The Widow and Her Duke: The Grand Hotel: Book One

by Felicia Greene

  ‘I’m going to make something very clear, Martha. Something that I probably should have made clear long ago.’ Serafine rose to her feet, attempting to draw herself up to her full height. ‘You do not command me. I command you.’

  ‘The master commanded me, ma’am. He brought me into the house at the same time as you, and commanded me to make something of you. To make you into a respectable wife.’ Martha picked up her bag that she had placed at the end of the bed, practically quivering with anger. ‘The road has been both hard and long in that department, but I believed I had done a serviceable job. One can’t help the raw material one is given, but a good wife can be fashioned from almost anything.’

  ‘Have you completely taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘I’m finally informing you as to the true chain of command in this house. The chain that remains the same despite the passing of poor Peter.’ Martha’s face was briefly, violently transfigured by grief; Serafine recoiled at the exaggerated expression, at what it had to mean. Had the devoutly religious Martha really nursed an unrealisable passion for her late husband throughout her years of service? ‘It is I who made you, ma’am, I upon who your reputation rests, and if you wish to keep that reputation–’

  ‘Get out. Get out of my room, get out of this hotel, and never darken my door again.You are a stranger to me.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’

  ‘If you don’t take your things and leave my sight at once, I will have the hotel remove you.’

  ‘Don’t test me, ma’am!’

  ‘Don’t test me. You think you’ve moulded me over the years—shaped me into a biddable soul that can be agreeably turned to your will. But you have grossly overestimated your own abilities, and underestimated my strength.’

  ‘The idea that a lady such as yourself is capable of being underestimated is laughable. There is nothing in you worthy of any sort of estimation.’

  ‘You will take that back!’

  ‘I will not. It would be beneath my dignity.’

  ‘Enjoy finding dignity with a new position.’ Serafine clenched her fists. ‘You are leaving. Now.’

  Perhaps it was her tone of voice or new-found bearing, but Martha reacted as if she had been struck. She shrank away from Serafine, her expression that of a woman who knew she had overstepped her bounds.

  The next few moments were full of clumsy, strained awkwardness, with an undercurrent of rage beneath that made even the smallest movement seem like a calculated insult. Martha walked around the room, reaching slowly to remove several small articles–a comb, a dried nosegay–that Serafine had forgotten were there.

  It was only when Martha walked to the door with her bag in her hand that she paused on the threshold, turning back to look at her with eyes that mingled anger and fear. ‘This hasty action will do you no good, ma’am.’

  ‘You are no longer the judge of my actions. To be precise, you never were.’ She hadn’t known it was possible to shake from rage, but her fingers were quivering almost uncontrollably. ‘Get out.’

  With a long, turbulent look, Martha went.

  As soon as she was unobserved, Serafine sank to her knees. The sheer force of the encounter, the amount of unpleasant sensation it had caused, knocked the very breath from her lungs; she gasped, her vision briefly blurring.

  Only after a long, careful minute of silence did she attempt to rise again, the Turkish rug still unsteady under her feet. She brought a hand to her mouth, biting her thumbnail as she wished for the hideous scene to fade.

  She stiffened as a rustle of skirts came from the corridor. If Martha had decided to return, she didn’t know if she had enough fortitude to survive another conversation of such unparalleled viciousness. But when Sarah appeared, her calm, grave expression giving no indication that she had heard any of the terrible words exchanged, Serafine was overcome with a great feeling of relief.

  ‘Without venturing into distressing details, ma’am, your maid has decided to leave the establishment.’ Sarah paused, her head cocked to one side; evidently Martha’s manner of leaving required a certain measure of articulacy. ‘She didn’t… well, she didn’t…’

  ‘She didn’t leave quietly.’ Serafine sighed. There was little point in attempting to maintain her dignity in front of a woman who now knew more about her than was customary. ‘I imagine she had a lot to say about me.’

  ‘Surprisingly enough, no. Not more than she had to say about anyone else, at any rate.’ The faintest hint of a smile hovered at the corner of Sarah’s mouth. ‘She spared no-one. Not even the chef.’

  ‘What on earth did she have to say about the chef?’

  ‘Apparently the food is too rich, relying far too much on French sauces.’

  ‘Good Lord. I didn’t realise she had so many opinions about food.’

  ‘She has abundant opinions about everything.’

  ‘And she has a sister in these parts, and many friends from her parish who can take her in. Many years of experience as well.’ Serafine closed her eyes, rubbing her brow. ‘So I don’t need to feel guilty about…’

  ‘... About letting her go?’ No, ma’am. No guilt needed, I think.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Although I imagine this scene has been somewhat enervating for you. It would be normal to feel tired.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as tired as I am at this precise moment.’

  ‘A cup of coffee, ma’am, if there are still tasks to complete?’

  ‘No. No more tasks.’ Serafine sighed. ‘A glass of brandy.’

  ‘Brandy? Oh, dear.’ An unmistakeably masculine voice came from the corridor. ‘That’s hardly a drink for celebration.’

  Sarah’s immediate, pointed look in Serafine’s direction let her know that the maid was exactly as wise as she appeared. Both women arranged their skirts, attempting a dual appearance of grave formality as the Duke of Wenford strolled into the room.

  Lord, he was handsome. Handsome enough to make Serafine’s heart rise to her throat. Handsome, intelligent, witty, and… and kind. Kind in a way she had never imagined, and had certainly never expected for herself.

  Handsome, intelligent, witty, kind, and apparently as infatuated with her as she was with him. It was as if she had set out upon a normal London street, expecting to find nothing at all, and had instead come across a pile of emeralds.

  ‘Brandy won’t do at all, Sarah. I don’t wish to go against the lady’s preference, of course—bring a bottle to the room in about four hours—but first, champagne. Plenty of it. Enough to make one of those charming pyramids with the stacked glasses.’

  Sarah turned to Serafine, raising an eyebrow. Only after Serafine nodded did she curtsey. ‘Very good, your Grace.’

  ‘I see you’ve already identified who the true source of power is in this particular union.’ Richard glanced at Serafine, his eyes alive with the same wicked, powerful excitement that Serafine felt whenever she heard him speak. ‘Then I shall address my questions to the lady, and her approval or denial will guide your actions.’

  Sarah carefully inclined her head. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘If the champagne has been approved, Serafine, may I also order some dishes to the rooms?’

  ‘I–of course.’ Serafine blinked. ‘What sort of dishes?’

  ‘Light ones. Ones that the chef will curse about, because they require such a dainty hand. Ices, delicate desserts–and fruit. Fruit and almond paste, I think.’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. But why are we–’

  ‘And given that champagne and food are taken care of, we must think of guests.’

  ‘Guests?’

  ‘Yes. I have a good twenty or so close friends within a mile of this hotel who’ll be more than happy to drop their plans for me.’

  ‘Well, I–I suppose Annabelle. And Helen. They both live near Westfield Park. And Helen would bring Georgiana, and… well. There would be about eight or nine people, all told.’

  ‘And my twenty could easily swell to thirty. We
’ll have a respectable number.’

  ‘Why does the number of guests need to be—’

  ‘And a priest, of course. We have urgent need of an amenable priest. And an hour or so so procure the special license.’

  In the deep, profound silence that followed, Serafine could almost hear the beating of her own heart. She stared at Richard, not daring to believe the look of expectant happiness on his face.

  ‘If you would be so good, Sarah, do go to the kitchens and wait. If we ring for you, all of those delightful plans can be set in place.’ Richard paused. ‘And if we don’t…’

  ‘Of course, your Grace.’ Sarah’s face was formidably impassive. Only as she walked out of the room did she half-turn to Serafine, her face an irresistible mixture of curiosity and concern. ‘Are you sure you don’t require my presence, ma’am?’

  ‘No.’ Serafine nodded to Sarah. ‘I will be quite all right.’

  All right barely seemed to contain the brimming, expectant feeling that had risen up in her, as if her soul was suddenly so much larger than before. She turned to Richard, gasping as he took her hands.

  He wasn’t simply playful or scandalous. He wasn’t even a pure creature of passion. He was everything at once, and more–so much more. And of all the people she knew, he was the only man who could continuously, pleasantly shock her.

  This was what it was like to come alive with someone. To feel as if another life had been granted to her thanks to the sheer divine fortune of the universe–a fortune that she had previously, heartbreakingly missed.

  No more. She would take this opportunity for happiness and never, ever let it go.

  ‘Marry me, Serafine. I have never had as much enjoyment in the company of anyone else. I never will.’ Richard paused, looking down at her. ‘And I never want to be with anyone else when the fun stops. That’s all I’ve been considering this afternoon. What I’ve been considering ever since I realised how I felt about you.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Now I understand that you’ll take some convincing. I’m hardly the most respectable prospect, after all, and your–’

  ‘But I will.’

  ‘You—you will?’

  ‘Absolutely. Did you really ever think I would refuse?’

  ‘The worry did briefly cross my mind. I’ll never admit this again, Serafine, so listen well—you are a much, much better person than I can ever hope to be.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can ever forget such a startling statement.’ Serafine smiled as she leaned against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. She didn’t have to stand alone; she could lean on him, and he on her. ‘I think I’ll have to remind you of it for a very long time.’

  ‘You’ll have the rest of our lives to do it.’

  ‘I’ll start tomorrow. But for now… kiss me.’

  THE END

  KEEP EXPLORING

  If you’d like to enjoy more of my stories that are available on Amazon, why not pick below from whatever takes your fancy? Just click on the title, and it’ll take you to a sneak preview.

  To read every single novella I wrote in 2020, pick up Regency Romps!

  Regency Romps: The Complete Steamy Romance Collection

  To read every single novella I wrote from 2017-2019, pick up my Complete Collection!

  Felicia Greene: The Complete Collection

  For another way to read all of my novellas so far, read Private Passions and Wicked Whispers. These bumper collections contain all of my erotic romances, each one managing to be both very steamy, and extremely sweet. My popular collections span my interests, from Regency England to fairy-tale retellings to - yes - gargoyles - and now, for the first time, they are all together and available for you to download!

  Private Passions: The Complete Steamy Romance Collection

  Wicked Whispers: The Steamy Romance Collection