“No, I didn’t know.” But she wasn’t surprised. Elizabeth and her entire court would probably have scarcely been noticed in a castle of this size.
“And that is his lady.” She pointed to a small, daintily formed woman in a gold-encrusted gown and a wide pleated ruff encircling her neck. “The duchess was considered one of the most beautiful woman of her day.”
The woman she had indicated was pleasant-looking, with a pouty mouth, wide blue eyes, and tightly curled golden hair. “She’s very- Who is that?”
The housekeeper’s gaze followed Marianna’s to the portrait a few feet down the hall. “Oh, that’s His Grace’s mother. It was painted a year after she came to Cambaron.”
Marianna stepped closer to the portrait, searching for a likeness to Jordan. Even in the dim light, the full-bodied woman in the picture seemed to glow with life. Her shining black hair was darker and curlier than her son’s and pulled back from her face by two emerald clips. Her eyes were the same green and tilted slightly at the corners. Tartar blood, Marianna remembered, Jordan had said his mother had Tartar blood. She wore a full-skirted green velvet gown that flattered her tall, strong figure, but the garment somehow seemed wrong. The woman should have been wearing something else…
“She was a foreign lady, a very foreign lady,” Mrs. Jenson said reservedly, then looked at Gregor apologetically. “I beg pardon, sir, I know she was one of your people, but she was not like you. She was more like His Grace when he was a bit younger.”
“She was only seventeen herself when this was painted.” A faint smile curved Gregor’s lips as he stood looking at the portrait. “And you are right, she was just as wild as Jordan and just as compelling of affection.”
“Some found her so.” It was clear the housekeeper had not.
“She was from Kazan?” Marianna asked.
Mrs. Jenson nodded. “None of us had ever heard of the place. She was attending a school in Paris, and His Grace’s father brought her back to England with him when he came home from his grand tour. There was a good deal of talk about the duke marrying beneath him.”
“Everyone in Kazan thought the same thing,” Gregor said. “She was a noblewoman of Kazan and therefore higher in estate than any Englishman. I assure you, that if she hadn’t eloped, she would never have been permitted to marry Draken.”
Mrs. Jenson looked faintly shocked. “Not permitted to wed His Grace? I can’t believe that, sir.”
“You were here when she came?” Marianna asked. “You remember her?”
“Oh yes, she’s not a woman one forgets,” Mrs. Jenson said without inflection. “In the three years she was here before her death things were most unsettled.”
“She means Ana liked her own way and would move heaven or earth to get it,” Gregor said with a grin. “She probably turned the castle upside down.”
“Most unsettled,” Mrs. Jenson murmured as she moved down the hall. “But His Grace’s father was heartbroken when she died.” She threw open a door at the far end of the corridor. “This is the Blue Room. The little lad’s room is just down the hall. I hope this will be suitable?”
The large room was as dark and overpowering as the rest of the castle. All the furniture, from the enormous four-poster bed, draped in dark blue velvet, to the armoire against the wall, were crafted of gleaming ebony mahogany. A large desk with massive curving legs occupied the space directly in front of a long, narrow window that permitted only a weak strip of light.
Marianna felt a burst of homesickness as she remembered her small room at home. It had been filled with light that had streamed radiantly through the stained-glass rainbow panel Grandmama had created for her tenth birthday. Everyone should have a rainbow, Grandmama had said, so they would remember the storms of life do not last. Every morning Marianna would wake on her narrow cot and open her eyes to color and light and beauty.
Suitable? She could feel her chest tighten until she could scarcely breathe. She would
“Marianna?” Gregor prompted gently.
She swallowed. “Quite suitable.” She tried to think of something appealing about the room. Clean. The chamber was as spotless as her cabin on the
“Certainly.” Mrs. Jenson beamed. “I’ll have a tub brought up at once. Are you sure that you don’t want Mary to come and-”
“Jenny, why don’t you go downstairs and wait for William to bring the boy?” Gregor asked quickly.
Mrs. Jenson nodded, curtsied again, and left the room.
“Is she always going to do that?” Marianna asked as she unfastened her cloak.
“Curtsy? Probably. Jenny was trained from childhood to show respect and obedience to all and sundry.”
“I don’t like it.”
“She would be unhappy if you asked her to stop. You’ll become accustomed to it.” Gregor added gently, “You’ll become accustomed to everything, Marianna.”
“I know… It’s just that it…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s very warm in here, isn’t it?”
“Your cheeks are certainly flushed.” He entered the chamber and stepped aside for her to enter. “I think you’ll find this room comfortable. If you need anything else, you have only to ask Jordan. His wish is for you to be happy here.” He nodded at the oak armoire across the room. “Perhaps you’ll find a few gowns in there that will serve you until a dressmaker comes down from London.”
“Dressmaker?” She turned to look at him. “Can’t we find someone in the village to furnish me with a few gowns?”
“I told you, Jordan wishes you to be happy. In his experience ladies require a certain standard of elegance to be happy.”
“Because if I’m happy, I’ll work harder?” She strode over to the armoire and threw it open. It was filled to overflowing with a colorful array of gowns of practically every fabric and description. “Who do these belong to?”
Gregor shrugged. “I doubt if Jordan remembers. The ladies in Jordan’s set are not overly careful of their belongings. There’s always something left behind after a house party.”
His words evoked a mental picture of fashionable ladies drifting about these halls and over the carefully tended lawns, their soft bodies scented, their hair shiny and intricately curled, their only desire to please and charm.
To please and charm Jordan Draken, the Duke of Cambaron.
“If you’ll forgive me, I’ll leave you now,” Gregor said as he turned away. “I must go and talk to Jordan. I’ll send a servant with a tub and hot water.”
She experienced an instant of panic as the door closed behind him. She did not want to be alone in this cell of a room.
She was being foolish. This was not a dungeon, and Gregor had said she would grow accustomed to it. She took off her cloak and hung it in the armoire. She wrinkled her nose as the sweet scent of perfume wafted to her from the gowns. She would be glad to rid herself of the rumpled, stained gown she wore, but she had a sudden repugnance at the thought of smelling like one of those women whom Gregor said Jordan had forgotten. She rifled through the garments, grabbed a plain blue silk gown, and took it over to the casement window. She threw open the window and laid the gown on the window seat for airing.
A little scent should not matter. She didn’t usually let inessentials bother her.
It
Why was she so unsettled? She was becoming as vaporish as the woman who had worn this gown. She must put an end to it and set things back in their proper place.
Work.
She would be fine once she immersed herself in the world she knew and loved. She could close herself away from all this disquiet. Yes, work was the answer.
After her bath she dressed in the blue gown and went in search of Jordan. After getting lost once and having to ask directions of two liveried servants, she finally found him in the library talking to Gregor. They broke off their conversation when she came into the room.
“Enchanting,” Jordan murmured as his gaze ran over her. “I’ve never seen you in anything but white. Blue is quite delightful on you.”
She snorted. “That was not my intention. It was the only gown I could find that didn’t have a hundred bows. I
