“I shall need time to change my clothes, yes,” said Zoe. “I’m glad I chose to be married in this gown. It’s very beautiful. But to get it off will be the most tedious process. A thousand tapes to tie and pins to take out and buttons and hooks, and then all the things underneath.”
“Well, I would be happy to help, of course,” he said.
She could picture him undoing her, bit by bit, taking off her clothes, layer by layer, and she felt as though she walked next to a moving fire, so heated she became.
She looked up and found him looking down at her. Heat flickered in his green eyes.
“I should look forward to that, in fact,” he said. “But perhaps tonight is not the best time for complicated ceremonies.”
It most certainly wasn’t. With a few words and a look he’d made her unbearably impatient for this night’s bedding. She was more impatient than most new brides since she had an excellent idea of what it would be like. Tonight it would be far wiser to let Jarvis get her out of the wedding dress and into something much flimsier. The less time Marchmont spent undressing his new bride, the more time he could spend making love to her.
“Yes, let us have complicated ceremonies another time,” she said.
They had reached the first floor. He led her down one side of the gallery landing to a corner where a pair of mahogany doors met.
“This will take you to the duchess’s apartments,” he said as he opened one of the doors. “You’ll find a connecting door between our bedrooms. I thought we might sup quietly together this night, in the great bedroom, rather than dine in state.”
She squeezed the hand clasping hers. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d like quiet. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”
“Not too quiet,” he said.
She looked up at him from under her lashes. “Not too quiet,” she said. “As you wish. I vaguely recollect promising to obey.”
“I supposed it would be the one item about which you’d have only the dimmest recollection.” He lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. “I shall look forward to seeing you again in a little while, Your Grace.”
Your Grace.
The two words hung in the air after the door closed behind her.
That was when it truly sank in: who she was and who she’d be from now on…and how far she’d come since the night she’d pounded on an unknown Englishman’s door in Cairo.
She’d found the courage to escape her old life.
She’d find the courage for whatever her new life turned out to be.
Later
Zoe’s quarters, she discovered, were about twice the size of her mother’s apartments.
Given this, she could hardly be surprised at the vastness of Marchmont’s bedroom. She was impressed nonetheless.
It was larger than the large drawing room of Lexham House, and it was the antithesis of austere.
His Grace, she saw, liked his comfort. Furthermore, the leader of fashion was no slave to the latest fashions in décor.
His bedroom was a delightful hodgepodge of furnishings of various styles and times.
A great tester bed dominated one wall. Its canopy rose nearly to the ceiling. From it hung curtains of gold and green velvet and silk. Nightstands stood on either side, a set of steps on one side. She took in chairs, tables, a bookcase, and a chest of drawers. In one corner of the room stood a lacquered Chinese screen and nearby, a matching cabinet. On the walls hung several beautiful paintings, including one of his parents. Though she had no memory of them, the style of clothing and the physical resemblance told her who they were.
A thick, richly designed carpet covered most of the floor—and that was considerable acreage—while elaborate plasterwork adorned the ceiling.
This marble chimneypiece was even more impressive than the one in the entrance hall. Before the fireplace stood a table laid for two and a pair of well-padded armchairs.
Zoe stood in the center of the room, hands clasped under her chin while she turned, taking in her surroundings.
Jarvis had dressed her in the nightclothes Zoe had carefully chosen for her wedding night: a simple muslin nightdress under a muslin wrapper embroidered in green, pink, and gold silk thread.
Shortly after she entered, Dove appeared, with a small train of footmen behind him, bearing trays and a silver bucket. Zoe watched them set out the supper—an array of dainty dishes, small sandwiches like those she’d served her sisters, and cheeses, fruits, and pastries. Champagne cooled in the silver bucket, which was filled with ice. She knew that Marchmont House had its own icehouse, as did other great houses.
