The duchess turned toward her son, working her mouth, her eyes full of fire. “You know that will not be acceptable to those that expect to attend.”
“What does that matter?” the duke continued. His elbow rested on the arm of the settee. “What is the point of holding a prominent title if you cannot do as you wish once in a while?”
“Are you telling me that you would prefer your wedding ceremony to be in a—a country chapel?” The duchess and duke didn’t seem to remember that Louisa and her mother were sitting and watching the entire affair unfold. Or perhaps they did and simply did not care. Oh, to be so highly ranked that one thought themselves even above manners.
“To be honest, I would,” he said. “And since it is Miss Morgan’s and my wedding, I feel the deal is settled.” With this, he turned back to Louisa. “Is there a particular chapel you had in mind?”
She honestly hadn’t expected him to accept the idea so quickly and was left floundering. “No . . . Though anything outside of town would be acceptable.”
They continued to talk about the wedding and all that needed to be planned, with the duchess refusing to let their small chapel ceremony be sparse as well. They rose to leave, and Louisa felt exhaustion creep in. She needed to get herself together if this was to be her life.
The duke strode toward her, taking her hand. It wasn’t romantic in the least, but a practical grasp to be sure she was steady on her feet. “Would you mind if I had a private word with Miss Morgan?”
The duchess looked as if she was about to protest, but finally nodded. “I suppose that would be fine.”
“I will wait out in the carriage, Louisa,” her mother said, turning and walking out beside the duchess. They left the door open.
The room fell silent when they were alone, the sound of footsteps having faded down the corridor.
The duke let their hands fall as he turned toward her. “Miss Morgan, I need you to be the woman I have observed over the years.”
Louisa’s eyes shot to his where he stood looking down at her with a flat expression. Did he ever give away what he was thinking and feeling? It was unsettling. “Excuse me?” she asked.
“The lady I observed at balls and garden parties was a woman who knew who she was, did not take flak from anyone, and gave her opinion decidedly. If you are going to be a duchess—”
“If? Do you mean you are calling it off already?” She raised her brow, unable to stop her quip.
His head tilted to the side, his brow marred by a tight scowl. “Of course not.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “I was teasing, Your Grace.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, as I was saying, you need to stand up for yourself. People will trample you down if you let them. They will spread gossip, use you for their own self-gain, and manipulate you for their own interests. Wishing for your wedding to be in a different location may seem a small thing, but if you let the small things go, then you open the door for other opportunities as well.”
She studied him as he stood tall before her. His shoulders were perfectly squared under his deep-blue jacket, his hair pomaded just so, with not a speck of dust on his attire. Perhaps that was not his natural way of things after all. Perhaps it was his form of self-preservation amidst a persnickety group of people.
Louisa tilted her chin so she met his eyes more directly. “I am up to the challenge, Your Grace. I only did not wish to start off at odds with your mother.”
“My mother will fare fine. I believe she is more than ready to relinquish her role as duchess.”
“Well, is there any possibility I can get out of the modiste appointment?”
The corner of the duke’s mouth quirked for a moment before disappearing again. “I am afraid that will be harder to arrange than moving the location of our wedding.” His head snapped toward the door. “Actually, I have forgotten something.” He walked to a table on the border of the room, his strides long and quick. “My mother gave me this after I told her of our engagement,” he called over his shoulder before turning and coming back to her side. He handed her an emerald-green, velvet box. “It is tradition.”
Jewelry? “I couldn’t . . .” She held her hand out to stop him. It felt too intimate. It felt too much like the beginning of . . . something.
The duke continued to hold the box out. “If you are to be a duchess, you need to become accustomed to having things such as this.”
She straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t a romantic gift or gesture. It was tradition. She could allow tradition. “Very well.” Louisa took the box, lightly trailing her thumb over the smooth velvet before snapping it open. All she could do was stare at the jewels that glistened atop a white silk lining. Diamonds sparkled in the middle of rubies, each forming a circle of petals. Ruby and diamond flowers.
It was exquisite.
She lifted her gaze to find him watching her admire the gems. “I cannot deny this is a bit more than I was expecting today.”
“Allow me.” The duke took the box from her hand, placing it on an end table and taking the necklace from its protective casing. Louisa wanted to tell him to stop and not trust her with such a thing, but before she knew it, he stood behind her, clasping the jewels around her neck. His gloved finger skimmed the tender skin, and she stopped herself from sucking in a surprised breath.
She swallowed, putting her hand to the small weight around her neck. “Thank you.”
“Would you care to see?” He held a hand out toward a looking glass.
