Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Rising from her turbulent sleep, Ariadne woke in the hazy pink light of pre-dawn.
Duchess of Holloway.
The title felt so foreign in her mind that she knew it would feel strange on her tongue.
Slipping from the bed, she entered her washroom and did a quick ablution, went back to her room, and donned a plain, blue-green day dress that her mother said matched her eyes perfectly and fixed her hair.
A knock on the door had her pausing with brush in hand, and frowning. Opening it, she found the housekeeper and a bright-eyed, brown-haired, young woman there, who instantly curtsied.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully curtsied. “I would like to present Molly Banks, she will be your lady’s maid.”
“Oh,” Ariadne blinked, “Oh…erm… thank you.”
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Molly said, “I’d come to help you for the day, but I see you already dressed.”
“I’m used to being self-sufficient,” she said almost apologetically, while not having the heart to correct her on the title, “But thank you.”
“What would you like to do this morning, Your Grace?” Molly asked.
“I’d like to speak to the housekeeper for an hour,” she said, already settling into the role of the lady of the house.
“I will let Mrs. Tully know, Your Grace,” Molly replied. “Would you like breakfast first?”
“I’ll take the tea and toast,” Ariadne replied. “Something light, and please show me a place where the housekeeper and I can meet.”
“Yes, Madam.” Molly bobbed a curtsey. “This way, please.”
Ariadne’s eyes flickered over the hallways, passed the priceless paintings and exotic furnishings that seemed to be fit for a palace. As much as she could remember the halls of her old home and the gilt it had… she felt as out of place as a tin cup next to a fine Sèvres setting.
On the first floor, she stopped to greet the maids who were dusting and polishing the vases and tables in the hallway.
The maids chimed “Good mornin’, Your Grace,” in unison and bobbed curtsies.
Molly opened a door and ushered her into a parlor, modestly furnished and paneled in dark wood. On one side was a rosewood escritoire and empty shelves. Mullioned windows filled the room with golden light.
“The room on this wing receives the most agreeable light, my lady, and I thought perhaps you might find it suitable for any meeting you might have,” Molly said. “Perhaps you may ask His Grace to make it your personal room?”
“It’s perfect,” she said.
Brightening, Molly said. “I am glad. What would you like for breakfast, please?”
“Something light,” she said. “Tea, toast, preserves, and some fruit. Thank you.”
“I will have it for you soon, Your Grace. Please excuse me,” Molly replied.
Instead of taking a seat, she looked around the room, picturing the shelves filled with books; some educational, some not, her desk covered with invitations for various balls and soirées, and a cozy blanket thrown over the couch over there.
“Maybe some lighter curtains,” she murmured to herself. “Velvet is too heavy for days.”
She swiped a finger over the shelves and found that they were swept clean. “He makes sure to take care of his house. I love this.”
“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully said from behind her, almost causing Ariadne to jump in fright.
Stifling the reaction, she turned and plastered a smile on her face, “Good morning.” Eyeing the maid—her lady maid now— who held a tray, she nodded to the table, “You may set it down here, thank you.”
Feeling very self-conscious about eating in front of them, she only made her tea. “Can you tell me how the schedule in this house runs? My new husband seems to like a set routine.”
“His Grace does,” Mrs. Tully nodded, then proceeded to tell her the various schedules of Cedric, of his daughter, how the maids cleaned the house, and the set time Cedric went off to the House of Lords.
“His Grace does not attend balls,” the housekeeper said, “And in the ten years I have been here, we have not hosted either, which was why it was a surprise when he allowed Lord Moreland to have his ball here.”
Leander is Lord Moreland.
“How far do these schedules go?” Ariadne asked.
“To the meals, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied. “It is the same menu every week for every season. He takes his breakfast precisely at six am: black coffee, two slices of buttered toast, a small bowl of oats porridge, and fruit.”
“Every day?”
“Every day, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied.
Ariadne shook her head slowly. She did not want to believe it, but the few but profound interactions she had with Cedric told her that, in fact, this was true for him.
She asked. “Would you be able to write these schedules for me?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied with a nod.
“And may we start the tour of the house today?” she asked.
“It will be my pleasure, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied. “Would you prefer to have your breakfast first?”
Looking down at the tray, she nodded. “And if you have today’s newspaper, I would like that as well.”
“Already done, Your Grace,” Mrs. Tully replied, nodding to the young maid who scurried out of the room.
Her eyes flittered from the door to the older woman, and she hesitated with her next question. “Were… were you here when His Grace had his first wife?”
“I was, ma’am,” Mrs. Tully nodded.
“What…” she felt something twist in her chest. “…What was she like?” The moment those words left her mouth, her stomach dropped. “I realized I may have put you in an impossible position. You do not need to answer that.”
“Her Grace was a beautiful lady, Your Grace, a social butterfly and a Diamond of the First Water when His Grace married her.” Mrs. Tully said. “But…I suspected a very manipulative nature from her.”
She did not say anymore, and Ariadne did not push. Maybe Cedric would tell her more about his late wife…but even that idea felt unreasonable. The man was a block of ice; he would never tell her about the life he had lived before.
Molly returned with the paper, and she took it with a smile. “I’ll send for you in the next half hour. Thank you.”
Instead of paying attention to her food, she took the paper and turned to the gossip pages.
As she expected, she saw her name blazoned on the first headline.
A bride for the beast of Holloway? Never say so!
Who is this Mysterious Miss Ariadne Hargrave, the newest Duchess of Holloway, and is she truly married to the most elusive Duke in London?
For those in attendance at Duke Holloway’s ball a week ago, all were in complete shock when the alleged rakehell Lord Moreland was declared engaged to a country miss when it is known on-dit that he has a long-standing mistress, Lady Delilah Porter.
A lady’s life that many revile and others crave to experience.
It is reported that upon the day of the wedding, Lord Moreland left the poor lady at the altar and Duke Holloway himself stepped in to marry her.
Light digging has revealed that the lady’s family, consisting of her mother and three sisters, is a step away from ruin as money left in the coffers by her late father is being spent hand over fist by the new Viscount of Fairbrook, her uncle.
These facts were uncovered after dear citizens and onlookers of that ball voluntarily offered their insights.
She is very plain and old, not deserving of such a marriage. My daughter was a better match, sniffed Lady M—
I sincerely believe she is with his (Lord Moreland) child because of this sudden marriage, laughed Lord St. J—
Even if it was a quiet romance or not, she has certainly elevated her position and her family, declared Lady C-M.
She had not expected anything good from the public…but this felt so nasty.
Her mind flew to Charity Peterson, her friend, who had said this when they had attended the debut ball for a beautiful young lady.
Upon seeing some other ladies smile through their teeth and glare death upon the undeserving lady, Charity leaned in and said, “Don’t be fooled, almost every lady here will stab her in the middle of her shoulder blades and then go have tea with their pinky lifted.”
God above, she wanted to visit her friends or have them visit her, but she did not know how Cedric would react.
The last comment cut her in two.
Let’s see if she will survive a year. God forbid she bear him a child. Women die around that beast. Lady S—
Dropping the paper, she felt her stomach turn in horror. She had no heart to eat but could not—would not – waste the food. With a heavy heart, she slathered the toast with preserves and finished with the summer fruit.
Finished, she summoned her maid, who took her to Mrs. Tully, but halfway down the corridor, she saw Cedric vanishing into a room with leather furniture and tall shelves.
His study.
“Your Grace?” Molly asked.
Tearing her attention away from him, she nodded, “I’m sorry. Please, proceed.”
Five days had passed since her wedding, and two days of learning the rhythms of her new home while her husband maintained what could only be described as deliberate avoidance.
Ariadne adjusted her spectacles and smiled at Mrs. Tully, who was finishing her thorough tour of the Holloway Estate domestic arrangements. She had seen the room that had been allotted to her that ill-fated night, and it was a realm away from the luxury of the main rooms.
On the third day, Ariadne had made the mistake of cleaning up after herself as she was used to maintaining her family’s home with very few staff, only a cook, a washerwoman, and a doorman on pay. Everything else, they did themselves.
Her second morning at the Manor, alone and stifled, not seeing hide nor hair of her husband or stepdaughter, she had descended endless stairs and wandered through a maze of corridors until she had ended up in the kitchen.
The cook had asked her opinion on the soup that evening—an offer Ariadne was now realizing was only a polite concession, not a true request—and after tasting, had offered a few ingredients to enhance the soup.
The staff had been aghast at that, and a flustered footman quickly escorted her out.