She looked forward to the freedom marriage would give her. She doubted Charles would ask much of her. So far, he had not said or done anything to give her pause. Was he the unflappable man who deposited his mistress in the hackney? Or the brutish fellow who punched a journalist? He was certainly the man who had loved a woman and suffered heartbreak when she married another. Maybe Nellie would never know him well. They might not see much of each other after the honeymoon. He was, as Marian said, extremely attractive. Trouble was, other women thought so, too. They would have a busy social life together, but apart from that, they could pursue their own interests.
Smoothing her hair, she hurried downstairs to have breakfast.
Nat had already ridden out with the guests when Nellie and Marian were called to assist their mother. Preparations for the ball had begun weeks ago, but there were still many last-minute things to be done. The back stairs rang with the feet of footmen as they delivered breakfast trays and hot water to late risers. Upstairs, maids were busy answering bells.
In the kitchens, Nellie delivered her mother’s message to Cook. As Cook bustled about, issuing orders to kitchen and scullery maids, she assured Nellie the ices would be placed in the cool room in the cellar once they were brought in from the icehouse. Nellie found their housekeeper, Mrs. Pritchard, in the butler’s pantry talking with Hinkley, while he gave a final polish to an elaborate silver tureen.
“Please tell your mother that she must not concern herself. Everything is under control,” Mrs. Pritchard said.
Their efficient housekeeper brought the enormous staff at Shewsbury Park and the running of the ducal London house to mind. So daunting, in fact, that Nellie pushed it hurriedly from her thoughts.
It was past noon when she entered the dining room, where a buffet was set up for the guests. An array of hot and cold dishes had been placed on the white-linen tablecloth beside a stack of gold-banded plates and sparkling silverware. Footmen roamed the room, offering iced champagne or wine to the diners.
Chatting with guests, Nellie filled her plate, then took a seat at one of the tables set up around the room.
Charles entered the dining room. He’d spent the morning riding over the estate with her father and had since changed into a moss-green coat with brass buttons and light-colored, thigh-hugging pantaloons. He was his usual immaculate self. But his hair, damp from his bath, curled over his forehead and nape, which sent a surprising thought through her head. What would he look like naked? Quite splendid, she was sure. She grew warm, wondering what had happened to her mind, and reached for her glass.
He joined her, his plate piled with food. “How are you, Nellie?” His gaze roamed her face. “Dealing with Thor this morning has given me an appetite. And your morning?”
“I’m assisting my mother with some last-minute tasks. Where did you ride to with my father?”
“Up Haystacks. It’s a wonderful view of the fells and the lake from there.” He buttered a roll. “Nice countryside. Very enjoyable, despite Thor trying to throw me off when my attention was elsewhere.”
“Didn’t my father offer you another mount?”
He sliced into the ham. “Thor is now part of my stable. Your father sold the stallion to me.”
“Then it is to be hoped that Thor will prove a good purchase.”
“He will.”
He was so confident. Masterful persuasion seemed to be inherent in his nature. She couldn’t help thinking of it in terms of their relationship. She’d begun to realize her own needs. This intense feeling Charles seemed to evoke in her was not a desire to be mastered, but to give as well as receive. As with their earlier horse race, she wanted his respect. She wanted to matter in his life. Her life had offered few ways to express herself. As a duchess, she would have choices. It was exciting.
“You’re in a pensive mood,” Charles said, forking up some potato. “Are you thinking of the ball tonight?”
“Yes. Are you?”
His sultry gaze met hers. “I am.”
Nellie found herself trembling.
“May I join you?” Lady Forrester stood at their table with a plate of food.
“Please, do,” Nellie said as Charles climbed to his feet.
A footman hurried over to assist her.
Once seated, the widow turned to Charles. “Did you enjoy your morning ride, Your Grace? I saw you atop that tall black horse. Impressive.”
Nellie wondered if she meant Charles or the horse.
“I did, thank you,” Charles said. “I’ve been telling Lady Cornelia how much I admire the fells.”
“I have yet to view them. You must tell me more.”
While Charles described the beauty of the landscape, Lady Forrester listened intently. Nellie mused about life. If only women could be offered the same opportunities as men. They had so little power over their lives. Some sought underhanded methods to obtain what they wanted, as she suspected Arabella Forrester might. And some were left dissatisfied, like her sagacious Aunt Bea, who could only educate herself from books when she’d yearned to attend university and study mathematics.
Unable to listen to more of Lady Forrester’s gushing conversation, Nellie put down her napkin. “You must excuse me, my mother has some things for me to do.”
