Chapter Nine #4
Something about that thought left her uneasy and she hastily replaced the book on the shelf. Suddenly the room was not so cozy and comforting after all, but eerily remote and unwelcoming.
Much like her husband.
Katie headed for the door, suddenly desperate to get out.
As she sped from the room she noticed the odd placement of the furniture, which was upholstered in the same dark green leather as the books.
Each piece was exactly the same—large wing chairs, there were no settees—and positioned in four separate seating areas.
Identical clocks sat on the identical mantelpieces above massive fireplaces at either end of the room.
Large mirrors in plain gilt frames hung above each.
Katie spun around, this time looking at the walls rather than the books.
The mirrors were the only things on the wall.
There wasn’t much wall space that wasn’t covered in books, but what there was, was bare.
“Why are there no paintings?”
“Er, His Grace does not care for paintings in the library.”
Katie laughed but then saw the other woman was not laughing with her.
“Whyever not?” When the other woman hesitated Katie added, “You may always speak plainly with me, Mrs. Kent. As you probably know, Dulverton and I are not well acquainted.” She smiled faintly at the understatement.
Katie did not doubt for a moment that every servant in London, not just the duke’s, had heard about The Night of the Kissing Game—as some wag had dubbed it—and its resultant marriages.
Mrs. Kent cleared her throat. “His Grace—like his father—has very particular tastes when it comes to certain things.”
“Things like paintings?” Katie urged when Mrs. Kent ground to a halt.
“More than just paintings. He requires order and cannot tolerate clutter.”
Katie raised her eyebrows. “Paintings are clutter?”
Mrs. Kent inhaled deeply and then let both her breath and the words out in a rush. “His Grace requires symmetry. And when that is not possible, he prefers there be… nothing.”
“So, if there aren’t two identical paintings, then nothing?”
“No, no. They do not need to be identical, but—” She broke off and chewed her lip. “I believe His Grace does not wish for more items on the walls given that there are already so many books.”
“There is not much art in the hallway and there are no books out there.”
Mrs. Kent looked flustered. “I, er—”
“Never mind,” Katie said, feeling like a bully for interrogating the poor woman.
Mrs. Kent’s forehead was deeply furrowed, as if she was worried that she’d said something wrong.
Katie wanted to reassure her but discovered she had no reassurance to spare. What on earth had she gotten herself into?
“You may continue the tour, Mrs. Kent,” Katie said, needing to get out of the room, not that the stark corridors would be any better.
Once they’d left the library, Mrs. Kent led Katie back the same way they’d come—or at least she tried to.
“Where does that lead?” Katie pointed to the only set of double doors the housekeeper had not opened.
“That is His Grace’s study.”
Katie suddenly had a burning, irresistible desire to see what her husband’s personal sanctuary looked like.
“Oh, you mustn’t, Your Grace,” Mrs. Kent cried, trotting after Katie. “His Grace does not care for—”
Katie ignored her and briefly knocked on the door before opening it and stepping into a dark-paneled room.
Dulverton sat at a desk that looked to be in the center of the room—and likely was in the exact center based on what she had just learned from Mrs. Kent.
He shot to his feet, his eyebrows drawing low over his pale eyes, which immediately slid toward the housekeeper. “Is something—”
“Do not scold Mrs. Kent,” Katie said in a breezier tone than she was feeling.
“She tried to stop me from entering but I was curious. What are those?” she asked and strode toward the longest wall of the study which had four large sash windows—equidistant—with sections of wall between each.
There were dozens of identically sized and spaced shadow boxes mounted on the walls.
She peered into the boxes, which were about two inches square.
Each box held a tiny fossil and there was little variation between them.
Indeed, some looked identical to others.
“Why do you have so many that are all the same?” she asked, reaching the end of one row, and starting on the one beneath it.
“They are not all the same.” Dulverton’s voice came from right beside Katie and she flinched. He certainly moved like a cat.
She turned to him and smiled up into his heavy-lidded eyes. “They look all the same to me.”
“Did you need something, Your Grace?” he asked coolly.
“No, I didn’t need anything. I was just taking the tour.” She cocked her head. “Am I not permitted to come in here… Gerrit?” She’d seen his Christian name for the first time today, on the register.
His jaws worked and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t speak.
“You look displeased, Your Grace. Am I not supposed to use your name, either?”
He turned slowly, until he was facing Mrs. Kent, whose jaw was sagging so low it was in danger of falling off.
“I will complete the tour, Mrs. Kent. You may go.”
The woman’s mouth snapped shut and she dropped a curtsey. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Only when they were alone did Dulverton turn back to her, meeting her gaze with eyes that were not dead and cold, but blazed like white fire. “You do not like to do what is expected, do you?”
His question startled a laugh out of her. “I could say the same thing about you—I certainly didn’t expect that question.”
“This is my private domain,” he said coldly, unmoved by her gentle raillery. “There is no reason for you to be in here.”
Katie’s eyebrows shot up. “I just wanted to look.”
“And now you have.”
Her flaming hot face felt exactly as it used to do whenever her mother slapped her, a punishment the countess had used freely.
“And am I allowed the same right?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“May I refuse you admittance to my private domain?”
She hadn’t thought it possible for his eyes to grow colder, but they did. “I have no interest whatsoever in your sitting room.”
The quiet words were like a slap. Katie opened her mouth to demand if the same could be said for her bedroom, but thankfully he spoke before she could utter such foolishness.
“Come,” he said, gesturing to the door. “I will finish the—”
“I will show myself the rest of the house,” she retorted sharply, pleased when his tanned cheeks darkened at her snappish response. If he wanted to be rude and abrupt? Well, two could play at that game.
She thought he might insist—as if he didn’t trust her to roam his house unaccompanied—but he inclined his head. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Katie did not enjoy snubbing him as much as she’d hoped. And so, she needled him a little more, “Before I leave, perhaps you might tell me if there any other doors I am not allowed to open?”
“You may open any door you please.”
Except this one.
A suffocating wave of weariness suddenly swamped her as she glared at her husband of less than six hours. This was her new life and thus far it was even more bleak and joyless than she had feared.
Overwhelmed by the grim vision of her future, she strode toward the door, desperate to get out of this place where she was not wanted.
The duke was there before her. Rather than let her out, he paused and said, “One more thing.”
Katie gave him a wary look.
“If you must use my Christian name, you should know it is pronounced heh-REET, not GAH-ret.”
And then he opened the door and waited silently for Katie to leave.