She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, dismay chasing the sleepiness from her. “Not Lady Featherstone.”
The idyll she had shared with Court the day before had decidedly come to a jarring end.
“The marchioness is naturally accompanying her daughter,” Nelson said, having no notion of how much Vivi feared the woman’s sharp tongue and penchant for spreading gossip.
“It is merely that I wished to greet the marchioness upon her arrival,” Vivi explained tactfully.
So that the dragon wouldn’t find fault in her as a hostess and deny Lady Edith the ability to join the Lady’s Suffrage Society.
“His Grace is attending the guests in your absence,” Nelson said in a tone of calm reassurance. “I believe he was making arrangements with Mrs. Porritt for Lady Featherstone and her daughter.”
That was hardly comforting to Vivi. Court was greeting her guests while she had been sleeping after they’d made love all night long. What a scandalous wretch she was. Surely everyone would wonder at the reason for her lack of appearance, to say nothing for the reason behind Court’s presence.
As far as Society knew, Court was still traveling the world, leaving her behind. And now he was here, donning the role of dutiful husband. A role he had played quite excellently not just the past fortnight but particularly the night before, and the state of her bed and her aching body provided ample testament to that.
Heat stole over her cheeks in remembrance. Did Nelson know what had happened? Could she tell? Vivi looked down at herself and had to admit that it would be impossible for her lady’s maid not to suspect. How embarrassing.
“Why did no one wake me?” she demanded to know. “Quarter past seven, Nelson. It is our standing arrangement.”
Now, it was the domestic’s turn for her cheeks to go red. She diverted her gaze, busying herself with preparing Vivi’s toilette. “I’m afraid I did arrive, Your Grace. However, His Grace bid me to return later. I didn’t wish to displease him.”
Court had sent her lady’s maid away. That confirmed it. Nelsondidknow that he had spent the night in her bed. Not that it was wrong, nor should she be ashamed. He was her husband, after all. However, she had never navigated such a delicate situation before, Court having left the day after their wedding, after a wedding night that had been decidedly chaste. Each night since his return, he had been careful to leave her bed some time before dawn.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Forgive me, Nelson. It is merely that I am at sixes and sevens. I don’t oversleep, nor do I neglect my duties as a hostess.”
Lady Featherstone would carry this gossip straight back to London. Of that, she was certain. And Vivi didn’t care about being fodder for wagging tongues quite so much as she feared the effect it might have on the Lady’s Suffrage Society. She would never dream of doing anything to hinder their cause.
“His Grace is doing splendidly,” Nelson told her. “Will it be the cream silk afternoon gown?”
It was the dress she had chosen previously for greeting her guests. But now that Court had returned and they had spent the last two weeks as husband and wife, the cream dress felt far too demure.
“Perhaps the ice-blue silk instead,” she said, for it matched her eyes.
The train was trimmed with feathers, and the underskirt was accented with damask and blonde lace. Although the décolletage was demure and buttoned to the neck, the boldness of the gown made her feel lush and alluring. She had commissioned it on a whim from a dressmaker favored by Lady Jo Danvers, but she had only worn it on one previous occasion.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Nelson said with politic ease, whisking away the cream silk gown.
While her lady’s maid disappeared into the dressing room, Vivi bit her lip, looking down at her dishabille, covered only with the bedclothes. She always slept in a night rail. But Court had kept her too busy to care. Now, it would seem she was stranded in her bed, with no means of answering her modesty.
Nelson returned bearing a dressing gown and a smile, bustling to Vivi’s side. “Your dressing gown, Your Grace.”
Gratitude swept over her. She might have known that the ever-proficient lady’s maid would know precisely what to do in such a circumstance. Nelson held out the robe for her to don. Hastily, Vivi slipped from the bed, stuffing her arms into the sleeves.
“Thank you, Nelson.” She wrapped the twain ends around herself and fastened the belt. “I must admit that I find myself woefully inadequately prepared for a house party and a husband both.”
“You are an excellent hostess, Your Grace,” Nelson told her, ushering her toward the dressing room. “And you are undeniably a credit to His Grace as well.”
Vivi wanted to ask her lady’s maid how she could be so certain about the latter when it had only been a fortnight since her husband’s return. She may have been a wife for over a year, but she had only felt like one for a sum of fourteen days. Everything was painfully, frighteningly new, especially the depth of her love for him, stronger than ever.
“You are a dear heart,” she said instead.
“Never fret about your guests,” Nelson added as she laid out a freshly laundered chemise and drawers. “The duke has them all quite wound around his finger like a thread.”
And, Vivi thought as she began to dress, much like herself as well.
* * *
As he politely listened tothe Marchioness of Featherstone droning on about the merits of ladies staying close to home and hearth, Court thought that if he was expected to spend the next two weeks with such a wrongheaded bag of wind, he might be tempted to throw her from a window just to see if she would take flight in the manner of a kite. But he could endure, he admonished himself sternly. Hewouldendure. All for the sake of his wife, who was currently still abed upstairs after he had spent the night making love to her as often as his cock had allowed.
