Page 42 of Her Wily Duke

Ariana had put the book away at his command, resigned to the fact that, for now at least, she would have to seem obedient. At least she had managed to read while they crossed the river – for she avoided even looking at the river, ever since…

She shivered, and stared out of the window again. Soon, they turned through large gates, with ferocious looking gargoyles perched on the gateposts, and into a long curving drive, which was lined on both sides by densely placed tall pines, their dark foliage making the drive seem a tunnel of darkness. She had thought that coming out of that tunnel would improve things – but when they did, she took in a sharp breath.

The building before her was huge, five stories tall, and wide, its serried windows catching the sunset light so that the house seemed almost to drip blood. To one side, the ruins of an ancient tower and a colonnade stood out in stark contrasts of red light and darkness. She was beginning to see why this place might be cursed, or at least why the villagers might believe that to be the case.

The long line of staff who waited to be introduced to her were almost as intimidating as the building itself, and the Housekeeper regarded her with obvious disapproval. Ariana drew herself up, pride making her pretend that they were all smiling and pleasant. She would not be cowed by them, or her life would likely be a misery hereafter.

Nonetheless, she was glad once that was over, although the fact that her husband called for dinner in half an hour brought her another flare of distress. It seemed that she would not be given the chance to shut herself away in her room.

When he then turned to her, she shivered again, the oppressive darkness of the Abbey interior pressing down on her.

“Come, my dear, let me show you our rooms.”

His voice was incongruously pleasant for this dark place, but what concerned her was two words – ‘our rooms’. It had not occurred to her that they might share a suite of rooms. Most titled ladies had their own suite of rooms, separate from those of their husband, albeit generally linked by an internal door.

Her fear resurfaced, and she hoped that he could not feel her shaking, where their arms were interlinked as they went up the stairs. She understood the concept of the obligations of the bedchamber which marriage brought – but she knew so little of it that the thought was more frightening than anything else.

She did not think that this man would intentionally harm her, but still – what if she did something wrong? Would he punish her? The only example of marriage she had seen was that of her parents, and she knew that her father would, if he felt it necessary, punish her mother, as he had at times also punished Ariana.

Flickering candles greeted them on the landing.

They seemed to cast little light, and as they turned and walked down a long hall, a row of portraits looked down on her, all featuring men who looked as dark and glowering as rumour suggested they should, in this house. The flickering light from the sconces made their painted eyes seem to follow her, and she shivered again. They passed a window, and she could see that, outside, the light was now the deep blue purple that only existed in the last hour before true darkness.

“Here we are. This is the door to our private parlour. We each have a suite of rooms set either side of it, with dressing rooms and small rooms for our maid and valet.”

Ariana felt a small surge of hope – did that mean that she would have her own separate bedchamber?

He opened the door, and led her in. Inside the room, a maid and valet waited. Her husband indicated them.

“My valet, Quincy, and your maid, Peggy.”

They bowed and curtsied, then the valet spoke.

“Your Grace, I have laid out suitable attire for you, for dinner – I will go to your dressing room now, and await your pleasure.”

Her husband nodded, but Ariana still stood, watching the girl, Peggy. Their eyes met, and for a moment it seemed that what she saw was sympathy – then Peggy looked down.

“Your Grace,” Ariana started, realising that the girl was addressing her, “I wasn’t sure which gown you would want – I have laid out two which I thought might suit – I will wait in the dressing room. I can, of course, prepare a different gown if you wish.”

She bobbed a curtsey, and scurried away. Ariana swallowed, unsure what to do next.

Her husband took her hand, and she flinched. He dropped it, a frown creasing his brow, but he said nothing about that.

“Come, Ariana, let me show you the rest of our rooms.” He led her through the door which Peggy had gone through moments before. “This chamber has rarely been used, as my mother, when she still had the strength to do so, shared my father’s bedchamber. You may, of course, redecorate it to suit yourself – but I hope that, in at least one way, it will remain unused. I would prefer it if you shared my bed, as a matter of course.”

Ariana stilled, horror filling her at his words. How could she escape it? Eventually, she knew, she would have to perform her wifely duties, but she wished to avoid that as long as possible. She made herself look around at the room. The wallpaper was too dark, and the colours old fashioned, but it was an elegant room.

“I… I believe that I will redecorate it.”

“As you wish. Through that door is your dressing room and a bathing room, although it lacks such modern amenities as plumbing, and beyond the dressing room is Peggy’s room, so that she will always be close when you need her.”

Ariana nodded, and he turned her out into the parlour again. As they crossed that room and stepped through the door on the other side, into a bedchamber which was almost a mirror image of the one she had just seen, his expression was dour. The silence stretched, until she forced herself to say something.

“This is…”

“This is our bedchamber. My dressing room and Quincy’s room are through that door. Perhaps we should redecorate this room too – I have, to date, left it as it was in my father’s time.”

Ariana only nodded again, eyeing the heavy fourposter bed, as her rather lurid imagination painted images for her of what she might have to suffer there. She swallowed again, and turned away, back to the parlour.