Tracy listened, conscious of his body pressed against hers, conscious of the warm hand that was slowly caressing her bare shoulder, conscious of the quiet, reassuring voice so close to her ear. As she rested there, the power his closeness had always exerted on her began to reassert itself. He was being very patient with her, she thought. The terrible strangeness, the fear of the unknown, began to recede, overcome by the magic of her husband’s nearness, the tender reassurance she heard in his voice.
She began to feel that she had been behaving badly. She still did not quite understand what would happen in the next half hour or so, but clearly it was wrong of her to be afraid. He stopped talking and just sat quietly, holding her.
“Adrian?” said Tracy, after a minute.
“Yes,
ma mie
?”
“I’m being awfully silly. I’m sorry.”
He rubbed his cheek gently against the top of her head. “You are being silly if you think that I would ever harm you.” He cradled the warm, relaxed weight of her. “Come over to the bed with me now, Tracy,” he said softly.
She nodded and let him pull her up. With his arm still about her she walked across to the bed, kicked off her slippers and, in a swift, graceful movement, lay down on the bed. He took off his dressing gown and lay down beside her.
He was a consummately skilled lover and he used his skill to woo his young wife. He went very slowly, very gently, and Tracy, trusting him, soon began to respond. She had never dreamed that a man’s touch could make her feel the things that she was feeling. She slid her own hands over his back, feeling for herself the strength of the muscles that had so surprised her the day in the woods when he had moved the tree branch. She felt the most incredible aching tension deep within her and arched up against him, seeking release.
“Tracy,” he murmured, his mouth against the beautiful curve of her throat, “this may hurt you a little.” Then he came into her.
Tracy’s eyes opened wide with shock. All the delightful aching tension was gone and in its place was a fierce burning pain. She tried to push him away but he held her with unbreakable strength and would not let her go. Tears of pain came unbidden to her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
“Adrian!” she said in protest. “You’re hurting me!”
When he finally let her go, he raised himself on an elbow and looked down at her face. For the first time he saw the tears. “My poor darling,” he said in surprise and apology. “Did I hurt you so badly?”
Tracy bit her lip. “Yes.”
He kissed the tears off her cheek. “It was because it was the first time for you. It won’t hurt like that again. I’m sorry.”
Tracy was reflecting on his words and remembering how he had made her feel earlier when she happened to glance down. She sat up abruptly and yelped in horror. “I’m bleeding!”
At the expression on her face her husband began to laugh. When she turned large, reproachful eyes on him, he schooled his face to gravity. “That, my love, is the proof of your virginity,” he said.
“Oh.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It happens
to
everyone?”
“I have had no prior experience, but so I understand,” he replied gravely.
She shot him a look and then regarded the evidence. “What a mess.”
“It is indeed. You were a virgin with a vengeance,” he said cordially and Tracy chuckled.
“What a delightful sound,” he said, entranced. “Do it again.”
“Do what again?”
“That little laugh you just gave.”
Tracy frowned suspiciously. “Adrian, I think you’re trying to distract me. You’ve ruined a perfectly beautiful nightdress. And the sheets are disgusting.”
“Do you always dwell with such tenacity on the more unpleasant things of life?”
“I do when they pertain to me,” Tracy said decidedly.
He sighed and lay back on the pillow, folding his hands behind his head. It was Tracy*s turn now to prop herself up on her elbow. She looked down into his face and smiled slightly. “The first part was lovely,” she said softly and, bending, kissed him lightly on the lips.
He didn’t answer for a minute, just lay regarding her out of eyes of midnight blue. Tracy felt something vibrate in the air between them, then he smiled and it was gone. “It will all be lovely the next time, I promise,” he said lightly. “And now I suggest you ring for your maid and have her change the sheets and get you a new nightdress.”
“The maid? Oh dear, I’ll be so horribly embarrassed.”
“By the maid?” The Duke clearly thought she was being absurd. He swung himself out of bed and belted his dressing gown around him. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and bent to kiss her cheek. Tracy watched him depart through the connecting door back to his own room and felt a brief flicker of annoyance at being the one left to face the maid with the mess. For Tracy, who still called servants ‘the help’, a maid was irrevocably a person, not a faceless, depersonalized convenience. She truly would be horribly embarrassed.
The maid, however, was silent and mercifully swift. Soon Tracy, clad in a fresh white nightdress, was lying between clean new sheets. As she drifted off to sleep she spared a thought of pity for all the poor hapless girls who were unlucky enough to marry men without the kindness, tenderness and wisdom of her own husband.
Chapter 9
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed.
—Shakespeare
Tracy slept deeply and woke to find the sun pouring in the window. She stretched comfortably, hopped out of bed and went to the window. As she looked out at the sun-drenched morning she saw a horse and rider come out of the woods in the distance and start up a path that led toward the house. She smiled with pleasure; the man and the swiftly moving horse seemed almost a part of each other and certainly a part of the beautiful morning. As he neared the house, the man pulled the horse up to a sedate trot and for the first time Tracy realized that the rider was her husband.
The maid came into the room behind her, and Tracy turned reluctantly from the window. “Shall I bring your breakfast up to you
,
Your Grace?” the girl asked.
Tracy shook her head. “I shall never get used to being addressed in such a ridiculous fashion,” she said.
The maid, who was young and pretty, looked distressed. “Did I say something wrong
,
Your Grace? If I did, I did not mean to. I beg your pardon.”
Tracy was surprised. She was used to Americans, who thought of themselves as conferring a favor upon their employers by agreeing to ‘help out,’ and who certainly would not apologize for a totally unintended error. “I only meant that I am not used to titles of nobility. Your Grace sounds very strange to my American ears,” she explained.
“Oh, I see” The girl looked bewildered. “Shall I bring your breakfast, then. Your Grace?”
Tracy gave it up. “No, thank you—what is your name?”
“Emma, Your Grace.”
“No, thank you, Emma. I think I will dress and breakfast with the Duke. Or has he eaten already?”
“No, Your Grace.”
Tracy’s face brightened as an idea struck her. “Would it be too much trouble to have breakfast brought up to the sitting room?”
Emma blinked. She had had no previous experience with duchesses, but she was quite sure they did not ask their servants if anything would be “too much trouble.”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” she said now.
“Good.” Tracy looked around the room. “Who unpacked for me yesterday? Where did my yellow morning dress get stowed?” Tracy had a habit of using nautical expressions in decidedly non-nautical situations.
“I unpacked for you. Your Grace,” Emma said faintly. “Mrs. Map only sent me and Robert and Nancy and, of course, Alphonse, from the Castle. Mr. and Mrs. Allen are the caretakers here, but they of course won’t serve you.”
“Who is Mrs. Map?” asked
Tracy.
“Mrs. Map is the housekeeper at Steyning Castle, Your Grace,” said Emma. “She said you would have your own personal maid with you, but, as you didn’t, I ...” Emma stopped abruptly, afraid she sounded like she was criticizing.
Tracy smiled engagingly. “I foresee that I am going to prove a sad disappointment to Mrs. Map, Emma. I don’t have a personal maid. In fact, I’ve never had a personal maid. What on earth does a personal maid do for one?”
Emma found herself smiling back. She had never met a member of the Quality who was at all like the Duchess. “Why, a personal maid looks after your clothes and your jewels, Your Grace, and does your hair, and helps you dress...”
“I see.” Tracy looked thoughtful. “Do all ladies—duchesses and countesses and so forth—have personal maids?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Emma had been in service for several years and she was certain of that.
“I’ll tell you what, Emma, would you like to be my personal maid?” As the girl stared at her, stunned, Tracy went on, “You don’t have to if you’d rather not, of course. You may very well prefer your present position.”
To be a lady’s maid was just about the summit of any girl-in-service’s ambition, so Emma hastened to reply, “It’s not that I don’t want the position, Your Grace. In fact, I’d love it,” she added in a candid rush. “It is just that I’ve no training for it. I wouldn’t suit you, I’m sure.”
“I think you’ll suit me just fine,” Tracy said decidedly. “To be honest, you probably won’t have a whole lot to do. You can look after my clothes, I guess, and help me with buttons and so forth.” Tracy wrinkled her nose. “You don’t seem to be a fussy sort of person. I can’t stand people fussing over me.”
“I will remember that
,
Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace. Your yellow dress is hanging in the wardrobe in the dressing room, Your Grace. Shall I get it for you?”
“Yes, please. And then you can go see about breakfast.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Emma, and Tracy made a comical face behind the girl’s back as she went into the alcove off the bedroom that was designated the dressing room.
When the Duke arrived back at the house, he was informed by Robert that breakfast was being served upstairs in the family sitting room and that the Duchess was waiting for him. The Duke washed up and entered the sitting room to find his wife looking like a ray of sunshine in a lemon-yellow morning dress, sipping coffee and looking at the paper. She looked up as the door opened and gave him a flash of very white teeth. “Good morning, Your Grace. How are you, Your Grace? I hope Your Grace enjoyed your ride. What would Your Grace like for breakfast? I told the help We Graces would like to breakfast in the sitting room. Isn’t it lovely and sunny? Your Grace.”
The Duke laughed and, sitting down opposite her, said, “What was that all about? Your Grace.”
Tracy’s eyes were brilliant with mirth. “Adrian, the girl who came to help me dress this morning called me Your Grace at least twenty times—in five minutes! I couldn’t believe it.”
He accepted a cup of coffee from her and helped himself to grilled kidneys and bacon. “You will have to get used to it, I fear. It is a term of address you will hear with some regularity from now on.”
Tracy snorted. It was not a genteel, ladylike sound and her husband put down his cup and stared at her. “What was that?” he asked.
“That was a snort,” she said sweetly. “A good, solid, healthy American snort. It manages to convey disbelief, derision and amusement all at the same time.”
His eyes narrowed a little. “Does it, indeed?”
“Yes.
Oh, and I understand from Emma—she is the girl I was telling you about—that I shall be expected to have a personal maid.”
“Most certainly you should have your own maid.”
“Well, I expect Emma can do the job for me. I’ve no idea what I ought to pay her, though.”
He looked thoughtful. “I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. I know what I pay my valet, but the two may not be comparable. I suggest you ask Aunt Georgina when we return to London.”
She nodded. “Good idea. Oh, they sent the papers up with breakfast. Do you want the Post?”
“Yes, please.”
He took the paper from her and silence descended as they made their way through the coffee and a plate of buttered muffins.
“What would you like to do today?” he asked finally, folding his paper and smiling at her across the table.
“I would love to see some of the countryside,” she replied promptly. “It looks such a lovely day.”
“It is. I had the phaeton brought down. Shall we take that?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t want to be cooped up inside a carriage on a day like this.” She gave him a slanting look from under lowered lids. “Did your brother tell you my disgraceful secret?”
He frowned a little and then as her meaning struck him, he looked amused. “Do you mean the fact that you don’t ride?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let it worry you,” he said easily. “It’s not important.”
She remembered the vision she had had of him that morning. “I should like to learn,” she said tentatively. “I’m not afraid, you know. I just never had the opportunity.”
Her husband grinned. “So Harry told me. He also said you informed him you could sail anything that floats.”
“Well . . .” Her wide mouth quirked up a little at the corners. “Maybe not
anything
.. .”
He laughed.
They had a lovely day together. It could have been extremely awkward; they were two people who hardly knew each other and they were thrown almost entirely into each other’s company with little distraction in the form of other people. But it was not awkward at all.
First they took a long and leisurely drive about the estate and the neighborhood. Tracy was interested in everything and noticed everything. Most of all, she noticed people. “What a marvelous-looking old man,” she said at one point, as they drove past a man working in a field. The man had turned toward the road when he heard the horses and had taken off his hat in respect as they went by. The Duke had nodded at him graciously and Tracy had smiled, but only one of them had really seen him.
They had passed a group of children playing in the front yard of a cottage, and Tracy had given them a friendly wave. “Did you notice that dark-eyed little boy?” she asked the Duke. “What a beautiful child!”