Even Josephine’s prediction that Rose would understand better on her wedding night had come to nothing. On her wedding night, Rose had read one of her favorite novels, cried a little for homesickness and sadness, and then gone to sleep. When she woke in the morning, she felt no different from the day before.
It suddenly occurred to her that her husband might be at fault. He had evidently deliberately placed Rose’s rooms at some distance from his own and only occasionally even joined her for meals. If having a child somehow arose from the proximity of husband and wife, then Rose would presumably end up childless forever. She was sure that Duchess Juliana would not have stood for this.
Making a decision, Rose put down her napkin and stood up from her chair before the next course could be served.
“Is the duke out from the house?” she asked the footman who had leapt forward to shift her chair.
“I do not know, Your Grace,” the young man answered uncomfortably and Rose went to the door of the dining room, crossing paths with the senior maid now bringing in plates of roasted meat and potatoes on a tray.
“Do you know where the duke is?” Rose demanded, hoping that she was not being rude.
“His Grace is eating in the library, Your Grace,” answered the woman without any change of expression. “He is not to be disturbed. Shall I set out your plate?”
“Not yet. I must speak with my husband,” Rose declared.
My husband…How odd the words sounded when spoken aloud, and yet that was what Dorian Voss was. He might have instructed the servants not to disturb him but Rose was his wife.
Before she could change her mind, she walked to the library and knocked on the door. There was no answer or sound from within at all. Was the maid mistaken? Had the duke already eaten and gone out? Rose knocked again, without result and then pushed open the door a little way. She did not know what she had expected to find but it wasn’t this…
At a table on the far side of the room, lit by a blaze of candelabras, Dorian Voss was working intently at a large paper sketch set up on one of the tables. It seemed to be the outline of some sort of forest scene. An untouched plate of food and glass of wine lay on a smaller table nearby.
The duke was in his shirt sleeves, his hands and linen marked with charcoal and his hair falling freely over his brow. Smudges on his cheeks and temples showed where he had pushed it aside. How intent he seemed on his work! While disheveled, his appearance struck her as entirely natural.
While natural, Dorian was also strangely fascinating to watch in this pursuit, as though Rose were observing a wild animal in its natural habitat. She could not take her eyes from him although her heart had begun to beat as quickly as though she was running.
When the duke cleared his throat and shifted around his table, Rose started, conscious that she was staring and afraid that she had been spotted. Closing the door over quietly, she withdrew. Rose had not done anything wrong, but sensed that she had in some way intruded on Dorian’s privacy.
She turned on her heel, intending to return to the dining room but found herself facing the small and dynamic figure of Mrs. Jennings tripping across the hallway towards her.
“There you are, Your Grace. Your food will be getting cold in the dining room. Mabel was worried that you might be…ill, but I knew there was little chance of that. There will be talk, you know, if you seem to be off your food. Remember that if any meal is not to your liking, the kitchen can prepare you something else.”
“Oh, no. I am perfectly well, Mrs. Jennings,” Rose answered, feeling as guilty as a child caught in mischief. “Dinner was very good, as it always is. I am sorry that I walked away like that. I shall go back and eat now.”
“Yes, that would be best, Your Grace,” agreed the housekeeper sounding ever more like a school-mistress in her dealings with Rose. “Come along, now.”
“What is to do?” broke in the deep voice of the Duke of Ravenhill and Rose’s heart fell.
Now she would have to admit her foolish behavior to her husband. Would he be cross?
Glancing at him, she was surprised and relieved to see that characteristic little smile of amusement on his lips. While she did not want to be thought funny, it was better than being scolded.
“I am going to finish my dinner now,” Rose declared, looking between the housekeeper and the duke. “I did not mean to cause any inconvenience.”
“So I heard,” he stated calmly and then turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Jennings, your solicitude for my wife’s health and wellbeing are commendable but remember that she is the Duchess of Ravenhill. She may eat when she wishes to eat, leave the table without challenge and go wherever she wishes in this house. You are housekeeper here, not governess. Is that understood?”
The duke’s words were firm although not severe and the housekeeper quickly nodded in response. He was evidently a man used to being obeyed, especially in his own home. The charm of his smile likely helped too, even with women of Mrs. Jennings’ age and temperament.
“Of course, Your Graces. Forgive me for overstepping,” said the small woman with a curtsy to both of them. “Thank you for understanding that I was motivated only by concern for Her Grace.”
“It will not happen again, I am sure,” added the duke. “You may go about your work, Mrs. Jennings. You will come with me, Duchess Rose.”
Taking her arm, Dorian Voss drew Rose with him into the library and closed the door behind them.
“So, would you like to tell me how you have been getting along with the household?” he asked with pointed politeness. “Is it only Mrs. Jennings who has the better of you at present, or the entire staff of Ravenhill House?”
Rose blushed at this mild accusation, unable to entirely rebut it.
“I am sorry. I really did not know I was causing such a fuss by leaving the dining table when I did.”
