“Please, let us have you up and dressed, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, gesturing Emmaline from her bed. “His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.”
The housekeeper's words still rang in Emmaline's ears as she was guided down to the breakfast room. She had seen very little of the house so far but what she had seen was grander than any she had ever set foot in. And with every step, she grew more and more nervous.
It appeared that in some ways, the duke and the devil were alike, for they both demanded strict timeliness and respect in their employees and their wives.
Emmaline entered the breakfast room anticipating she might be reprimanded for being late but upon her entering, the duke rose respectfully from his seat and moved to greet her.
“Lady Emmaline,” he said, taking her hand. When he kissed her knuckles, she felt herself swoon but caught herself, remembering all the aggravation he had already caused her. “May I say that you look radiant this morning. I do hope that my mother's old gowns shall suffice until we are able to collect more of your things.”
“I… umm…” Emmaline stammered, unsure of what to say. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace. They are truly beautiful.”
“Good. I am glad they are to your liking,” the duke said, and he held her hand even as he gestured toward the table. “Please, allow me to show you to your seat.”
Emmaline struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat. Why did he have to be so gentlemanly when she was trying so desperately to hold onto her anger toward him?
Why did he also have to be quite so handsome? She tried her hardest to see what he claimed everyone else saw: the horrid, scarred monster of a man who made children cry and grown men flinch. But all she saw was a handsome man marred by whatever terrible accident had befallen him. It made him rugged, mysterious, intriguing, all of the things she loved to read about in the romance novels she had her nose in as an adolescent.
Perhaps that was why she felt so strongly toward him? It was not him but in fact the idea of the man he might be? She would not allow her girlish notions of romance to get in the way of her intelligence or her anger.
And so, when she was seated and the duke moved to sit back at the head of the table beside her, she dipped her head and said, “Forgive my tardiness, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense. Last night was late and I did not wish for you to be disturbed too early,” the duke announced, shaking his head. He clicked his fingers and a man—who Emmaline guessed was the butler—appeared seemingly out of nowhere to begin serving food onto their plates as he added, “I hoped after breakfast I might interest you in a tour of the house and its grounds?”
Emmaline's heart skipped a beat. Such a grand, wonderful old house certainly had a great many hidden treasures. She had always been one for admiring beauty in architecture and gardens. With an imagination such as her own, it was not difficult to imagine all the wonderful things that had occurred within the halls of such places.
Calmly, she stated, “I would like that, Your Grace.”
Breakfast was had in near silence with the duke only having asked how she had slept and if Mrs. Farthing had treated her well enough so far, if her lodgings were to her liking and was there anything that she had needed.
In fact, the duke was a true gentleman, a wonderful host, and a downright infuriating nuisance.
How could such a gentleman also be the devil who had caused so much heartache and torment across London?
His tour of the house left her even more confused as to that question. He spoke so fondly of the place, lighting up as he told her stories of his childhood with younger sister, though Emmaline did notice his failure to mention his parents or even the uncle he had made mention of the night before.
He kept a suitable distance as if trying his hardest to prevent a reoccurrence of what had transpired between them in the foyer.
When he showed her the library, Emmaline felt a wonder the likes of which never experienced before. She had been in a great many libraries, but this one was astounding. With its high vaulted ceiling and its shelves that reached all the way to said ceiling, she imagined losing herself among the pages of every one of those books.
It might well take her a lifetime. And yet, she thought with some fear and trepidation, she now had that very lifetime in order to do so, a lifetime as the wife of The Duke of Westmarch.
It was a wonderful yet terrifying thought. And as if the duke saw her eyes light up at the sight of the place, he assured her, “What is mine is yours now. You may come in here whenever you wish.”
Grateful beyond words Emmaline dropped into a low curtesy and gasped, “Oh, thank you, Your Grace.”
She was shocked when the duke leaned down to take hold of her hand and guide her back to her feet.
“Please,” he said gently, urging her chin up to meet his gaze. “Don't curtsy before me like that. Not when we are alone. You are my wife. I know we do not yet truly understand what that means for the both of us, but I shall respect you enough that you do not need to do such things.”
Emmaline grew more and more astounded by the hour.
Before she could say a word, he squeezed her hand and said, “There is one more final room I must show you before we move onto the gardens. Shall we?”
Emmaline could not seem to find her voice and so she simply nodded.
Allowing the duke to guide her out of the library and down the hallway, she marveled at the last room just as she had all the others.
“This is my office,” the duke announced, “Should you ever have need of me, you shall most likely find me here if I am not at the club.”
