Chapter 14
I n all her life, Portia had never been in a house so magnificent and so cold. Ferrars House, just off of Green Park, took up more than a city square. In fact, she was fairly certain it took up almost two .
It was full of every glorious thing. Marble stretched everywhere. Gold filigree trimmed everything. Columns spiraled upward. Paintings that were vast hung from every wall. Grecian busts filled the space. Yet there was not an ounce of warmth to be felt.
The Duke of Ferrars’s grand house in the center of London was meant to awe and inspire, but one thing she knew for certain as she stood on the elaborately designed marble floor, spinning around slowly, looking upward to the painted mural on the ceiling: it was not a home.
Nothing felt like home here.
After growing up in Heron House and the small house in New York City, this was like coming to a strange island where nothing made sense. There were dozens of servants, but no one for them to wait upon. It hit her, as she stood there in the vast silence of the massive house with dozens upon dozens of rooms, that the only people who lived here were her husband and his sister. And now, of course, herself. She had not anticipated how difficult it might be to go from Heron House, a noisy boisterous place full of family and, oftentimes, friends, to something like this.
He took her hand in his.
“Welcome to your new establishment, Your Grace,” Rufus said, giving her a slight bow.
She tried to smile, but she felt overwhelmed. “It is extremely large,” she pointed out.
He nodded simply. “My father had it improved in the last century.”
Improved . She rather wondered about that. “Oh?” she queried.
He gazed about as if looking at it for the first time, as if he did not care for it at all but could still recite all the facts about it. “Yes, he updated all the Jacobin features. He wanted it to be modern and, well, intimidating,” he said.
“He certainly succeeded,” she managed. “Are your rooms like this?”
He eyed her curiously. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll show you your rooms first and then you can see mine. Come with me.”
Of course, she would have her own set of rooms, but she had no intention that they should be apart. They were newlyweds! And her parents didn’t have separate apartments. She’d have to let him and the servants knows that she had no intention of keeping her own separate room.
They passed dozens of elaborately dressed and bewigged servants. Servants who looked almost like statues.
She smiled at them and nodded. No doubt, soon, she’d be introduced to the housekeeper, butler, and cook, but it was late, and she was eager to begin her wedding night. So, she was quite glad that Rufus rushed on.
Still, it was odd that there was so little response. They did not even smile. It was astonishing.
“Do your servants not like the idea of a new duchess?” she whispered, feeling a chill that wasn’t just the draftiness of the place.
“Oh, they are doing exactly as they have always been told,” he replied.
“And what is that?” she asked.
“They are to observe without opinion.”
She frowned, trying to hide her dismay. Of course, to a certain degree, that was the rule of many homes in the ton, but not at Heron House. The servants, of course, were not family members, but they were given a great deal of respect and treated like people who had thoughts and feelings of their own.
This was something that she would have to work on here. There was a culture in this place that was old, and she did not think it was actually Rufus’s, but she was the duchess now, and she’d be able to do what she pleased. That thought gave her encouragement as he led her up the many staircases and past several landings and then to a long hall that overlooked Green Park.
He stopped before a beautiful double door. “This shall be your apartment,” he said, pleased.
“Oh, I am excited to see it,” she rushed, trying to find enjoyment in this odd house.
It was the right thing to say, but she didn’t feel excitement. She felt as if she had been brought to a monument of power. A museum at the center of London where there was little comfort and no happiness. Except she was going to bring happiness to this place.
With him.
Rufus threw open the doors and gestured for her to enter. She strode in and was immediately struck again by how little personality there was in the room. Oh, it was beautiful. The curtains were rose damask, and a fire crackled in the marble fireplace. The mantel was engraved beautifully with flowers. And then there was the bed—a massive four-poster affair.
The room was strewn with ornate tables that she guessed were from France. There were beautiful paintings of demure-looking ladies upon the walls.
There were rich carpets along the floor and porcelain figurines of beautiful shepherdesses and long-eared dogs decking every surface. It was a room fit for a princess, not just a duchess, and yet it somehow felt as if all life had been sucked from it.
She was going to have to do something about that. She’d throw the windows open and let the fresh air in. Yes, that’s what she’d do. But more importantly, she’d begin with him.
Their love would warm things up quite a bit.
Rufus stood before the fire, his hands behind his back. A strict posture that he was now adhering to that she hadn’t noticed before.
She cleared her throat. “I will be able to make it as I like, won’t I?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Of course, the rooms are yours, but what needs to be changed?”
“Oh,” she laughed. “Well, everything is beautiful, but it’s certainly not my taste. I’d like to bring in some more cheerful and comforting things.”
He frowned. “Like what?”
“Well, you’ve been to Heron House.”
“Yes,” he said, his brow furrowing all the more. “But this isn’t Heron House. They look nothing alike. Will that fit?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “My tastes will fit because I will fit,” she said.
He had clearly not considered this, and suddenly she wondered if it had just been his plan that she would slip into his life with little change. But he wanted her in it. He wanted her exuberance and her abilities, so, of course, he wanted the change. He was just being reticent about it.
“Never you fear,” she said. “You will not need to worry a bit about it. That is my domain anyway.”
At last, he smiled at her. “That is absolutely true,” he said. “This house has not had a duchess in some time, so it’ll be wonderful to have a lady here who will run the whole place.”
“Did Margery not run anything?” she asked, folding her hands before her, lest she fidget with her gown. After all, evening was falling, and she longed for their wedding night to begin.
“No,” he said. “She was too young when Mother died, and I wanted her to have a bit of carefree time as she grew. A life that was not riddled with responsibilities. Her girlhood was…”
He cleared his throat. “The house will do well under your care.”
She nodded. What had Margery’s girlhood been like? Strict.
The word popped into her head. Yes. Strict and joyless. Luckily, she’d had a kind brother.
She wanted to ask more but knew, with Rufus, that information would be given to her slowly when he was ready, and that was enough. She placed her bouquet of flowers down on the inlaid table with its patterned mosaic and strode to him. “I think the best thing that we could possibly do now is to begin to make this place ours.”
His smile began to warm. “Oh, that is what you think, is it?” he asked, pulling her against him.
She gave a nod. “I do think so. You see, this place feels as if it hasn’t known any laughter.”
“It hasn’t,” he stated suddenly, his smile dimming again, but his arms stayed wrapped about her. “You are not wrong about that.”
“So,” she said, tilting her head back, “that must begin to change immediately.”
“Must it?” he asked, arching a brow.
“Oh, yes. Isn’t that why you married me? To have a bit of laughter in your life? And exuberance?”
He arched a brow, sliding his hands along her back. “I married you because I think you would make the best duchess for me.”
“And this is part of that,” she answered.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Of course. We will do whatever you suggest.”
Despite his arms about her, and his strong hands stroking her, he seemed…so strange in this moment.
She didn’t know what to think. Where was the man who had stood in the garden telling her that he wanted her exactly as she was? Had he slipped away or was it this momentous day? Was he just tired?
Yes. That had to be it. He was tired, and it had been a very busy day, and he’d had to arrange a great deal. The wedding breakfast had been full to the brim with people at Heron House, and that had no doubt made him exhausted.
After all, he’d invited all of the ton and her family was quite large. And for a shy person, that would take quite a toll.
Still…a part of her cried out, Where is my Rufus?
“Let us sit before the fire,” she suggested, longing to go back to the way they’d been so easy in each other’s company before this morning. Before the wedding.
“Ah,” he sighed. “I have a plan.”
“You do?”
“I shall go to my chambers and prepare and give you a few moments to ready yourself. Then I will return. I’ve arranged a lady’s maid for you.”
“Surely, my own will arrive—”
“You are a duchess now,” he cut in. “And you need the lady’s maid of a duchess. Not of a half-American miss,” he replied. “Much will be required of you.”
The room seemed to spin for a moment. What was happening? Surely, she was mistaken. He just meant to be kind. This was all just the oddity of being married. It would take time for them to get used to it.
And he was more formal than she. She’d have to get used to that.
“Thank you,” she replied, blinking.
As soon as he slipped out of the room, there was a knock on her own door. “Come in,” she called.
A lady entered with blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a very simple gown. “Bonsoir, Madame. I am Sabine.”
“Oh, you are French,” Portia exclaimed.
“Mais oui. Nothing but a French maid for a duchess. That is what Monsieur le Duc said.”
Did he indeed? Well, it was lovely in its way.
“I am very happy to have you. Will you ready me for bed?”
The maid inclined her head, then gestured to the armoire. “All of your things have already been put into the armoire, and I have picked a nightgown for you.”
“You have?” she exclaimed. “My mother and I picked—”
“The duke arranged for a large trousseau to be sent. There are many elegant things! Including the finest silk nightgown.”
She blinked, astonished. “Did he?”
“Oh, yes,” the maid said. “It all came from the finest shops on Bond Street.”
“How very kind of him,” Portia mused. It was thoughtful. He was bestowing presents upon her. Decadent presents, no doubt. It was what a duke should do for his duchess. Presents were wonderful, but she’d have to make sure that he knew she wanted him most of all.
“Would you like me to unpin your hair and help you undress for the evening?”
She nodded. “I feel a little…”
“Yes?” Sabine prompted.
“Homesick.”
She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “But of course. You have gone from your home to this one, and I can sympathize. I left my home many years ago, but I am happy here.”
“Are you?” she asked. “How long have you been at this house?”
“Oh!” Sabine laughed, bemused. “I meant in England. Today is my first day here. Actually, I unpacked your things this afternoon.”
“So we are both strangers here, and we shall help each other,” Portia replied.
“We shall help each other,” agreed Sabine.
Portia spotted a long mirror and strode towards it. As her slippered feet trod across the elegant white and blue woven rug, she realized she was trembling. She had not realized how momentous this would be for her. Her new role. Away from family, away from her home.
But she’d be with Rufus, and that would make everything all right.