Yet she looks lovelier than ever before. I hide my smile and sit down once more. I can be gracious now that she has clearly slept terribly, no doubt because I left her in her chambers last night, practically humming with desire.
“I hope you slept well,” I begin congenially as the staff swarms in and begins serving us. I wave away the plate of sausage links.
“Oh, most assuredly, Your Grace. I do thank you for your kind inquiry.”
The smile she gives me is so cloying, it is too studied by half. She must realize her dismissive attitude toward me—particularly so early—will do nothing but give the staff gossip to spread.
She shows herself to have a remarkable talent for invention.
“Perhaps a cup of tea, madam?” the housekeeper inquires.
“Yes, please, that would be splendid.” She looks so grateful at the suggestion, I believe she might, in this moment, be willing to sell her finest jewels for the pleasure of a cup.
I eat my egg thoughtfully as I watch the Duchess. The servants are well trained and move to and fro with nary a word. The sunlight streams in through the tall glass window, and the light does nothing for the duchess, whose countenance is pinched and miserable. Steam rises from the hot buns before her, and strawberries in their bowl gleam like jewels. Her toast is laid thick with marmalade.
She touches none of it, merely brings the dainty porcelain cup to her lips and sips slowly, apparently unaware of anyone or anything else in the room.
Does she struggle to take nourishment? I confess, I never watched for such a thing… it will not do. Especially while she carries a child.
Lost in thought, I observe how she holds out her cup until the servant girl moves swiftly to her side and refills it with steaming liquid.
“Pray, take some nourishment, my dear.”
She meets my gaze across the table, her expression making it plain she intends to dismiss me before she’s spoken. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am most content.”
“Indeed? I fear I am not, for you seem to be sustaining yourself on tea alone.”
Her smile is still in place but grows brittle to the point of breaking. “I am well. I do thank you for your concern.”
I study her, wondering what weighs upon her mind. I expected her to be out of sorts this morning, but I did not anticipate the childish impudence. “It is essential that you keep up your strength, my lady.”
She turns her head away without a word.
My gaze narrows and I begin to rap my fingers upon the table as I consider her. Her insolence is beyond what I will endure.If this is the way it must be… she has her made her choice.
I push back my chair, rise and go to the other end of the table where she sits. I look down at her dark head while she sips her tea—I imagine it is as much a tactic to avoid having to look at me as it is to keep drinking.
“My lady, I must insist.”
When she lowers the porcelain cup and sets it upon the matching floral saucer, her fingers are shaking. “Do you hate me so you would see me humiliated?” she murmurs, softly enough as to not be overhead.
I look around the room at the four servants assembled. “You are dismissed.”
“Oh, but Your Grace?—”
I silence my wife’s maid with a look so severe she sets down the teapot, curtsies hastily, and wastes no time in making her escape. Then I look to Freya, whose lowered gaze makes it clear she does not wish to look at me. The tight hunch of her shoulders allows me to believe she is either irritated, a tad frightened, or both.
I do not care which it is. A duke must rise above people’s irritation, and he must use their fear to his advantage. When that person is his wife? Even more so.
“You must eat,” I tell her, my voice low, but commanding.
When she deigns to look at me, I see it is both—she is irritated, yes, though perhaps not due to this exchange. And she is afraid, though what she fears, I have no way of knowing. “I think perhaps another cup of tea?—”
“No more tea,” I tell her sternly. “It shall be water for you from now on if I hear one more word about it.”
She gasps, her dainty hand going to her chest as she looks at me, aghast. “Water! Surely not! Do you mean for my own servants to laugh me out of my home?”
“Then you will obey,” I say simply, with no ire behind it, nary a threat.
