Chapter 9
“Your house looks vastly different when it is not decorated for a party,” Elara mused, staring up in wonder at the vast ceiling of the main hall of the London Harcourt Estate.
An artist of great talent had painted the domed ceiling with a realistic skyscape, fluffy clouds that looked soft to the touch, magnificent hues of blue and purple in the sky, and adorable cherubs peeking out through the clouds.
Behind her, the Duke chortled.
“I am quite serious,” Elara insisted, taking in the gold-painted columns, the white-and-gray marble stairs, and the ornate crystal sconces on the walls. All of it had been concealed by swaths of silk the night of his masquerade ball.
“It is beautiful,” Elara stated, turning to him.
His brow perked, and he almost looked amused.
“I suppose the house will be grateful to finally have someone living in it to admire it,” the Duke said sarcastically. “Now, are you ready to meet my staff? Or do you plan to marvel at their beauty as well?”
Elara gave him a deadpan look.
“We have been married for less than a day, and you already exasperate me,” she all but hissed.
Her husband’s lips drew into a pout as he slapped his hand over his heart. “You wound me, wife,” he retorted, walking to her right side.
Elara rolled her eyes and faced forward, where a long line of black-and-white-uniformed staff waited silently and patiently to be introduced.
As the Duke introduced each member of the staff, they bowed or curtseyed before her, then stepped back into line.
She noted that none of them, not even the housekeeper and the main butler, looked the Duke in the face, and she wondered whether that was out of fear or respect.
“Now that you have met everyone, I have some matters to attend to,” he said after finishing the introductions. He clapped his hands, and everyone except Mr. Pearson, the head butler, and Mrs. York, the housekeeper, dispersed.
“Is it the baby?” Elara asked quickly, stepping toward him.
Behind her, she heard Mrs. York gasp as she watched the Duke’s face harden into a cold expression. She waited tensely for him to shout or speak bitterly. Instead, she watched his jaw twitch as he gritted his teeth, and without a word, he moved around her and began climbing the left staircase.
Elara opened her mouth, ready to confront him yet again, but as he disappeared up the stairs, she realized she would not be able to force an answer from him.
Perhaps, she thought as she turned to Mrs. York with a kind smile. There is someone else who can tell me more about this child.
Mrs. York’s answering smile was wide and warm, and she curtsied once more before Elara as she welcomed her yet again. She was tall and lean, with graying brown hair kept in a tidy bun and warm, honey-brown eyes.
“It is so very good to have you here, Your Grace,” Mrs. York said warmly, gesturing toward the stairs.
Elara shivered at her new title. Though her mother had been a duchess and her father and brothers had all been dukes, she had never been sure she would hold such a status.
“Shall I give you a tour? Or, if you have been traveling long, perhaps I could show you to your quarters and have a bath drawn for you instead?”
“We did not travel from afar, Mrs. York,” Elara assured her. “I would love a tour, thank you. And Mr. Pearson?”
“Yes, Your Grace?” Mr. Pearson asked, bowing.
Again, Elara tingled at her new title. It was going to take some getting used to.
“A carriage is supposed to arrive later today with my things and my maid. Her name is Ginny,” Elara explained. “Would you please be so kind as to come find me when it arrives?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mr. Pearson replied, going down for another sweeping bow.
As Mrs. York began the tour of the vast estate, Elara soon discovered that Mrs. York was a very lively, motherly woman with a penchant for positivity and a sharp tongue when necessary.
She had an eagle eye for the other servants and the cleanliness of the estate, and she seemed to know where everything went and where everyone should be at all times.
“How long have you had this posting, Mrs. York?” Elara asked as they came out of the library, a room Elara was particularly excited about.
“I started with the Harcourt family when I was but five-and-ten, as a maid,” Mrs. York answered proudly, showing Elara into yet another sitting room; this one decorated in multiple hues of green.
“I worked my way up to the station I hold now and have proudly held it for the last eighteen years,” Mrs. York continued to boast.
“So you have known His Grace for quite a while, then,” Elara noted, her curiosity piqued. Mrs. York nodded.
“Oh, yes, of course, he and his little brother, God bless his soul,” Mrs. York replied.
Elara drew up a brow as she looked at the housekeeper. “Has he passed?”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. York answered quickly, blushing slightly. “I only mean that the young Master Harcourt has had quite a few struggles. Never could quite get on his feet.”
“I see,” Elara mused knowingly as Mrs. York led her up to the third floor. “Does he reside here?”
“He used to,” Mrs. York confessed. “However, I have not seen him in quite a while. Which is a shame, you know, as it worries His Grace greatly.”
The housekeeper leaned closer to Elara.
“He was exiled,” she whispered, as if the word was foul.
But why? What happened? And what did Evander have to do with it?
Elara pondered Mrs. York’s words as she pulled open a set of double doors and beamed.
“This, Your Grace, is your suite,” Mrs. York announced, waving a hand toward the room. “Please let me know if there is anything not to your liking, and we will have it corrected right away.”
Elara stepped tentatively into the first room; her heart thudded in excitement as she took in the dusky blue and violet-purple silk of the striped wallpaper.
A plush white rug lay sprawled across gleaming dark-wood floors, reaching from the hearth of a crisp white-marble fireplace to the legs of an ornately carved credenza.
The cushioned chairs and chaise lounge, positioned before the fireplace, matched the silk wallpaper perfectly, and a white marble coffee table sat centered between the furniture. Hanging directly above it was a small but beautiful silver-and-crystal chandelier.
Beyond the sitting room lay a bedroom of equal opulence, though the moment Elara opened the door, she knew she would be changing the colors.
Unlike the sitting room, decorated in Elara’s favorite colors, the bedroom had been done in yellows, oranges, and golds.
The brightness of it hurt her eyes, and she laughed almost immediately after she opened the door.
“I take it this room is not to your liking?” Mrs. York asked hesitantly.
“It is like looking at the sun,” Elara joked, walking to the large window. “Are you sure His Grace will not mind my making a few changes?”
“Oh, I am quite sure,” Mrs. York agreed quickly. “He may seem grumpy from time to time, but he is a good man at heart.”
Ignoring how the room’s brightness bothered her, Elara quickly urged Mrs. York to take a seat at the table by the bedroom’s fireplace and joined her.
“He does seem very grumpy,” Elara agreed. “Was he always that way?”
Mrs. York squirmed a little in her seat.
“It is all right,” Elara quickly assured. “We will keep this conversation strictly to ourselves.”
“You must understand, Your Grace,” Mrs. York quietly insisted as her brown eyes took on a pleading gleam.
“Your husband was groomed to be a duke from the moment he was born. He was denied any tenderness and given only the strictest attention. His younger brother, Augustus, held the late Duke and Duchess’s hearts. His Grace has a fondness for him, too.”
“So he has always been like this,” Elara gathered, and to her surprise, Mrs. York shook her head.
“His Grace does have a sweet, caring side to him,” Mrs. York explained. “He just keeps it hidden from those not very close to him.”
Elara pondered this for a moment, wondering, perhaps, whether her mother might be right after all about her wedding night. Perhaps she should be in his good graces. A person close to him.
“Like that sweet little baby,” Mrs. York sighed, pulling Elara from her thoughts. “He is such a sweet, kind man when it comes to that little baby. I have never seen a man so attentive to a child.”
“Yes, the baby,” Elara agreed quickly. “What do you know about it? Where is its mother?”
“It is not my place to speak about it,” Mrs. York confessed. “I can only tell you that the mother died in childbirth.”
“That poor woman,” Elara whispered.
She wondered who she had once been. A maid?
A merchant’s daughter? Had she been vibrant, full of life and hope, before the Duke seduced her and ruined her life?
Elara’s stomach twisted with bitter thought.
What could he have done or said to make the woman risk her life and reputation for him?
What sort of honeyed words had he used to make her surrender that most precious part of herself?
It is good that he seems to care for the child, but had he ever cared for its mother?
The more Elara thought about it, the more questions her mind conjured.
“Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace,” Mrs. York said, her tone soft. “But you look a bit tired. I am sure you have had an immensely stressful day. Would you like me to have the cook prepare some supper for you? I can bring it up here if you like.”
Elara forced a smile and nodded.
“That would be lovely, Mrs. York, thank you,” Elara agreed. “Then perhaps, if you would be so kind as to help me prepare for my wedding night?”
Mrs. York’s smile widened instantly as she curtsied.
“It would be my honor to do so, Your Grace,” Mrs. York answered.
Shortly after Mrs. York departed, a knock came at Elara’s door, followed by Mr. Pearson’s voice announcing that Ginny and her trunks had arrived.
Though Elara had enjoyed Mrs. York’s company, she was greatly comforted when Ginny stepped into the room.
It felt good to see a familiar face, and she could not help but take Ginny’s hands and squeeze them warmly.
“Oh, I am so happy you are here,” Elara gushed, taking in her maid’s familiar features. Pretty dark brown eyes, framed by thick lashes. A small, pointed nose and soft cheeks. Ginny smiled warmly at her and squeezed Elara’s hand in return.
“I am happy to be here, Your Grace. Is all well?”
“Well enough,” Elara sighed, letting go of Ginny’s hands. “I am just trying to gather my bearings, I suppose.”
“Let us get you unpacked,” Ginny offered, moving to the first trunk. “You will feel better sorted once you are surrounded by familiar things.”
“Yes, quite right,” Elara agreed, looking over the four trunks Mr. Pearson and a footman—she believed he was called Nick—had brought in. “My mama informed me earlier that she packed a special trunk for my wedding night. Would you happen to know which one it is?”
A giggle burst from Ginny’s lips, surprising Elara. Her maid quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and curtsied.
“Oh, forgive me, Your Grace,” Ginny offered. “I did not mean to laugh. I shall bring the trunk your mother sent along.”
Ginny disappeared into the sitting room for a brief moment, and when she returned, Elara was surprised at how small the wooden trunk she carried was. It was barely bigger than a hatbox!
“That is it?” Elara asked.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Ginny agreed, setting it down on the table across from Elara’s bed. “Would you like me to open it for you?”
“No, thank you,” Elara replied, walking toward the small trunk. “Please put my gowns away.”
Ginny curtsied and went to do as she was bidden. Alone, Elara drew in a breath to calm her fraying nerves and unclasped the trunk. She lifted the lid, and her eyes widened as she took in the contents before her.
She cannot be serious!