He tapped the tip of her nose. “Let’s not move too fast, my sweet. I have much to show you, but I don’t want to scare you off too soon.”
Rather than being afraid, Genevieve was intrigued, but she told herself to be patient. She might want everything that her husband had to offer, but all good things came to those who wait.
He slipped out of her and she lamented the loss, but considering she was a bit sore from their union, she decided it might be best to soak in a hot bath.
He pulled on his trousers and shirt, and then, after gathering his cravat and jacket, he went back to her and kissed her gently on the lips. “I need to run an errand to the city, but I will be back before supper this evening.” Her face must have shown her disappointment, because he grinned. “Don’t look so downtrodden. I don’t want to be gone any more than you want me to be, but I fear there is no choice in the matter.”
“Very well,” Genevieve reluctantly agreed. Feeling emboldened, she laid back on the bed and propped herself on her elbow. “Don’t keep me waiting overlong.”
“Saucy wench.” He offered a lingering look at her nude body and reluctantly turned to go. Before he left, something fell to the floor with a light clink.
He didn’t appear to notice he’d lost anything, but as she stared at the item on the floor, a sinking sensation crawled over her as she wrapped the counterpane around her and got out of bed. “What is this?”
He paused and glanced back to see the ring in her palm. His face paled slightly as he stared at it, but then he crossed the room and took it from her, quickly setting it back in his pocket. “Nothing to concern yourself.”
He bent to kiss her on the forehead, but she moved out of reach. “You’re part of that ridiculous alliance?”
Rather than deny her claim, he clenched his jaw and admitted, “It was a club that served me well in the past.”
She snorted in derision. “Yes, I’m sure it did.” She spun around and put her back to him. She realized how truly naïve she’d been to believe that he could actually care for her. He had likely married her out of some misguided sense of duty to her grandfather’s alliance. She’d witnessed more than one man groveling at the front door for help with one issue or another with that very ring on their hand. No doubt she was just another on a long list of grievances.
“Genevieve—”
The smooth sound of his voice did not help her raw emotions. “Please, just go.”
She held her breath until she heard his heavy sigh and his footsteps retreating.
Chapter 10
After a restorative bath, Genevieve decided that, while the duke was gone, she would acquaint herself a bit further with her new home. She needed something to take her mind off of the latest, unsettling revelation. Engaging the assistance of the housekeeper, a pinched-faced woman with a plethora of keys on her hip and a severe expression, it didn’t take long for Genevieve to earn her respect, and that of the rest of the ducal household. Since she had been raised to take on the running of an aristocratic household, she knew exactly what to do and say, most of which was authoritative in manner. She had to let them all know who was in charge when the duke was not in residence.
The first thing she did was go over the menu for what remained of the week and change whatever she thought suit her husband better. Although there was still a lot about him that she didn’t know, something told her that he wouldn’t care for blood pudding as much as he might a delectable shepherd’s pie.
Next, she walked through every room in the manor and wrote down any changes or improvements she thought might be needed. She brought some things to the attention of the staff, most of which were problems in the guest rooms. She suggested a different arrangement and a few color schemes, and when she had their input, she planned to mention her ideas to the duke.
The last place she went was the attics. She had always hated dusty, confined spaces, but to her surprise, they were well cared for, proving that the duke employed loyal servants. Not even a place of storage like this was unkept. Again, she made a list of what might need to be discarded, including some moth-eaten clothes in a forgotten trunk, and what might be able to be reused.
She was just getting ready to change for dinner when the butler intercepted her. “There is a caller for you, Your Grace. I have taken the liberty of placing her in the parlor at present, but if I may be so bold to suggest that you keep your visit brief. She is not one that the duke would enjoy entertaining.”
Genevieve’s heart lodged in her throat, thinking that she might have to contend with some sort of former mistress. “Who is it?’ she asked warily.
He cleared his throat. “The Dowager Duchess of Argyle.”
“The duke’s mother?” Genevieve’s eyes widened. She had heard rumors that Argyle didn’t get along well with his mother and had shipped her off to Scotland when his father had barely been cold in his grave. However, this only made her wonder what the lady had to say, and what had caused the riff between them in the first place. If she wished to make amends, the least she could do was hear the other side of the story. “Hold any tea, but I shall make myself presentable and then join her presently. The least I can do is be hospitable and prove that this is not a shunned household.”
“As you wish.” He bowed and took his leave without questioning her decision.
Genevieve returned to her rooms and quickly changed into something suitable for calls and for dinner that evening. Once she was attired in a light orange dress with slightly puffed sleeves and an empire waist complete with gold braiding and one of her mother’s gold brooches that she had given her as a wedding present, she headed back down the stairs.
She walked into the parlor and saw a woman that might have been a duchess, if she wasn’t so poorly put together. Her faded, black hair, mixed with strands of silver, might have been pulled up into an elegant chignon at some point, but now, it hung down in a pitiful mess. Even her clothes were rumpled and dusty as if she had slept in them for days. She was sitting in a chair, but one of her legs was propped over the side in an entirely unladylike fashion. But her blue eyes were sharp when they lit on Genevieve.
The smile she offered wasn’t warm or motherly, but rather cynical in nature. “You look too innocent to be Cortland’s bride.”
Genevieve wasn’t sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Instead of sitting across from the lady, she remained standing and smoothly turned the conversation back on her. “You don’t look very much like a dowager duchess.”
She shrugged. “After living in the wilds of Scotland for the past several years, I suppose I have adopted some of their barbarian ways.” She sighed heavily. “I used to be gorgeous. Every man in London and beyond wanted me.”
She chose to ignore the latter comment, and instead, addressed the concern about Scotland. “I haven’t known them to be anything but kind,” she noted.
