The young footman summoned by the housekeeper to help the ladies began to wrap the furniture already viewed back up in its protective blankets. Rose nodded assent to every one of Mrs. Jennings’ suggestions.
“The chairs will be in the room next door,” the housekeeper told her briskly. “Come along.”
While Mrs. Jennings’ tone was friendly and helpful, Rose felt a moment of disquiet. Should she really allow her housekeeper to chivvy her like a schoolgirl? She supposed she was acting like one, and she also knew that it was how many in her own family treated her. Still, she was now a duchess and surely things ought to be different now.
Swallowing her misgivings, Rose followed the housekeeper into the adjoining room where stacked wooden chairs of various kinds filled the back of the room from floor to rafters. Around them, more substantial and ornate seating was wrapped in the same blankets as the desks. Mrs. Jennings began to untie these and peek inside until she saw what she sought.
“Very old, but good quality,” the woman in black murmured as she revealed a chaise-longue covered in moss-green velvet. “I believe this likely belonged to the last Duchess of Ravenhill.”
“When was that?” Rose asked, stroking the rich fabric. “Was it a very long time ago?”
“Very,” Mrs. Jennings affirmed. “The previous duke did not marry and his father was a widower by the time he acceded to the dukedom. I suppose the last Duchess of Ravenhill before you must have been the grandmother of both the previous and present duke, Duchess Juliana. There’s a portrait of her in the gallery, if you’re interested in family history.”
“I am,” Rose averred, although until this moment, she had not thought about it one bit. “I should like to see her portrait and I like her chaise-longuevery much. May I have it for my sitting room?”
The housekeeper smiled, with some mild surprise at Rose’s manner, and then nodded.
“You may have whatever you wish for your sitting room, Your Grace. His Grace chose the rooms for your suite but instructed me that their furnishing was entirely in your hands.”
“They are very nice rooms,” said Rose politely, although in truth, they were presently very anonymous and bare apart from the essentials of bed, wardrobes and washstand. “Why did the duke pick those ones?”
The housekeeper thought about this question carefully before she answered.
“I suppose your suite has a very pleasant garden aspect that His Grace hoped you would appreciate. The rooms are also in a very quiet part of the house so that you will not be disturbed. I am sure he has chosen well.”
“Are the duke’s rooms in the same wing?” Rose asked innocently and saw puzzlement and a hint of compassion cross the other woman’s face.
She supposed it was a bit odd that she did not yet know even where her husband slept. At Westvale Park, the duchess’s suite was right next door to the duke’s suite, with a communicating door between them, but not all houses were the same.
“No, Your Grace. The ducal suite is at the far end of the west wing of the house. You are in the east wing.”
“Oh. I don’t suppose we shall cross paths very much in the evenings then,” Rose observed with a smile. “I suppose we shall see one another at meal times, when the duke pleases.”
The housekeeper blinked, her face briefly still as she considered her next words carefully. Rose reflected that Dorian was often missing at luncheon and dinner, leaving his new wife to eat alone with mingled relief and disappointment. Perhaps the housekeeper was embarrassed by this anti-social behavior but did not wish to criticize her employer.
“Now, let us find you a chair that will match your desk, Your Grace,” Mrs. Jennings picked up, turning towards the wooden chairs and seeming keen to change the subject. “Remember that the carpenter can adjust the height and anything can be re-upholstered for comfort…”
The dining table was set only for one that evening and the Duke of Ravenhill did not appear at all after breakfast. For all Rose knew, he might have gone to London or somewhere else. Tonight, she was definitely disappointed by his absence, having wanted to tell him all about her new sitting room and the portrait of the last Duchess of Ravenhill.
Duchess Juliana’s picture had captivated Rose’s romantic imagination. Like Rose, the last duchess had been blonde-haired and blue-eyed, but there, the resemblance ended. At least in her portrait, Duchess Juliana seemed tall, almost Amazonian, with the self-assurance to match. Her figure was small-waisted but curvaceous, in the fashion of the previous century.
Rose wished that she could ever feel so sure of herself, especially in such a gown as Duchess Juliana wore. The blue silk and lace dress fitted daringly low on her rounded bosom and her smile spoke of confidence in her physical charms. Rose could only imagine being terrified that the dress would slip and expose her breasts.
Mrs. Jennings had told Rose all that she knew of this striking duchess.
“Duchess Juliana was famous in the neighborhood for her equestrian skills and archery. People still talk of Juliana’s Fence to the east of Ravenhill Forest. Supposedly, she was the only lady who could jump it, and even many gentlemen take a fall there.”
“How brave!” Rose had marveled, wishing that she had such courage, physical or otherwise.
“Yes, a strong character. The duchess lived to almost a hundred years, and bore three sons and two daughters, all of whom lived to adulthood. She even found time to write her own poetry, although it was naturally unpublished outside the family circle…”
The story of this remarkable woman’s life animated Rose’s day and she wondered whether there might be some further record of her in the library. Dorian might know, but he was not here.
Sighing, Rose picked up her spoon and ate her soup in solitary contemplation. Three sons and two daughters… How fine it would be to have a big, happy, healthy family like that around her someday, just like Duchess Juliana. She could aspire to that much, if not any real skill in riding, archery or poetry. Couldn’t she?
A husband and wife spend much of their time together, day and night…
With a frown, Rose recalled Josephine’s unsatisfactory answer to her questions about she had gotten with child. She never had succeeded in having a conversation with her mother on the subject as her friends had recommended. The Duchess of Westvale had been far too taken up with her husband’s health and the mitigation of Rose’s scandal in the days before the wedding.
