Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess (3 page)

When the footmen came forward
to clear the plates, the duke rose and helped Holly to her feet. His eyes, dark and hooded, drew her in and she felt her breath catch, suddenly thinking about wedding nights.

They made their way slowly up to her
chambers, and Holly felt herself grow a little more nervous, shy and excited with every step.

Was
she to ask the duke to come in? Would he come in of his own volition?

They stopped at the door, his eyes burning into hers and her pulse pounding at the nearness of him and his masculine scent.
Bergamot, she thought with a shiver.

He reached out and t
ook one of her slightly-trembling hands in his large, strong one – his long, elegant fingers dwarfed hers, made her hand look delicate and fragile. Strathavon ran a thumb over the sensitive skin of her wrist.

Then, he raised the ha
nd to his lips, and kissed it in a charming old-fashioned gesture, her eyes locked on his.

“Well then, you must be tired from the journey. I shall bid you a good night, my dear.” With those words and a slight bow, the duke was gone.

Holly watched him go, trembling and blinking away the tears that suddenly threatened. Her eyes ached.

Had she done something wrong? She knew
by now that he did not love her, but for a moment she had glimpsed something in his eyes – some strange attraction. Obviously, she had been gravely mistaken. But did he find her so repulsive that he could not even bring himself to kiss her, much less touch her?

She wanted to call after him.
To ask him directly. But that wasn’t the done thing and he would only have been scandalised. So she went into her suddenly lonely room, dismissed Nancy and got into her bed. She curled up under the sheets, and hugged the pillow as though it would bring her some comfort in this latest rejection.

By morning
, the whole house would know that the duke found his new wife thoroughly repellent. And she would just have to raise her chin and go on, because that was what ladies of breeding did. But now she was alone and it was dark: she could permit herself to cry.

When she found that could cry no more, Holly stared up at the plastered ceiling overhead, taking comfort in the dark room. Her eyes felt raw and her body drained. She listened to the sounds of the house, but there were none except for the sort of creaking made by old houses and the wind picking
up outside her window. It was late and most of the household had already retired to their beds, taking the sounds of the house with them.

*

Early the next morning, the duke went riding out to inspect the grounds, and Holly could not have joined him even if he had asked her, because she had never really learned to sit a horse very well. Her father had never kept much of a stables.

Instead, she stood
alone at her window and admired his posture, which even she recognised as magnificent. His dark hair and stark, narrow cheek bones made him look every inch the handsome aristocrat, powerful and commanding, as he easily moved his horse into a gallop.

When he had faded fro
m sight, she sighed and returned her gaze to the fire, lost in a daydream of what might have been if the world were a kinder place.

Holly wondered if they would live in such silence forever. She had always been used to light and conversation, and she had felt certain that that would be the life that awaited her with the duke. The formality was stifling, but she did not know
what there was to be done about it.

Sir Jeffrey
Millforte had been surprised to find himself applied to for his middle daughter, whom he thought lovely, but whom the world would see as too clever and plain. Especially since the offer had been made by a prominent a peer of the realm, who appeared very determined to lead Holly to the altar.

Still, the duke was a man of good character and considerable wealth: the match would set Holly up comfortably for life. Ordinary girls with hardly any dowry were unlikely to ever make so fine an alliance. And the connection would be most fortuitous in marrying off Holly’s sisters.

Sir Jeffrey was land-poor and content with his lot. There was land enough to provide for his family comfortably and he was relieved not to be bothering with the obligations of a vast fortune.

He was by nature of a sanguine and studious disposition, and
after completing his studies at the University of Paris, he had married a lady whose interests matched his perfectly.

The idea of Holly becoming a duchess had been so alien both to the baronet and his wife that neither had ever thought to prepare her for such an eventuality.

Strathavon’s friends, she felt sure, had found her greatly wanting as the bride of the wealthy duke. She had met a few during their short betrothal, though none had come to the wedding breakfast.

Upon her engagement, her mama, who generally considered social intricacie
s a foolish waste of time, had taken her aside to impart some of the wisdom her own mother had once given her.

“You are going, my dear daughter, into a world in which you will be entirely a stranger, for you have not yet truly ventured to be a part of it, and you cannot know your way. There will b
e many disadvantages in your path, for you have neither the wealth, the accomplishments, nor the polish of the other young women. I tell you this not to be cruel, but because I wish to warn you – no one had expected that you would embark on such a life and it seemed unnecessary to crowd your head with all that nonsense. But here we are, and you must make the best of it, despite lacking the knowledge a lady of great fortune ought to possess.”

She had paused a moment to regard Holly steadily over her spectacles, as though checking that
she was listening.

Then,
Lady Millforte went on. “From now on, study and the observation of those around you will be your best recourse – but take care not to emulate the undesirable persons that so inevitably turn up even in the highest echelons of society. You will be mistress of your gentleman’s household – but I believe that is one duty to which you will take most naturally.”

“Yes,” said Holly, thinking how dull her mother made her sound.

“You must cultivate a learned, calm deportment and show rectitude in your every word and deed. And you must ever beware the fashionable rakes who would see such a fresh face as yours merely as a target for some cruel prank: beware the sweet nothings they will whisper in your ears and never tread the treacherous path of infamy.”

With those words and a kiss on the cheek, Holly’s mother had sent her out into her new world, and Holly had not had the heart to tell her that her new
husband had once been exactly such a rake.

In her
first two weeks of the Season, Holly had heard every tantalising whisper of the gossip surrounding this enigmatic man – he seemed to fascinate the ladies of society because of his unconquerable countenance and hooded gaze. Holly was sure she now knew all about rakes.

There had been other
dreadfully unhelpful pointers too, scattered by her mother in the midst of wedding preparations, as though making up for years of teaching her daughter Latin, botany and history instead. Lady Millforte had seemed unconvinced by her own words, but determined to carry on regardless. Holly supposed her mother must have read up on what one said to a daughter about to be married.

Holly ticked her mother’s edicts
off on her fingers, because it made her feel almost at home again.

“
Trust to your husband to help you select your friends – worry more about vexing his good opinion than about being considered unfashionable or obsolete by the world. Remember him in your enjoyments and be moderate in your expenses, no matter your pin money allowance,” she had said, while taking Holly to the seamstress.

“
The duty of a lady is to cheer the hearts of the desolate or of those whose situation in life is in other ways more unfortunate than hers,” she had said sternly on the way back, remembering the need to stop by the vicarage.

“
Gaming is a vice so odious and of so destructive a nature that I hope you will have sense enough to avoid it at all costs: after all, you will bring neither spending connections nor a vast fortune into your marriage. Therefore, let him say instead that despite this, he has received a most affectionate wife, full of earnest trust: capable and considerate. It is such things that make a marriage functional and even felicitous.”

This last had been delivered while overseeing the pac
king of Holly’s trousseau, while her sister Rose giggled into her handkerchief, no doubt trying to imagine Holly being demure and solicitous.

“T
hat will be enough, Rose,” their mother had said primly. “You are a child of simplicity, Holly: though clever in your own way, you are not artful, and you must needs remember that when you embark upon the London life.”

Holly
wished more than anything that she could see her mother or her sister now in her hour of need. She would tell them that simplicity was not a good thing, unless one happened to be a shepherdess! Would Strathavon be ashamed of his choice of bride in the select circles of society?

Surely nothing b
ut affection could cause him to have made such a disastrous marital choice. A sentiment that went far above and beyond the poor limitations of common regard. But all the evidence before her entirely disputed this feeble hope.

Though she could not begin to guess what
it was that had really prompted his choice. It was as though he was playing some secret game with her, only he refused to tell her the rules. Maybe he expected that she already knew.

No, s
he could not possibly shine in polished society, and yet Holly wished very much that she might.

*

It seemed that the best time to speak with the duke was at supper: he seemed a lot more genial then, and inclined to conversation. This came as a relief, for the majority of servants, with the exception of Nancy, did not yet trust her, and spoke only when spoken to.

But at supper, Strathavon
seemed open to conversation, and Holly hoped that this was a sign that he would yet open up to her in time. Her heart fluttered at the thought of sitting near him, and talking to him. And maybe even coaxing a smile out of him.

“Tell me, Holly, what
did you make of your short Season?” the duke asked her, as their soup was brought out and set before them.

Whit
e soup, again, she noticed. Cook appeared to be somewhat fixated on white soup. As was every other cook in London, for it had been served absolutely everywhere she’d gone. She was beginning to thoroughly dislike white soup.

She gingerly picked up a spoon and
considered a moment. “It was a real up-and-downer. One didn’t know what to expect: all those parties, and balls, and so many names to remember. I… I almost didn’t recognise Mrs Drummond-Burrell at the refreshment table…”

In fact
, Holly still blushed to think of her
faux pas
– fancy, not recognising one of the illustrious Patronesses.

For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to smile.

“You have my empathy, naturally. That woman can be a gorgon when riled. I crossed swords with her once, as a boy, and regretted it thoroughly. It was right here, in fact. She was to dine with my mother, when I knocked a shuttlecock through the open window and into her soup.”

Holly stared at him, wide eyed, then looked o
ut the window, imagining the disaster as though she could see it unfolding before her eyes.

Then something caught her attention. “Was it white soup, by any chance?”

His lips twitched. “Why, yes, as it happens, it was. I wonder that you guessed so well.”

“Yes – just the merest luck
,” Holly murmurred wryly, and ate a spoonful of the soup in question to keep from grinning in a manner that he would find most undignified.

“I am afraid Cook has certain ideas and it is beyond me to address them.”

Holly didn’t suppose he’d been around enough to speak to Cook at all. The house was all in dust sheets. “Forgive me, but why is the house in such disuse?”

The question was out before she could have stopped it, and then it was too late. Holly held her breath and wondered if she had overstepped herself.

It seemed, however, that she had caught him in a rare moment of earnestness, because then the duke began to speak. His voice, dark like midnight, dropped lower still and she couldn’t help the shiver that stole through her. Such a wonderful voice he had.

“My
late brother, you see, was not of a domestic bend, though he was the heir. He had insisted on a place in the army, despite what my father wanted, and once the house passed to him, he carried on with his military career. I do believe he gave hardly a thought to the running of the place, though he was fond of it. We had been very happy here as children. Max mostly kept to the London house when he was on furlough. He had the best of intentions but not the least notion how to go about managing his inheritance. But it is the family seat and now that it has passed to me, I mean to set the pace to rights, in memory of my brother and my parents.”