“Reverend, Mr Noon.” He gave both men a polite nod and began walking towards his study. Just as he was about to open the door, he turned with another frown. “What the deuce is that awful smell?”
“I err, I mean Percy had the misfortune to fall foul of a particularly large cow pat on the way here your grace,” the Reverend offered apologetically, ignoring the horrified look his curate gave him. “We will of course ensure the affected area is purged of such an odorous malaise before we leave.”
The Duke raised his eyebrows, his glance raking from Grace, to her father and on to the curate who now looked as though he was about to give birth to kittens. There was clearly much more to this than met the eye, but he was too damnably tired to make any sense of it. He shook his head and turned back to open his study door.
“Well that’s put the cat amongst the pigeons and no mistake,” muttered the Reverend wincing as the study door slammed behind him.
∞∞∞
Grace waited for the summons she knew would be coming from her husband once he’d been appraised of her actions in his absence. Her determination to force him to put her aside, which had seemed so practical while he was away, now looked to be childish and ridiculous.
She had yet to get to the bottom of her father’s sudden appearance last night wielding a large sack. He had remained determinedly tight lipped as he set about clearing up the disgusting mess on the floor, and Percy looked completely incapable of speech.
Anxiously she paced back and forth across her bedchamber, unwilling to venture out until called for. By now her sisters would know the Duke had returned and would no doubt be waiting with bated breath for word from her as to what her husband intended to do.
Finally, there was a ponderous knock on her bedchamber door. Feeling sick to her stomach, she called “Enter,” and watched fearfully in case Nicholas was on the other side. Instead, to her relief, it was Huntley.
“Your grace, he offered with a small bow, “the Duke has asked if you will kindly attend him in the drawing room.” Swallowing nervously, Grace managed to nod graciously as befitted her station. Bit devilishly late now she couldn’t help thinking to herself as she followed the butler towards the stairs.
Her husband was standing in front of the window as she entered the drawing room, the sunlight casting an almost blue tinge to his hair. He waved her to a seat in front of the fireplace in which a roaring fire blazed despite the heat. Obviously the master’s home, Grace thought a trifle hysterically feeling beads of perspiration dot her brow as she sat as far away from the heat as she could.
Nicholas glanced with a sigh towards the blazing hearth as he took his seat opposite her. “Clearly the household servants think me made of porcelain,” he said wryly. Grace endeavoured to smile politely, only half wondering if her face was about to crack. Her heart thudded so loudly she feared it was about to burst from her chest. She wracked her brains to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Her calmness completely deserted her as she stared wordlessly at her husband’s stern handsome face. A brief reprieve came as the door opened to admit Huntley with a tray of tea and biscuits which he placed in front of her.
Grace remained rooted to the spot even as the butler withdrew, shutting the door softly behind him.
“Would you be good enough to pour?” Nicholas asked after a few moments, raising his eyebrows slightly at her continued silence.
“Of course,” Grace acquiesced faintly, coming out of her trance. Her hand trembled as she sloshed the milk into the cups. All she wanted to do was throw herself at his feet and beg him not to send her away. All her grand plans were reduced to nothing once she’d had chance to look into his beautiful haunted eyes again.
Her behaviour during his absence had been unforgivable. But it was far, far too late to turn back the clock.
She became aware that he was speaking, his voice stilted and husky. “Before we speak of anything else Grace, I would like to apologise for leaving so abruptly.” She stared at him disorientated, her cup halfway to her mouth.
“It was unforgivable of me to leave you so soon after our wedding. Especially in light of the fact that you have little knowledge concerning the running of an establishment as large as this one, and with so few servants to help you.” He cleared his throat, mistaking her continued silence for censure.
“Both Mrs Tenner and Mrs Higgins have informed me of your efforts in that regard, and Huntley has also been extremely eager to sing your praises.” He paused again, only the tightening of his jaw giving any indication of how difficult he was finding his confession.
Grace simply stared at him open mouthed.
“It’s my intention to employ more staff in the running of the house,” he went on, “including the hiring of a lady’s maid for you once we return from London.”
“London?” was all Grace could say weakly.
“It’s past time I purchased you a new wardrobe,” he answered softly, “one befitting your rank as a Duchess of the Realm. Although my manners have been singularly lacking in the time since we married, I am nevertheless fully aware of the necessity for you to present the correct image to the world, and the fact that you are failing to do so is entirely my fault.” He shook his head ruefully before continuing, “Please forgive me wife for casting aspersions on your current attire, but anyone of any breeding could be forgiven for thinking you a country maid who had just fallen off a hay bale.”
∞∞∞
Grace saw little of
