Collette studied the imposing-looking gentleman as he approached their little group. She had been curious about his older brother for almost as long as she’d known Addison, and she couldn’t help but search his features for similarities to her fiancé as he dismounted.
“Row, may I present my future bride, Miss Collette Jones. Collette, my brother. Mr. Rowan Stewart.”
“Miss Jones, my pleasure.” White teeth flashed against the man’s bronze skin and when he removed his hat to bow, the waning sunlight reflected off his smooth, equally dark scalp.
“I am pleased to finally meet you.” Collette curtseyed, taking note of his fine clothing and a familiarBedwelliantilt to his head. She’d known from what Addison told her that his brother was half Barbadian but aside from his coloring and smoothly shaven head, he seemed more English than anything else.
As Addison introduced the man to Chase and Bethany, Collette appreciated the obvious affection he had for his younger brother. It was the first time she’d seen her fiancé in the company of anyone other than casual acquaintances or her own family.
And if his brother was such a kind gentleman, how horrible could Addison’s mother be?
“Mother’s waiting in the drawing room.” Addison gestured toward the door where a somber butler stood holding it wide.
Mr. Stewart grimaced at the announcement and sent her a pitying glance. “I would wish you luck,” he surprised her by saying, “if I thought it would help.”
“Well then,” she exhaled, willing her feet to walk up the steps to the door. “In case I don’t come out alive, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
“You can do this,” Bethany whispered loudly from behind her. At least if Collette was to be dropped from the gallows, she wouldn’t have to endure it alone.
The ceiling in the foyer was three stories high, with a wide staircase on the right, and elaborate molding framing every angle. Paintings hung on the ivory-colored walls, and a few busts were placed on pedestals. When one noticed the flowers in out of the way niches, and vases, it was, all in all, decidedly overwhelming.
Was the effect intentional?
A giant crystal chandelier hung over head, and the flooring was a cool white marble threaded with grays and silvers.
It was pristine, perfect, cold, and she was helpless at suppressing the shiver that ran through her when she handed her coat over to the unsmiling butler.
“This way, Collette.” Addison led her to a set of large double doors on the left, held open by two uniformed footmen.
At the very least, she expected to see the woman seated on one of the long settees, but the room appeared empty. That was, until she caught sight of the woman standing at the window, presenting her back to her guests.
“Mother.” Addison’s voice echoed off the marble.
“Bedwell.” The woman’s cultured voice could have cut the glass she was staring through.
“Allow me to present my fiancée.” He spoke with his normal conviction and Collette hoped she would sound half as confident.
“But you are not betrothed.” The woman turned around, holding herself regally.
The duchess’s hair was mostly gold but had tiny threads of silver and had been pinned ornately atop her head. The gown she wore, simple and timeless, made Collette feel gauche and unsophisticated. His mother was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.
The woman’s gaze flicked to Chase and Bethany. “Nothing personal, Chaswick. Although I must admit, your father had the right idea, keeping them out of the public eye.”
Chase’s eyes narrowed but Bethany cleared her throat beside him.
“Good evening, Your Grace. Looking lovely as usual.” Mr. Stewart was the last to slip inside, a second undercurrent entering with him despite his compliment.
And although the duchess appeared almost serene, she was not at all successful at hiding her feelings for Addison’s brother. Even from across the room, it was all too apparent to anyone with eyes, that she hated him.
Undaunted, Mr. Stewart moved across to a large sideboard to pour himself a drink from one of the amber-filled crystal decanters.
“Of course, by all means, avail yourself to my liquor, Rowan.” Addison’s mother had yet to even acknowledge Collette’s presence, and surprisingly, rather than feel embarrassed for herself, Collette felt embarrassed for the duchess.
Her own mother, a kept woman who’d been spurned by all of society, would never treat guests so rudely.
Collette stepped away from Addison. “I am Miss Collette Jones.” She would not cower. She’d cowered for Mrs. Metcalf and that had gotten her nowhere.
The duchess’s eyes finally landed on her. They were the same color as Addison’s but might as well have been chips of ice.
