She is more intriguing by the moment, but she will soon learn there are no games she can play with me and expect to win. “My lady, permit me to introduce you to those who will oversee the household in my absence.” I gesture to the butler. “Mr. Turner, my butler, is quite skilled at making sure all is in order. He manages all within the household.”
Mr. Turner sweeps a low bow, his voice the epitome of formality as he says, “My lady, be assured I shall undertake my duty to serve you with the utmost integrity.”
The new duchess smiles warmly at him. “I feel quite certain of it, Mr. Turner, and I thank you.”
I have never seen my butler astonished, but after words from the new duchess, it appears he is struck silent. He merely bows low once more.
I do my best to conceal my amusement as I indicate the housekeeper. “Mrs. Whitmore, the housekeeper, oversees all the female staff with, I am told, an iron hand.”
The older woman is severe in her decorum, and ignores my teasing, though I am nearly certain her lips quirk. She dips into a stately curtsey before I can see if she will lose the battle to the smile that threatens. Once she rises, it has gone entirely.
“My lady, I will see that your apartments and the household is maintained to your liking.”
“Indeed, I have no doubt of that,” Freya returns, in the same warm tones.
I cannot help but feel the sharp prickle of jealousy—and over my housekeeper, no less! Truly, I have begun to think her incapable of such warmth and genial disposition. I put it out of my mind and indicate the remaining staff. “The rest of the household greets you as well, my lady.”
She inclines her head in acknowledgement, a soft smile playing on her full lips. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. I trust we shall all work quite well together.”
Together, and still hand in hand, we enter the house together. I am distracted by the puzzle that is my new wife and determined to solve it soon so that I may at last find some measure of peace.
Duchess Freya
“My lady? Are you unwell?’
My attention flits to the duke as I tumble out of my thoughts that have seemingly rendered me inattentive to whatever he has been saying. “I… yes. I am quite well, Your Grace, thank you.”
But far from allowing the matter to drop, as I hoped, he scrutinizes my plate from across the formally set dining table. “You have not eaten. Is the food not to your liking? I can ring for cook if?—”
“No.” I wave a hand, dismissing his words. Then, recalling the servants, I hastily add, “Thank you, but that will not be necessary. The dishes are… most satisfying.”
“I am so pleased to hear it. Pray, tell me why you have not eaten any of them?”
His tone has turned from cordial to grave. I long to look elsewhere, but my body seems attuned to him as I sit up straighter, my shoulders tensing. My pulse races and my stomach spasms, though I cannot give the reason. “I am not hungry just now.”
The duke narrows his eyes at me from across the long table. “If the day has been too tiring, we need not prolong the evening unduly.”
I lower my eyes as heat surges to my cheeks. I cannot believe he would imply I am nervous! And in front of the servants, no less! Does the man have no decorum? I lift my face, determined he shall not outmatch me in this. “Not at all, Your Grace. I am fully refreshed.”
Do his eyes flash, or is that a trick of the flickering candlelight? “I am pleased to hear it. In that case, youmusttake some nourishment.”
Every muscle I possess tightens at the way he saysmust. I must fight against the urge to look to the servants, wondering if their faces will betray them as scandalized or amused by my humiliation. Instead, my gaze locks on to my new husband’s, and I pick up the weighty silver fork, and spear a potato. Without breaking eye contact, I bring it to my mouth and eat it. Then I set down my fork once more. “There. Surely you are satisfied?”
“I shall be when I see you eat several more.”
The velvet richness of his murmur does something to me that makes me forget myself. I forget about the servants. I forget about being embarrassed. I find myself ensnared by his gaze,watching his mouth for the slightest movement betraying that he is not in earnest. But I do not detect even a flicker.
I drop my gaze, cursing him for having bested me in this, too, and I make quick work of following his order—for there is no denying that is exactly what it was. I eat two more small potatoes flecked with butter and cream. I manage three green beans and one bite of braised beef before I find the courage to meet his eyes once more.
I expect to find him mocking, or victorious, but he is only observing me with the same somber expression.
“Well done, my lady.”
The breath leaves my lungs in awhooshthat threatens to split my corset. It is most undignified, but I cannot control my body in his presence. It vexes me in a way most unsettling. Even before I know my own mind, I am rising and pushing back my chair. “I think I shall retire for the evening, Your Grace.”
He rises as well, his face giving no hint of what he is thinking. He inclines his head. “As you wish, my lady.”
I hesitate, torn between wishing to withdraw and be rid of his presence, and the knowledge that we are to consummate our new marriage. The duke’s face gives no sign of his having such thoughts—I cannot tell whether he will be pleased by my exit or irritated. I add it to the list of his sins I am crafting.
