Read When a Duke Says I Do Online
Authors: Jane Goodger
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical
When a Duke Says I Do (28 page)
Chapter 27
Elsie awoke the next morning to bright sunshine streaming into her easterly facing window. The sight gave her unexpected and likely foolish hope. A new day, no matter what had transpired the day previous, always gave her an optimism that the night before was quite missing. As sad as she’d been as she’d drifted to sleep, this morning she clung to the knowledge that Alexander “could not bear” the thought of her marrying another.
And that could only mean one thing: perhaps he loved her still. He might not want to love her, but it was possible he did. At least she hoped he did. Now all she had to do was convince him that she would never betray him again, that she loved him with all her heart. No matter how much she told herself that she had had no choice, the truth was that she had betrayed him. She could have refused to marry Oscar. And from Alexander’s perspective, what she had done was unforgiveable. Elsie wasn’t so hard on herself that she disallowed the intense pressure exerted on her. She had resisted for days, had been tempted even on her wedding day to refuse. But that didn’t matter, obviously, not to Alexander. A list of the facts made her culpable. Not having been born a saint, however, Elsie still felt the need to defend her actions.
A knock on the door startled her, and for a moment she allowed herself to think perhaps Alexander was coming to see her, offering an olive branch. “Enter.”
“Good morning, Yer Grace,” Missy said, dipping a low and exuberant curtsy.
“Oh, Missy,” Elsie said, launching herself into her maid’s arms. Over the years, Missy had become far more than her personal maid, and their relationship had grown even closer through the long weeks of her illness.
“You still look like a miss, not a duchess,” Missy said, stepping back and wiping her eyes with her apron.
“I don’t feel like a duchess,” Elsie said, her eyes shining. “How is Mary?”
“Oh,” Missy said, turning quickly to survey Elsie’s rooms. “She’s well enough.”
“She’s heartbroken, I take it.”
“Yes, ma’am. A regular watering pot yesterday when I left. His lord said that the duke could refuse to let me accompany you, but he couldn’t refuse you your personal maid. I do hope it’s all right that I came.”
“I’m certain His Grace won’t mind. And if he does, I shall overrule his decision.”
Missy grinned. “These are grand rooms, aren’t they? I’ll feel like a princess working here.”
“These aren’t my rooms. Mine are being renovated and I’m using these only until they are ready. This is a guest suite.”
“Oh, Miss, I mean Yer Grace.”
“It is a bit strange, isn’t it?”
Missy nodded, glancing through the window that overlooked the gardens.
“Are your rooms satisfactory? I fear I haven’t had a chance to tour the entire house yet.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. They’re larger than Mrs. Whitehouse’s,” she said, referring to the housekeeper’s rooms at Mansfield Hall. “She’d be pure green with envy. You’re feeling well, are you?”
Elsie knew Missy was asking about more than just her health, but she nodded. “I’m almost back to normal. I scarcely even remember being ill.”
Missy gave her a level look. “May I do your hair? Something special for your first day as a duchess?”
“That would be lovely.”
Elsie spent the day with Mrs. Billings, Warbeck Abbey’s amazingly efficient housekeeper. Though Elsie was already quite familiar with the house, there were many areas she simply hadn’t been privy to when she was a guest. After meeting with the chef, a brusque man with a Scottish burr who’d studied in Paris, to go over the week’s menu, she followed Mrs. Billings to her suite so that she might be inspired to decorate it in her taste. She had five rooms to herself, a home within a home, including a bedroom, sitting room, bathing room, private dining room, and a lovely study. Everything had been stripped bare, and her footsteps echoed on the marble floor.
“It’s rather grand, is it not?” Elsie asked, slightly bewildered by the rooms. One could live in them alone and have no need to leave. She wondered if the dowager had done just that unless forced to socialize. Instead of feeling happy to have such an opulent space, she felt a depressing sense of loneliness. As lovely as this home was, it was oppressively silent. There were no sounds, no voices, no little girl laughter.
“The house is so quiet,” she said, almost to herself.
“Yes, Your Grace. Quite a change for you,” the housekeeper said. “If I may say so, we find His Grace to be a good master. He allows us to do our tasks without interference.”
“It is a mark of a well-run house that everything continues on so well,” Elsie said, making Mrs. Billings blush.
“The staff here is very dedicated to His Grace. Some of us were here, you see, when he was just a boy. The things that happened ...” She stopped, closing her mouth like a door closing on a room full of secrets.
“I am aware of His Grace’s turbulent youth,” Elsie said. “Where are His Grace’s rooms?” she asked, hoping Mrs. Billings didn’t notice the blush staining her cheeks.
“This way.”
Elsie followed Mrs. Billings, unexpectedly surprised by this turn of events. She hadn’t thought to see them, only to discover where they were. Nodding to the right, the housekeeper said, “The old duke’s rooms were down there,” she said. “But His Grace had another suite set up on the other side.”
She took a key from her massive ring and opened the door, allowing Elsie to precede her into the room. The first thing Elsie noted was the pungent smell of paint, the second thing she noticed was the pure beauty of the room. Masculine beauty, to be sure, but it had to be one of the most soothing, lovely rooms she’d ever been in. The walls were the color of tea with milk, the trim stark white, the furniture done in rich browns and deep maroons. The suite was very much like her own, with a small sitting room at the entrance that led to a large bedroom. Elsie found herself staring at the bed with a longing that manifested itself with an ache deep in her core. She missed his touch, the way he made her body soften for him. She had the sudden and rather embarrassing image of Alexander and her naked and tumbling about the massive canopied bed.
Elsie was about to enter a room off the bedroom, when Mrs. Billings stopped her. “Oh, we’re not allowed in there, Your Grace.”
“I see. But I’m certain I am. If you will.” Elsie smiled inwardly, thinking she sounded very much like a duchess at the moment when in reality, it was only her childish curiosity that had her demanding entrance.
Mrs. Billings hesitated just a moment before pulling out a key and turning the lock. Alexander actually kept one of the doors to his inner sanctum locked? She was more than intrigued—and felt only a bit guilty for entering. Mrs. Billings, loyal servant that she was, stepped back and did not enter the room.
Elsie knew, even before she stepped inside, that Alexander was using the room as a studio. The smell of paint, so faint in the main rooms, was quite strong now, and immediately brought her back to those magical nights when she’d watch Alexander painting. The first thing she saw when entering the brightly lit room was herself... and Mary.
Her heart, which was already quite fragile, nearly dissolved in her chest and she nearly dropped to her knees as she stared at the large canvas. The painting captured a moment so rare and beautiful it took her breath away. Mary was hiding, an impish smile on her face, behind a wispy bush, giggling as only a three-year-old can when she thinks she is outsmarting her favorite adult. And Elsie was standing on the opposite side of the bush with an expression so real, so much like the reflection in her mirror, it was striking.
“What are you doing in here?” came a deep and angry voice.
Elsie snapped her head around as Mrs. Billings started to explain herself, but Elsie interrupted. “It is my fault entirely, Alexander. I insisted she open the door.”
Mrs. Billings bobbed a curtsy and hurried away, but not before giving Elsie a look that seemed to say “I told you so.”
“You frightened her nearly to death.”
“My servants have been given specific orders not to enter this room.”
“And it is your prerogative to issue such an order. I, however, am your wife and not subject to your whims.”
Alexander’s jaw twitched. “As my wife, you are more subject to my whims than any other person in this house. They may quit. You, my dear, are bound to me until death.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me? I daresay, you must work on your methods of intimidation, for I fear my heart hasn’t picked up a single beat,” Elsie said with far more bravado than she was feeling.
He pressed his jaw even tighter, and Elsie hoped it was humor he was trying to suppress, not anger.
“The painting is lovely. More than lovely.”
“I didn’t realize you were so vain,” Alexander said, and Elsie found herself trying not to smile. She wasn’t quite certain whether he was being sincere or simply teasing her. His stern expression gave her no clues. It seemed Alexander had already learned the haughty stare that was second nature to the aristocracy.
“You captured our joy, a moment I shall treasure. It’s the most wonderful gift you could give me.”
Alexander let out a sigh. “It is not for you.”
Elsie’s heart gave a slight stutter. “What is it for, then?”
“I have never painted on canvas and thought I would practice with human subjects I knew. As much as I admire Monsieur Desmarais, he would not make a very appealing subject of a painting.”
“Even so, I do like it and if you are finished, I would like to have it in my rooms. I miss Mary.”
“You may bring her here any time you like.”
“Can I?” Elsie asked, overcome with happiness.
“Do you think I would deny you your own sister?” Alexander asked, anger in his tone.
“You deny me my husband,” Elsie said, lifting her chin.
“That is an entirely different matter. I like Mary’s company.”
Elsie narrowed her eyes, but ignored his comment. “Can I have the painting?”
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
“I’ll have it framed and delivered to you.”
Elsie bit her lip, but decided spontaneously to forge ahead. “And when may I have my husband?”
His gaze suddenly sharpened, sweeping her body as if against his will. “When I believe I can touch my wife without throttling her.”
The days passed slowly—and with exceeding dreariness—inside and out. It seemed as if it had either misted or rained or deluged each day since her marriage, and no matter how optimistic Elsie tried to remain, she was becoming downright depressed. Never had she been so bored, so restless. This house was too well-run, the staff too efficient. She found herself looking for even the smallest infraction just to have something to say to someone. Unfortunately, even finding a bit of dust in a forgotten corner was impossible. No corner was forgotten in Warbeck Abbey, and Elsie was quite certain it had nothing to do with Alexander and everything to do with his father. She had nothing against a well-run household, but this home was so sterile, so quiet, it was unnerving. Even Missy had little to do once Elsie was dressed and her hair was done. There were no gowns to prepare or clean, no ribbons to organize, no outings to accompany her mistress to. She had no gowns to be repaired or made, no correspondence to deliver. Missy would never complain, but Elsie could tell that even her industrious and usually cheerful maid was unhappy here.
On the fourth day of her marriage, Elsie stared morosely out her bedroom window, a letter to Aunt Diane forgotten on her secretaire. She didn’t know what to say, for the truth of her marriage was so disheartening, she couldn’t bring herself to write it down. She and Alexander did not share meals, conversation, or a bed. Not even the painting that now graced one wall of her temporary quarters made her feel better. In fact, it made her long for the days when she and Mary had romped around their gardens, playing for hours on end.
She turned away from the window, hating that she was letting herself dissolve into self-pity. Perhaps Alexander was content to have such a marriage, but she was not. She had seen him only once in the past several days, meeting him in the hallway as he’d returned from a ride, all flushed and smelling of the outdoors and horse. It was an intoxicatingly male combination that had given her an intense jolt of longing. She’d nodded to him, noted he looked exhausted and miserable, and carried on down the hall as if he were nothing more than a stranger. It had taken all her will not to turn, to call back to him, to ask him why he looked as if he were being haunted by some malevolent ghost. To throw herself into his arms and beg him to forgive her—even though she wasn’t entirely to blame for anything that had happened.
Today, she would talk to him. She would force him into a conversation if for no other reason than to break the interminable silence of this house. Elsie left her chamber of self-pity and wandered toward the main part of the house, stopping the first servant she saw.
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