Chapter 6 #2
“Quinten! How are you, old sport?” Malcolm greeted him as if they had known each other for years.
He was only eight-and-twenty to Harleigh’s three-and-sixty, but one would think they were lifelong friends.
Kenneth shook his head in disbelief. “You should put your money on the gray tonight. It will win!”
They were talking about horse races, speculating on the best jockeys and horses. Harleigh seemed easily persuaded, saying, “Yes, gray is lucky this Season. But I still remember that one time, when I was your age, I lost a cottage on one, and my wife was upset with me for weeks.”
Harleigh’s wife had long been dead, from what Kenneth had heard, but the Duke suspected that there were other losses beyond that one gray horse.
Gamblers. Drunks.
Kenneth could not abide by them. He thought he already had enough problems with Malcolm. Now, he had joined a family with its own problems. He had tethered the Huntington name to a sinking ship.
“Your Grace!”
Lord Marlow, a man in his eighties and his new bride’s grandfather, came hobbling toward him. He gripped his ear trumpet tightly as if it were trying to get away.
“Lord Marlow,” Kenneth said, with a slight bow. His tone was icy cold.
“A glow? Of course, my granddaughter has that kind of glow,” the Baron declared proudly. “You are fortunate to marry our Madeline. She is a real beacon of hope. She is pure sunshine and can keep your shadows at bay, Your Grace!”
“Lord Marlow, I do not need a beacon,” he replied, speaking loudly near the old man’s trumpet. “What I need is someone who can manage the ducal estate.”
“The plate! The salmon is absolutely excellent, and the cake is a vision!” Marlow exclaimed. “Have you eaten, though, Your Grace? Madeline should be able to ensure you are well-fed.”
“I can assure you I can feed myself,” Kenneth insisted.
“No, I do not eat figs, but Madeline likes those. You should have no problem with her. She is not very particular.” The man patted Kenneth’s shoulder.
Soon, the old man wandered off to converse with anyone who would listen. Kenneth could not help but wonder how he would survive a lifetime of sunshine. He had married a woman with her heart on her sleeve. She was not fooling anyone with her stiff smiles.
Kenneth scanned the room and saw his wife. This time, she was no longer stiff. In fact, she was laughing, her voice bright and musical. In her dress of white and blue lace and satin, accentuating her curves over her petite body, she looked like the perfect bride painters often recreated on canvas.
He walked over to her.
“Duchess?”
“Your Grace?”
Up close, the sunshine in her was blinding.
Her eyes were bright and hopeful, her cheeks flushed with warmth, and her lips still curved from whatever had made her laugh moments before.
There was a tension in the way she held her neck and shoulders, but it only served to make her look more striking.
His gaze dropped briefly to the Huntington diamonds at her throat before returning to her face.
They suited her far more than they had any right to.
“Would you like to dance?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. The movement was curious. Kenneth almost mimicked it, but stopped himself. “I believe a waltz is about to begin.”
“I do not dance,” the Duke replied flatly.
Madeline’s smile remained, but he could see her cheeks quivering from the effort of keeping it.
“They expect us to dance, Your Grace. It is part of tradition. If we have to manage your estate together, they should believe us as partners in every way.”
In every way.
Something about the way she said it made his jaw tighten. He let his eyes drift over her face, slowly and intentionally, just as he had looked at her drenched form at the Serpentine. He watched the flush rise in her cheeks and felt a grim sense of satisfaction.
“I do not care what the ton expects us to do. We do not need to perform for them,” he insisted. “We should depart. The coachman is currently bringing the carriage.”
“I beg your pardon?” Madeline blinked, the smile completely disappearing this time.
“We will have plenty of time for that later. You may say your goodbyes now.”
He remained unstirred, even by the change in her demeanor.
“You cannot be serious. Why should you drag me away in the middle of the very wedding breakfast your advert had somehow made happen?”
“I am serious,” he murmured. “You signed a contract of duty and discretion. My post was clear about what I want in a wife. Know this now. I do not handle rebellion with kindness. I am running not just a household, but a whole estate.”
The play of emotions on her face was something to behold. She was furious. She was trying desperately not to show it, and she was failing beautifully.
“And if I do not obey you?” she asked, her voice dropping to match his.
“You will be punished. That is the price of disobedience,” he said in a low, measured voice.
It felt like triumph to see the smile completely fade. The mask had slipped, and was replaced with anger. This was not what he asked for, but somehow, he was entertained by the way she lost her battle with her smile.
“All right, then, Your Grace,” she demurred, refusing still to say his name. “Let us go home.”
It looked like she would be obedient for now, but for how long?