Juliet hated the girl already.
“And who might this lucky lady be?” she asked throatily, exploring the outline of his mouth with her nail. “The Season has many candidates. Have you chosen from among them?”
“The lady is Lady Theodosia Beaumont.”
Juliet’s expression darkened. Lady Theodosia was not personally known to her—there had been few occasions they might meet—but she knew of her. A slip of a girl with a pairof arresting blue eyes under a dark head of hair. The precise opposite of Juliet’s ethereal charms.
“You surprise me,” she said. “I thought her father was impoverished.” Her tone was light, but a little of her bitterness seeped through. “Can she really match the great Duke? There are few women who can do that, I fancy.”
His smile hardened. “I’ve known the family for many years. Their estate borders mine, and I have a great deal of respect for them.”
“I’m sure I meant no offence.”
He sat up, slipping free from her arms and ceaseless caresses. “Then you must learn not to give it.”
“I am sorry,” she said, pressing a kiss against the back of his shoulder. Every inch of her prickled with the injustice of having to apologise, but she kept the smile on her face. “I spoke in haste and without thought. If you desire to marry Lady Theodosia Beaumont, what right have I to comment on the match? I only wish you to be happy.”
“And,” he said dryly, “for my visits to continue.”
“I would not be flesh and blood if I did not desire that.”
“Then let me put your mind at rest—once I’ve returned from my honeymoon, we will continue the usual way of things.”
She pressed another kiss to his back and wrapped her arms around his chest. “I can ask for no more,” she said, though she was struck with the urge to cry—or perhaps rage. For now, however, she could do neither, so she merely pressed her chin against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
Later, she would consider what she could do to reclaim her Duke.
The marriage between Lady Theodosia Beaumont and the Duke of Norfolk was an appropriately lavish affair. After the vows, during which Theo’s mother wept, they retired to the traditional wedding breakfast, and later to Norfolk House.
The Dowager Duchess had removed from the premises before the wedding, and Theo was now mistress of the great house. The housekeeper gave her a tour where she met all the staff and was regaled with a dizzying number of duties and names, and she did her best not to appear too overwhelmed. Being a duchess was very different from being the eldest daughter of an impoverished Earl, and she was now, for the first time, seeing precisely what would be expected from her. Nerves overset Theo, and she barely said two words to her new husband before they retired for the night. In separate rooms.
It was fortunate, she reflected, that she had no expectations from Nathanial. He had gone through with the wedding and she was safe now from the designs of the likes of Whitstable. That was all the duty required of him.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror as Betsy, her lady’s maid, removed the heavy diamond necklace from around her neck—an heirloom from the Dowager—and laid out the nightgown. Her mother had taken her shopping before her marriage and bought a great many things Theo could see no use for. The flimsy nightgown, so very different from her usual cotton affairs, was one of them.
“There, Your Grace,” Betsy said, placing the necklace inside its box. “That’s everything. Will you require anything more?”
Although she knew her marriage to Nathanial saved her from a far worse fate, she half wished she could turn back time and still be in her childhood bed. Her reflection, too, showed a girl with dark hair curling to her shoulders and flushed cheeks. She did not have the poise expected of a duchess.
“That will be all,” she said, flicking her gaze to Betsy’s ruddy face. “Thank you.”
Betsy bobbed a curtsy. “Your Grace.”
Your Grace. That would take some getting used to, as would her marriage. To Nathanial.
Not, of course, that it would change too much. She would attend the same balls and parties, though with a little more freedom, and she would be granted more pin money than she knew what to do with. Nathanial had already outlined what she could expect from being his wife.
Theo turned her attention to the large bed. It was a grand affair, almost terrifyingly so, and she half felt she might lose herself amongst the wide expanse of mattress, tangling sheets, and piled pillows. It was a bed for a princess.
For a duchess.
Before she had a chance to investigate further, there was a knock at the door. Nathanial poked his head through. “I thought I saw your maid go downstairs,” he said by way of greeting.
Theo stared at him in horror. The flickering candlelight illuminated his sharp cheekbones and mobile mouth. Now, more than ever, she understood the sonnets dedicated to his face alone.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself. She may be his wife now, but she was a single layer away from being naked. “I thought we agreed—”
“We did agree,” he said, advancing further into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You may relax. I’m not here to steal your innocence.”
