky placed the last pin in Katie’s hair and stepped back to admire her work. “I could barely get a word out of him.”
Just like his master. “Is that unusual?” she asked.
“Indeed, it is, if we are ever to coordinate your and His Grace’s schedules and preferences. Not only that, but Mrs. Kent said Mr. Court doesn’t eat in the servant hall but takes his meals in his room.”
“Nobody else eats in their room?”
Becky gave her an amused look. “Who do you think has to bring his meals up?”
“Oh,” Katie said, feeling rather foolish. “Another servant. They don’t care to do that, I take it?”
Becky laughed. “Not in general. Besides, why would somebody want to eat alone?”
Katie could think of plenty of reasons but kept that to herself.
“Mrs. Kent says Mr. Court has been with the master since he was just a lad and that he even went to university with him.”
“Which one did he attend?”
“I don’t know,” Becky said in a tone that made it clear such information was of no interest to her. She smiled sweetly. “He is your husband. Why don’t you ask him, Your Grace?”
Katie ignored her pert response.
“Mrs. Kent says His Grace is almost eight-and-thirty,” Becky went on. “He was born when his father was two-and-forty and his mother only eight-and-ten. His mother was the last duke’s second wife.”
“I have learned more about Dulverton in the last thirty seconds than I have in the past two weeks,” Katie said drily.
Becky gave her a lofty look. “It is part of my duty as your dresser to gather information, Your Grace.”
“Ah, so you’ve been elevated to dresser as I’ve been raised to duchess, have you? You and Mrs. Kent seem to have become bosom friends in such a short time.”
There was a polite knock on the door and Becky hastened to open it.
It was Mrs. Kent, who curtsied to Katie. “His Grace said you would like a tour of Dulverton House, Your Grace.”
“Indeed, I would,” Katie lied. She had little interest in a house they would be leaving first thing tomorrow. Still, touring the house was better than enduring another scold from her maid or sitting in her room dreading the bridal evening ahead.
“I will begin the tour on this floor, if that suits you?” Mrs. Kent said as they left Katie’s chambers.
“I place myself in your hands, Mrs. Kent. Have you been at Dulverton House long?”
“All my working life,” Mrs. Kent said proudly. “His Grace’s father hired me when I was just a girl. A very kind master he was.” She paused and then said in a confiding tone, “If I may be so bold, His Grace is very much like his father, both in appearance and disposition.”
Dulverton was a kind master? Given the rude, abrupt, haughty way he behaved with his contemporaries, that seemed an unlikely claim. Well, at least the woman was a loyal servant.
Mrs. Kent opened the door to the suite of rooms at the end of the corridor. “This is the Blue Suite.”
The rooms beyond the door had clearly not been decorated by the same person who’d done the rest of the house.
It was excessively feminine, and the word bower came to mind.
The bed was a massive four-poster with powder-blue hangings and every inch of the floor was covered in carpets incorporating the same shade.
It was pretty, although a bit too cloying for Katie’s taste.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a beautiful blonde woman seated on a gilt, throne-like chair holding a pug in her lap.
Her hair was dressed high with a cluster of blond ringlets cascading over one shoulder, the middle part effectively showcasing her wide-spaced, round blue eyes, which were stunning.
Judging by the recent era of clothing, this had to be Dulverton’s first wife.
“These chambers belonged to His Grace’s first wife, Your Grace,” Mrs. Kent said in a hushed tone, as if the information was somehow profane.
Which she supposed it was given that Christina Van Draak had eloped with another man.
Katie was rather surprised the portrait had not been tucked away in an attic.
“If Your Grace would prefer to use these chambers—”
“I will stay where I am, thank you,” Katie hastily said, not wishing to occupy such a fussy room even for one night.
They visited several other rather sterile suites before moving to the floor below.
There was a large drawing room that was part of an enfilade of four rooms which included a magnificent music room, complete with a gilded harp and one of the largest pianos Katie had ever seen.
When the doors were all open the four rooms would form a generously sized ballroom.
“Do you play, Your Grace?” Mrs. Kent said as Katie lightly stroked the glossy piano case.
“Indifferently. Certainly not well enough to deserve an instrument like this one. Did His Grace’s first wife play?”
“No, not that I ever heard. This was a gift from His Grace’s grandfather to his wife, who I am told could have performed professionally, if not for her elevated status.”
“And what about His Grace’s mother? Does she play?”
“Er, as to that, I could not say.”
“The dowager does not come to London?” Katie knew she should be asking her husband these questions, but Dulverton was about as approachable as a medieval castle with arrows bristling in all its embrasures.
“Not since I have worked here, Your Grace.”
Good Lord! Dulverton’s mother had never visited London?
“When was the last time a ball was held at Dulverton House?”
“Oh, good gracious me,” Mr. Kent said, her gaze going vague. “That would have been two decades ago, when the old duke was still alive. It was the betrothal ball for—” She broke off when she realized what she’d been about to say.
Katie smiled. “It is fine to mention my husband’s former marriage, Mrs. Kent. I will not be offended.”
The older woman bowed her head, hesitated, and then seemed unable to keep the next words from pouring out. “If you will pardon my curiosity, will Your Graces be coming to London next Season?” She smiled uncertainly. “It is just—well, we do so enjoy having family in residence.”
“I really couldn’t say. You would have to ask my husband,” Katie admitted, sorry to take the hopeful look off the other woman’s face.
Mrs. Kent nodded, her shoulders sagging slightly as she guided Katie out of the grand, unused room.
A few moments later the housekeeper opened another set of double doors. “This is the library.”
Katie’s lips curved into a smile as she entered the cavernous book-lined room, inhaling the familiar scent of beeswax, leather, and wood deeply into her lungs.
Chatham had magnificent libraries at both Chatham House and Chatham Park, but those weren’t hers.
This library belonged to Katie. Well, at least as much as anything of the duke’s belonged to her.
“His Grace is very fond of this room,” Mrs. Kent said. “He spends almost as much time here as he does in his study.”
Her words warmed Katie. A love of libraries and books was an excellent sign, wasn’t it? Dulverton could not be too horrible if he loved books.
Cheered by the thought Katie strolled toward one of the shelves, her smile slowly fading the closer she came to the books.
“My goodness,” she murmured, her gaze flitting from book to book and shelf to shelf.
All the spines were bottle green—the exact same binding style for every single book.
She glanced at the next shelf and saw it was the same.
As was the next and the next. Hundreds—no, thousands—of identical book spines.
She turned to the housekeeper. “Is this a new library?”
“No, no, it is quite ancient.”
“I have never seen all the books in a private library bound the same way.”
“His Grace’s father had all the books rebound when he inherited, and His Grace has bound all his acquisitions in the exact same style.”
Stunned and vaguely unnerved, Katie slid a book from the shelf and turned it in her hands, her mind on the three cases of books that were among her things. They were bound in all sorts of styles and colors. Would they also be rebound in dark green leather and absorbed into her husband’s collection?