Chapter Eleven
Katie sat mute while Becky brushed out her hair and babbled happily, a flush on her plump cheeks as she shared the servant hall gossip, too distracted by her exciting new life to notice Katie’s grim, uncharacteristic silence.
Dinner had been a miserable disaster.
And the day was not over yet.
More specifically, the night was not over.
How could she have ever believed that she could bear being married to such a dictatorial, rigid, passionless man?
“—and you would have laughed, Katie if you’d heard how condescendingly he talked to me.”
Katie snapped out of her self-absorption. “Dulverton was pompous toward you? What did he—”
“Of course it was not His Grace.” Becky cut her a chiding look as her hands split Katie’s hair into three sections. “I daresay the duke does not even know I exist.” Her maid’s tone implied she was quite happy to continue to escape Dulverton’s notice.
“Then who was pompous?”
“His Grace’s man, Mr. Court. I am convinced he is the most arrogant, haughty man I have ever met.”
Not unlike his master. “What did he do?”
“He said there are new trunks for all your clothing.”
“But mine aren’t even two years old.”
“I told him that. He said His Grace did not care to have unmatched trunks visible on the luggage coach.”
Katie stared.
“That is exactly the look I gave Mr. Court,” Becky said, her fingers deftly plaiting.
“Not just trunks, but your valises as well,” she went on, tying a green ribbon around the end of the thick braid.
“When I thanked him for his suggestion and said our luggage was just fine, he gave me the most odiously snubbing look and said the sooner I learned that His Grace didn’t give suggestions to his servants, the better it would be for me. ”
Katie could see the other woman wanted her to refuse the new luggage and take a stand, but the memory of her husband’s behavior at dinner was exceedingly fresh in her mind.
She could just imagine what would happen if her own trunks were strapped to the coach tomorrow.
She was just too exhausted to argue. And really, what did it matter to her which trunks were used?
“Repack everything in the new luggage.”
Her old friend’s jaw sagged. “But—”
“Just do it,” Katie said wearily, standing up and turning away from the mirror and facing Becky. “And if this—what was the valet’s name again?”
“Court.”
“If Court gives you any other suggestions when it comes to insignificant organizational matters either immediately comply or, if you absolutely find that you cannot do so, bring the issue to me and I will tell you what to do. This marriage is—” She broke off, having no earthly idea how to complete that sentence.
To her relief, Becky seemed to understand and gave Katie an uncertain smile. “I understand. I will do as you ask, Your Grace.”
Katie stood still as Becky placed one of her new lace-trimmed sleeping caps on her head and tied it in a bow beneath her chin. “There,” Becky said, nervously twitching the lace before meeting Katie’s gaze. “You look lovely.”
She squeezed Becky’s hand to make sure she knew that Katie was not angry. At least not at her. “Thank you. I shan’t need you again tonight.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Becky’s flushed cheeks told Katie that her maid’s thoughts were also on Katie’s night ahead and she hastened from the room.
Katie had just kicked off her slippers and was preparing to remove her dressing gown when there was a light tap on the door.
“Yes?”
The door opened and one of the housemaids peeped inside. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. But His Grace wished you to know he was in library.”
“Er, thank you—what is your name?”
“I’m Polly, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Polly.”
The girl curtsied and closed the door.
What was that all about? Had she broken one of his many rules by coming to bed? What would they do in the library if she went? Bicker, most likely. Or Dulverton would hurl orders and Katie would be expected to jump to obey them.
No thank you. She’d had enough of that already.
Katie changed her mind about getting into bed and pulled her dressing gown tightly around her and slumped into a chair, closing her eyes.
The door to the room in her mind where she’d long ago locked up memories of her month with Jasper suddenly sprang open and the past came pouring out.
She had been so vigilant at blocking him from her thoughts, but her defenses had been worn down, not just by the day’s events, but by her pointless, rudderless life these last five years.
The last memory to escape its cell was the worst of the lot. Like a leviathan it had lurked in the murky recesses of her mind, biding its time, and waiting to strike.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut until she saw stars.
No. She could not—would not—remember that day.
Not tonight of all nights. Instead, her thoughts moved to the first time they’d been together.
Well, it had been her first time, not Jasper’s of course.
The act itself had hurt, but Jasper had held her and kissed her and promised her the next time he would show her how pleasurable it could be.
And there had been a next time. And it had been better.
Although in truth she had not really understood what all the fuss was about.
But Katie had loved the too brief time afterward far more than the hurried, sweaty couplings.
Jasper held her and soothed her and together they’d made plans for their future.
He promised they would marry as soon as he spoke to Katie’s father.
Jasper was older than her by twelve years and had already traveled the great cities of Europe, but he told her they would take a bridal journey to the Continent.
“I cannot wait to see all those cities and wonderful sights through your eyes, my darling,” he had told her more than once.
The last time they’d lain together, he’d told her that his grandmother, the Countess of Grimsby had summoned him.
Lady Grimsby had long intimated that she would leave the bulk of her vast personal estate to Jasper when she died, and he was eager to keep her good opinion.
He promised Katie he would be gone no longer than a week—ten days at most.
“I would have needed to tell her about you before we could marry. She is a very old lady and extremely sensitive to perceived snubs so this could not come at a better time. When I return, I will tell my father of our betrothal and he will host a celebration ball.”
Katie had been so overjoyed it had been difficult to keep the news to herself while she’d waited. Over and over, she’d considered telling her Aunt Agnes, but she had kept her secret to herself.
Which turned out to be a very good decision.
A week crept past, and then another. Katie did not become concerned until three weeks had gone by.
She’d known something was dreadfully wrong by the time six weeks passed.
She’d spent night after night wondering if she should approach Jasper’s father and ask if his son had been injured or called away somewhere else.
But the Marquess of Lindhurst was an intimidating, distant man and she’d not been able to work up the nerve.
By the time two months had gone by Katie knew that Jasper had abandoned her. By then she’d made another, even more terrifying discovery and had fallen into a melancholic abyss.
And then—at ten weeks and one day—a coach with Lady Grimsby’s escutcheon arrived at the Marquess of Lindhurst’s house.
Jasper had returned.
Katie had been jubilant and humbled. How could she have ever doubted him? He was here and everything was not lost, after all.
But less than an hour after his homecoming the news had swept the village: Lord Jasper had brought his new wife home with him.
The sound of the connecting door opening jarred Katie from her reverie. She blinked up at Dulverton, her mind still mired in the past. He was dressed in his evening clothes, his cold eyes and austere features all the more jarring when contrasted with her memory of Jasper’s handsome, laughing face.
“I waited for you in the library,” he said.
Katie got to her feet and pulled her dressing gown closed. “By the time you sent the servant I’d already changed for bed. I did not realize you expected me.” She paused but then could not resist adding, “I only received orders for dinner, not the rest of the evening.”
His lips tightened. “You prefer to retire early?” he asked, evidently deciding to ignore her provocative comment.
“I do not prefer it. I just did not know what else to do.”
“What do you usually do after dinner?”
“The same thing everyone else does.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I go to a ball or the theater or some other function.”
“What do you do when you are in the country?”
“Accompany my sister-and-brother-in-law when they go to various functions. Or they often entertain at Chatham Park.” She didn’t tell him that she often took over the hostess duties for Hy.
“Do you do anything other than attend balls, parties, the theater, or other entertainments?” His tone was even but there was a faintly supercilious twist to his lips.
“Of course I do other things,” she snapped.
“Such as?”
“I read.” Foolishly, she pointed to the novel on her nightstand. She had been attempting to read Waverly for weeks but only managed a page or two most nights before she snuffed the candle and proceeded to stare into the darkness.
“You read,” he repeated flatly. “Is that all?”
Katie’s mind stubbornly remained blank, which, illogically, just made her angrier at Dulverton. “I am useless. Is that what you were attempting to ascertain, Your Grace?”
He opened his mouth.
“I am a creature of frivolity, and my head is full of fluff and—” Katie broke off with a yelp when he closed the distance between them in four long strides.
She took a step back, forgetting the chair, and stumbled.
He caught her, just as he had that night in the garden, and held her upper arms. Rather than release her, he loomed over her, and Katie had to crane her neck to see him.
The muscles of his face worked beneath his darkly tanned skin, his wintry eyes slid to her mouth, and the nostrils of his prominent, high-bridged nose flared.
Heat blasted off his body like a blacksmith’s forge.
For a moment Katie thought he was going to kiss her.
Instead, he firmly put her at arm’s length, and she could not decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
“I do not care for balls, the theater, dinner parties, and the like,” he said.
Katie snorted. “Really? You shock me.”
He ignored her sniping and said, “You will have to find other ways to occupy your time in the country.” He cast a dismissive glance at the copy of Waverly on her bedside table.
“As you are such a great reader you will need to tell my secretary what books you want, and he will purchase them for you.”
“Thank you for your kind offer,” she said acidly. “But I can purchase my own books.”
“He will also see that the tomes are appropriately bound before they are delivered,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Appropriately bound?” she laughed rudely. “Too bad you can’t do the same thing to me so that I fit in.”
“Who says I can’t?” His eyes glittered darkly.
Katie felt a stirring of alarm and something else, too. Something she had no word for. Something that left her hot and confused. “I b-beg your pardon?” she asked uncertainly.
He merely stared, the hard curve of his mouth not just stern, but… wicked?
No, that could not be.
Could it?
She shook herself, furious at feeling so wrong-footed. “You needn’t worry about me polluting your library. I will purchase my own books and keep them—”
“Must you dispute every order I give you?”
“Must you give orders every time you speak to me?”
His lips parted but then he closed his mouth.
It was the first sign of uncertainty she had ever seen him exhibit.
A nerve jumped in his temple as he stared down at her.
“You are tired,” he finally said. “I will leave you to your rest. Goodnight.” He turned to go, and Katie’s hand—as if it had suddenly grown a mind of its own—shot out and closed around an arm that was as hard as a tree trunk.
Dulverton stiffened and glared down at her fingers.
Katie jerked her hand back, scalded by his disdain. As much as she would have liked to chuck him out her bedroom window, she did not want their wedding night hanging over her head for yet another day. “Are—are—will you come to me later?” she asked, loathing her breathy voice.
“No. You have had a long day, and we are leaving very early in the morning.”
“I would rather not wait.” Katie could not believe the words coming out of her mouth.
Either could Dulverton, who looked visibly startled.
“What?” she demanded, goaded by the look of whatever she saw on his face. “I want to get this over with.” Katie bit her tongue, wishing she had phrased that more diplomatically. “I just meant—”
“I see,” he said icily. Some emotion—Katie did not know what—flickered in his gaze, reminding her that he was not, after all, made of stone.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean that the way—”
“Get on the bed.”
Katie flinched at his curt command.
“Do you wish me to stay?” he asked sharply, his face hard and unyielding. “Or shall I leave?”
“No, stay,” she blurted, for once entranced rather than irked by his autocratic behavior.
“Then get on the bed,” he snapped, his eyes stormy. “The sooner you do; the sooner we can get this over with.”