Chapter 2 #2
No, I couldn’t imagine that at all.
Prudence turned to me. “Don’t listen to Tempie. Although she has no excuse to be this way, she’s as cynical as they come.”
“Did I lie?” Temperance demanded. “Well?” she pressed in Prudence’s and Chastity’s directions when neither said anything.
“Not really,” Chasitity finally whisper-admitted.
Temperance turned to me. “You write this kind of thing for a living. Therefore, you know, in our world, we don’t marry for love. We marry for money. For status. For alliances.”
“That’s hardly been the case for the last sixty, seventy years, or even longer,” Prudence contradicted.
“If you don’t think Mother married Father for his title, his money and this damned house, you are a bigger dreamer than I thought,” Temperance shot back.
“Tempie,” Chastity whisper-admonished.
But if that was a hit to Prudence, she didn’t show it.
Instead, she lifted her chin. “If it was for this house, why did she leave him?”
Temperance didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve already answered that. Because he was an ass.” She returned to me. “It’s a thing, tonight, because you’re here. It’s a tradition we all enjoy. We’re all going to dress up for dinner. Did Prue tell you?”
I nodded.
Prudence had warned me my first night there would be formal, and to be prepared, because if they had other guests, it might happen again.
Since I didn’t have a closet full of evening dresses, this required me to hit some online designer resale sites, but that had been a blast, as it always tended to be, and score: I’d found some awesome things, and not just evening dresses.
Temperance continued, “But that’s not a thing for us.
At least not when we don’t have visitors.
Of course, Chassie doesn’t sidle into the parlor for pre-dinner cocktails in mud-splattered wellies with dirt under her fingernails.
And we are not normal. We’re rich. People say the word ‘lady’ before our names.
Someone cooks our food. Someone else serves it.
I have never cooked a meal in my life, nor washed a dish. And I don’t intend to do either.”
Suddenly, I strived for yet another goal in my life, the dish thing.
Though, I liked to cook.
Temperance wasn’t finished.
“But we’re not weird. We eat dinner as a family, normally. But if we don’t want to pitch up to the table, we have a tray in our room or wherever. Though, back before he died, under Father’s edicts, you’d think it was still nineteen-oh-two.”
“He was just traditional,” Prudence said.
“A man had been on the moon,” Temperance retorted.
“The future king got a divorce and had his dirty talk with his mistress aired all over the globe. And that talk was filthy. You could call Bangladesh from your mobile in your car. We had cars. It was no longer required for me to wear white gloves and a hat to church, or a formal gown to dinner, for God’s sake. ”
Neither of her sisters had a response.
I didn’t either, and although I thought it’d be cute to see the Talyn sisters in hats and gloves, going to church, if I was a kid and that wasn’t what I wanted to do, I had to admit, it would stink.
When the silence lengthened, I carefully waded into it.
“I intend to do a pretty thorough read through of all the things Prudence has gathered for me.” I turned to Prudence. “And of course, I’m excited to meet Ravenna.”
Not really, but Prudence liked her, and outside of her family, she didn’t mention any other friends, except her bi-monthly readings with Ravenna, so I was (currently) withholding judgement.
And anyway, who was I to judge?
Even Elizabeth I hung out with and took counsel from Dr. John Dee.
I looked between the other two sisters. “And unless there’s some note of it, or it fits into the narrative, I probably won’t be mentioning the curse.”
“Well, that will be good,” Temperance murmured while she crossed her long, slender legs. “We don’t need every lunatic who shops exclusively in Glastonbury poking around and doing rituals outside the front gate.”
This made Prudence twist excitedly toward me and again with her clap.
“Oh yes, Vivi! It’s a bit of a jaunt, but while you’re here, we have to go to Glastonbury.”
“I would bypass that and go straight to Cheltenham. Better shopping,” Temperance drawled, but oddly, she did this watching Prudence closely, and, maybe I was wrong, but I could swear I read in her gaze it was hopefully.
That was strange.
Chastity nibbled at a biscuit while her bright-blue eyes darted everywhere but to a human being.
A throat was cleared.
We all looked to the doorway to see Fitzgibbons standing there.
“I hate to intrude. But Miss Dupree has a meeting with His Grace.”
“Oh,”—another clap from Prudence—“right. Be sure to tell him not to keep her too long. She’ll want to have time to change for dinner.”
Once Fitzgibbons nodded, she latched onto my arm, therefore I turned to her.
“We start cocktails around six thirty-ish, most everyone’s there by seven,” she told me.
“We wander into dinner whenever Cook sends word it’s ready.
Once you’ve changed, just go to your smart screen and hit the icon to call a member of staff.
Someone will escort you to the parlor.” She gave me a big smile.
“We’ll do the full house tour tomorrow.”
I got the sense from this that she wasn’t going to take me to her brother, Fitzgibbons was.
And the duke was calling.
Thus, I set down my teacup and moved a smile through all the ladies, saying, “Thank you so much, this was great. Looking forward to dinner.”
“I bet you are,” Temperance said in a tone that pretended she didn’t want me to hear it, but she did.
Oh, she knew they were putting on a show, and I was lapping it up.
And that begged the question of why she assumed the role of star of that show, if she didn’t want me to witness the production.
Chastity said nothing.
Prudence replied, “See you at dinner.”
I got up and followed Fitzgibbons out.
As we walked down the central wing, I looked into open doors to see a variety of rooms along the lines of what I’d already seen, with those to the front having grand views of the glory of the parkland, and those to the back having the same of the splendor of the gardens.
We turned into the south wing, and about halfway down, to the right side, the butler knocked on the only closed door we’d encountered along the way.
“Come,” a man called from inside.
All right, I had to admit, I was a little tingly.
I’d never met a real-life duke, for one.
I’d read about plenty.
Meeting one?
Nope.
Then there was the mystery. The lore. The history.
All of which, being an ex-librarian, current writer, I was super into.
And here I was, about to meet the keeper of it, a man who, no matter what he did, would not be forgotten in the annals of history just because of who he’d been born to be.
And that was all kinds of cool.
I almost rubbed my hands together like an over-excited idiot when Fitzgibbons opened the door, walked in, I followed, and the butler intoned, “Miss Dupree is here for your meeting, Your Grace.”
The man at the desk looked up from whatever he was writing.
And I froze solid.
I heard him say in a deep, lush purr, “Thank you, Fitzy.”
Some part of me processed the fact that Fitzgibbons walked out and closed the door.
But mostly, I was all about the man sitting at the desk.
Thick, dark, chestnut brown hair. Handsome tortoise-shell glasses covering rich brown eyes.
But his face.
Damn.
His face.
In any romantic fantasy, that strong jaw, straight nose, prominent brow, those sumptuous lips and hooded eyes would be the face that would emerge when the knight on his mighty charger flipped up the visor of his helmet.
It was the face you’d see after the Scotsman in the kilt swung his broadsword, ending the life of his opponent, and whirled to face his next.
It was the face splashed in blood you’d see looking up from his kill after the Viking berserker brought down his battle-ax.
It was the face of the vicious mobster in the movie you felt wildly freaky about because he made you root for the bad guy mostly because you were dying to fuck him.
It was the face of a warrior, or a villain.
It was the face of Satan, Lucifer, who used to be God’s most beautiful angel.
And then he stood.
Tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, thick thighed, the desk hid the rest, but I didn’t have it in me to process more.
Not with the strength of the electrical pulse shooting through me after taking in only what I could see.
And it wasn’t just an, “Oo, this guy is hawt,” pulse.
Oh no.
It was something bigger.
Stronger.
Scarier.
Utterly terrifying.
How did I know?
Because for the first time in my life, after that man took his feet, and the shock tore through me, I fainted.
Dead to the carpet.