James gave a sigh of relief. “Certainly. I know I can always rely on you, cousin.”
“Hmm.”
“Assuming, of course, that you don’t get too wrapped up in that lovely new wife of yours,” James added idly, and drained his whiskey.
“That is not likely to happen.”
James gave a tight smile. “I don’t know; I think you might be surprised. Love has a way of sneaking into one’s heart and ruining everything.”
“Charmingly put,” Tristan responded with a chuckle, his gaze raking the room for his bride. She had to be around here somewhere, he was sure. Even a wallflower couldn’t hide on her wedding day. “But I suspect I’m safe enough for now, James.”
Definitely safe.
CHAPTER 12
Madeline woke groggily, tangled in her sheets.
I wonder if this is how most women wake after their first night as a married woman;she thought drowsily. Her head thumped—too much champagne and anxiety, no doubt—and she felt faintly sick. It was an empty sort of nausea, the kind of feeling one got when one had gone to bed on an empty stomach.
She propped herself up into a sitting position, smothering a yawn, and peered around her room.
It was much larger and grander than what she had experienced back home. Papa’s house was lovely, of course, and very big and pretty, but the duke’s house was something else entirely.
Madeline’s bedroom was mostly decorated in shades of green, with plush chairs scattered here and there. There was a large fireplace facing the bed, and when she’d come to her room, she’dfound it already lit without her having to ask, the fire high and filling the room with warmth.
There was a door leading to her own private washroom, another to a dressing room, and a door at the end that opened onto a neat little parlor, apparently for her express use.
These rooms werenotthe duchess’s apartments, of course, but Madeline did not very much want to be so close to the duke. However, if her modest little guest apartment was this grand, what on earth did the duchess’s bedroom look like?
She swung herself out of bed, yawning and stretching until her jaw cracked. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and she guessed that it was about half-past eight in the morning.
I do hope they didn’t notice my absence at the party;she thought regretfully, swinging a robe around her shoulders.
She had already decided not to go down for breakfast. She would dress here, eat a light breakfast in her parlor—married ladies could have breakfast in bed if they wanted—and then she would find Joan and baby Adam. It was hard to imagine that a whole day had gone by without her seeing him.
Crossing the room, Madeline rang the bell, then went over to the window to wait, staring out at the grounds below. Morning sunlight bathed the lawn, revealing a few gardeners picking over the rocks and soil.
“You rang, Your Grace?”
She flinched at the voice, turning around to find a young woman of about eighteen smiling nervously at her. She had a pink-cheeked, round face, and tendrils of brown hair escaped from under her cap.
“My name is Anne,” the girl added. “I’m to be your ladies’ maid.”
“I see. Well, it’s good to meet you, Anne,” Madeline said, smiling in a way that she thought a proper duchess might. Everybody was going to be looking at her from now on, judging her, wondering if she was a ‘proper’ duchess. What the consequences would be if she werenota proper duchess, Madeline could not say. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“Shall I lay out a dress for you, Your Grace?” Anne asked hopefully. “His Grace had all of your gowns hung up and ready for you to wear.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Anne crossed to a large cupboard and swung open the doors. Madeline paused, taking a step toward it, and frowned.
“Those aren’t my dresses, Anne. I don’t have a red satin gown. That blue gauzy thing isn’t mine either. And this one…” She paused, pulling out a dress with ruched, puffy sleeves and a wide skirt of white and gold brocade. The neckline was daringly low, and there was something thrillingly old-fashioned about thebodice. Nobody else would wear a gown like this in society. She would stand out a mile if she wore it.
Why did that make her want to wear it even more?
“This is beautiful, but it isn’t mine.”
Anne cleared her throat, looking a little embarrassed. “I… I believe His Grace had them made for you, Your Grace. He had your measurements after the wedding dress was made and commissioned a few more gowns. I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”
