The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  “If you would like to use this room, your Grace, I can have it dusted and aired,” the housekeeper said.

  Emily gave the last duchess one more long look. Could she use this room, with those laughing eyes watching? Perhaps it would be a good thing, and remind her that she was part of this family now, too, for better or worse.

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs Courtney,” Emily said. “I would like that very much. I will have some new furniture ordered from London, too, so we can do some updating.”

  “Very good, your Grace. Shall I take you to the dining room now?”

  Nicholas waited for her there, standing at the head of the table as the servants carried in platters of Signor Napoli’s richly sauced creations. Emily laughed to see the shining, polished expanse of the table, vast enough for a great banquet and set with the finest of china and crystal, with heavy, gleaming silver and a vast bouquet of spring flowers. A half-dozen candelabra cast a golden candle-glow over the palatial scene.

  And her own place, at the foot of the table, seemed miles away from Nicholas.

  “Are we expecting company?” she said, watching as more footmen arrived with yet more food, more wine. “A battalion, perhaps? Or the king?”

  Nicholas laughed ruefully. “I told them we didn’t want anything grand. But Signor Napoli was eager for the new duchessina to sample his creations.”

  “I look forward to it. The food was splendid at your party last summer.” Emily took her seat, and as she suspected she could barely glimpse her husband. “I think the company might be even better now, though, if I could only see to be sure.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous!” Nicholas leaped up from his chair and strode along the length of the table to take her hand. “We are on our honeymoon, we should at least be able to talk to each other at dinner.”

  Emily giggled and let him lead her to a chair to the right of his. The servants scrambled about in confusion to move her place setting.

  “That is much better, don’t you agree?” said Nicholas.

  “Much better indeed. I don’t feel quite so alone as I did way down there.”

  One of the footmen poured out goblets of rich red wine, and Nicholas raised his to her in a toast. “Here is to honeymoons, and our first night at Welbourne.”

  “To Welbourne.” And honeymoons, even when they did not feel quite real.

  “And how do you like the house, now that you have seen it all?”

  “It’s quite lovely, of course.” Emily took a sip of the wine, which was sweet and rich, unlike the vinegary stuff her parents served. She was hoping it would make her feel bolder, more—wife-like. “But then I always thought that.”

  “You must make any changes you like, order new furniture, carpets, whatever.”

  “Oh, no, I could not do that here! This is your family’s home. But I did tell Mrs Courtney I would use the small sitting room, if your sister would not mind.”

  “Emily.” Nicholas reached over and covered her hand with his. “How many times must I tell you? No one will mind whatever you do. This is your house now, as is Manning House and Scarnlea Abbey. You are the duchess now.”

  “Yes. I keep forgetting, I fear. I don’t feel at all duchess-ish yet,” she said.

  “I think it might take a lifetime to feel like that. I don’t feel like a duke in the least.”

  Emily laughed, feeling happy to see he trusted her with decorating at least, and took a small bite of Signor Napoli’s delicious trout. That was a definite perk of being duchess. “But what are your own plans while we are here, Nicholas?”

  As they talked of calling on neighbours, of fishing in the lake and perhaps going on a picnic the next day, Emily slowly relaxed. The light talk, the wine, the candlelight—it all worked its spell on her until that strain of worrying about the right thing to do, which she seemed to live with every minute since she had met Nicholas, drained away. She was not a new duchess, in a new home, she was just Emily. And he was just Nicholas.

  But the wine also worked to make her very sleepy after the long day.

  By the time the raspberry cream pudding was served, she was yawning secretly behind her hand.

  Not secretly enough, though. “Would you like to retire, Emily?” Nicholas asked, draining his own glass of wine. “We can play cards after dinner tomorrow.”

  Emily smiled at him drowsily. “Yes, I think I could not keep my eyes open tonight, it has been such a long day. And I am entirely full, thanks to Signor Na poli’s excellent fare. We should make him come back to London with us.”

  “I doubt he would do that. He declares London to be a vile cesspit where no one appreciates the art of his cooking.”

  “That can’t be true anywhere.” Emily hesitated as she pushed back her chair to leave the room. “Perhaps I will see you later, Nicholas?”

  He looked surprised, but not entirely unhappy. “Certainly, if you like. Goodnight, Emily.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Later, after Mary had helped her change into her nightdress and brush out her hair, Emily lay under the bedclothes and listened for Nicholas to come upstairs, for any sound from the chamber next door. She remembered what had happened in their bedroom in London, the unexpected delight of it all, and it made her smile into her pillow.

  Surely he would come to her soon, and it would happen again. Then she could see if that was only some kind of oddity, or if by some miracle lovemaking was always like that.

  And if only she was not so tired…

  Emily’s chamber was silent as Nicholas eased the door open and peered inside. The candles had sputtered low, casting flickering shadows on the walls that spread down over the bed.

  She lay there in the middle of the high feather mattress, the curtains tied back and the bedclothes drawn around her. Her golden hair lay in shimmering waves over her shoulders and the lace-trimmed gown she wore, and a little smile was on her lips, as if her dreams were sweet ones.

  Nicholas sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. She had looked so tired at dinner, even as she laughed with him, and he didn’t want to interrupt her dreams, even though his body ached with desire for her.

  He tightened the belt of his robe, drawing it closer over his erection. “There will be time for that tomorrow,” he whispered. Tomorrow, and for a long time to come. He wouldn’t make the mistakes with Emily he made with Valentina. He wasn’t a foolish, callow youth now, even if it felt like it with his lust raging inside him as he stared down at her beautiful face, the swell of her breasts under the gown.

  Their marriage had not begun well, and it was still on unsteady ground. Maybe it would never be the love match he had had with Valentina, that his siblings had with their spouses. Maybe he had made a mistake in marrying her. But at least there was one area in which they were compatible, and it was a start.

  He gently kissed her brow, smiling as she murmured in her sleep and burrowed deeper under the blankets. “Sleep well in your new home, Emily,” he muttered. He tucked the bedclothes closer around her and silently left the room.

  But that unruly desire wouldn’t abate so easily, no matter how fiercely he wrestled it down. He feared she was making him feel again, for the first time in a very long while.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Hold it at a slight angle, like this.” Nicholas’s arms came around her, his hands lightly adjusting hers on the wooden curve of the bow she held. Though his touch was soft, strictly practical, Emily could feel it all the way to the very core of her. Whenever he touched her now, she felt so shy and yet so bold at the same time, even if it was just the brush of his hand as he passed her the marmalade at breakfast that morning or helped her try to launch an arrow straight now.

  It made her feel terrified—and hopeful. Their marriage seemed to have begun rather well, all things considered. Surely it could go on like this? Maybe even grow better and better?

  But she had found that whenever she allowed herself to hope something might change in her life, she was left disappointed. She cou
ldn’t bear it if that happened now, with something as important as her marriage.

  And she couldn’t help but remember waking up alone in her new bed this morning.

  She forced away the cold memory of that confusing moment, the instant where she drifted between dreams and waking and couldn’t remember where she was, and focused on the cool, sleek bow in her hand. When Nicholas had offered to teach her some archery this morning, she was quite sure it would not end well. The welter of scattered arrows on the grass, far short of the target, proved her fears right. Yet she wanted to spend this time with Nicholas, show him how hard she was willing to work.

  If only the feel of his soft breath on the back of her neck would cease distracting her!

  “You’re tensing your fingers again,” he said gently. “Just relax, like so. Grip the bowstring lightly, about here.” He slid her fingers into place, covering them with his own. “Draw back in one smooth, slow movement and—release.”

  Emily pulled back on the string as far as she could, trying to keep her focus on the target, and let go. The arrow flew straighter than the others, its green-feathered end iridescent in the sunlight, and landed in the target. Still far from the red centre, of course, but definitely in the target and not on the ground.

  “I did it!” Emily cried. She dropped the bow to the grass and clapped her hands in joy. “Look, Nicholas, it’s in the target!”

  “So you did,” he said, an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. “And on your very first try.”

  “It was my eighth try. But it’s lovely of you to ignore that.” Without thinking, she spun around and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek over and over, making him laugh. Every moment with him made her feel more confident, more sure of herself and what she could do as a duchess. “Next time I will hit the bull’s-eye itself. And maybe you could teach me to row on the lake, too?”

  “One thing at a time,” he said. “Maybe some tea now?”

  Emily glanced over his shoulder to see some of the servants setting up gleaming silver trays on the shady terrace. They were absolutely polite and professional, but she saw two of the maids smile at their employers’ antics.

  Emily quickly stepped back from him and smoothed the skirt of her new yellow-muslin gown. “A little refreshment does sound welcome.”

  She scooped up the bow from the grass and took Nicholas’s offered arm as he led her to the waiting terrace. Cushioned chairs were set up companionably around the damask-draped table, laid out with tiered trays of sandwiches and cakes, along with a delicate Italian porcelain teapot and cups and a crystal pitcher of lemonade. The servants at Welbourne were obviously very thorough.

  “Do they always have so much food for two people?” Emily said with a laugh. “Last night could have been a banquet for Henry VIII.”

  “I don’t think Signor Napoli and his staff are quite used to only serving two. Usually when anyone is in residence at Welbourne there’s a vast crowd to follow, sometimes at a moment’s notice. I suppose they wanted to be prepared.”

  “It must seem terribly quiet to them now, and to you.” Emily poured out the dark, steaming India tea, adding lemon to his as she remembered he liked. “Perhaps you would rather have a party come to join us?”

  “And ruin the rare luxury of quiet? Not at all. Unless you are feeling lonely.”

  Emily took a long sip of her tea. “I am almost never lonely,” she said, not quite truthfully. She was often lonely, but that merely seemed the way of things.

  She stared out over the rolling lawns of Welbourne, all fresh green and glistening under the sun. They sloped all the way down to the lake, with its tree-lined shore, docks and the little white summer house. Swans glided placidly on those waters, while sheep grazed on the fields nearby.

  She hadn’t noticed all that perfect loveliness last summer, it had been so crowded with people. Now she saw its true beauty.

  “I see why you like it here so much,” she said. “I’ve never seen such a peaceful, pretty place. I’m surprised you and your family aren’t here all the time.”

  “We would be if we could. It’s our favourite place— the only place where we can really be ourselves.”

  “I haven’t noticed any of you behaving with particular inhibition anywhere else,” she said teasingly.

  Nicholas laughed. “No, we don’t often curb our emotions. But here no one judges us for them, or talks about our parents behind our backs. Here we can pursue our own passions without hindrance. Not that I have any creativity myself.”

  “Nor do I. I cannot even embroider or net a bag like my sister-in-law Amy. But you are very good at archery. That surely takes a great measure of creative visualisation.”

  He leaned back in his chair, watching her curiously. “How so?”

  “You must picture the arrow flying straight on its course and landing in the target. Something I have yet to master.”

  “It’s my sister Charlotte who is the true archer. That’s her bow you are using. Our father had it made especially for her.”

  “Oh.” Emily glanced down at the bow, only just noticing the small C.F. burned into the wood and gilded. “I hope she will not mind that I borrowed it.”

  “Not at all. She’d be glad to share our father’s gift.” Nicholas took another drink of his tea, staring thoughtfully over the lawn. “My father didn’t have much time to spend with us, he was always so busy with his duties and later with…”

  With his mistress? “Personal duties?”

  Nicholas smiled ruefully. “Something like that. But the time he did have for us we loved so much. My father was a man of such boundless energy and enthusiasm, so much younger than his years. He always entered into our games with gusto, teaching us archery and riding, how to swim. Every day felt like a holiday when he was with us.”

  “And your mother? Did she play games with you, too?”

  Nicholas shook his head, a frown flickering over his face. “My mother was always of a rather melancholy disposition. She tired easily, and the sunlight pained her head. But when my brother Stephen and I were young she would often read to us and tell us tales.”

  “What sort of tales?” Emily asked.

  “Oh, mythology mostly. She did love old stories of knights and their damsels fair, beset by dragons and evil magicians, contending against spells and fighting great battles. I think that may be where my brother gets some of his more interesting notions.”

  Emily rubbed her little gold horseshoe pendant between her fingers. “What happened to her—later?”

  “After my father met Lady Linwall, you mean? She was very unhappy. Her whole life had been her position as the Duchess of Manning, her whole reason for being to uphold the family’s position and reputation. My father’s other mistresses were nothing, opera dancers and milliners, liaisons that were quick and discreet and did nothing to hurt the façade of the family. But Katherine—Lady Linwall…”

  Emily swallowed hard, her throat tight. “He loved her.”

  “Yes, in an overwhelming way no one could ever have predicted, least of all my father. She was so vivid, so full of life and laughter, and she loved him just as much. They were like a force of nature, a blizzard or an earthquake, that could not be denied. My mother retreated to her own estate at Fincote Park, which Stephen now owns, and never went into society again. The shame made her too ill.”

  Emily stared out over the gardens again, those verdant lawns and bright waters that sparkled so brilliantly. But there seemed to be a faint grey cloud passing over it all. There seemed to be a hard lesson for her in that sad tale—duty and hard work were not always enough.

  She looked over at Nicholas, who also stared off at the lake with a shadowed look in his eyes. A bar of light fell over his golden hair, turning it to molten sunshine, and he rubbed a hand over his jaw. How would it feel if she lost him? Lost him to some glittering, glamorous lady who was all she could not be? Someone like his lost Valentina?

  Which was ridiculous, of course. He was no
t hers to lose. Still, the imagining was painful.

  “What of your own parents?” he asked suddenly, sitting back in his chair.

  “My parents?”

  “What were they like when you were young? I have talked quite enough about myself today; now it’s your turn.”

  Emily had to laugh. “My parents are not quite as interesting as yours. My mother likes to go out in society and to talk a great deal. My father likes to be quiet and read. He is usually in his library and she’s in the drawing room, and they seem quite happy. My brother and I held not much interest for them when we were small, I think. We stayed in the nursery, but we often devised our own games there together. It’s rather strange.”

  “Strange?”

  “I had quite forgotten how much time Rob and I spent together then. We hardly see each other now he is so busy with his new career and with Amy.”

  “It’s amazing how lonely one can be, in the midst of a family,” Nicholas said.

  Emily glanced at him in sharp surprise. “Surely not in your family, Nicholas! They wouldn’t have the time to be lonely.”

  He gave her a strange smile. “Have you ever been to a party, where you thought you were having fun, and suddenly you just wanted to go home? Or at least go somewhere where you can really be seen, as yourself?”

  “All the time,” Emily said.

  “Then you know. Even surrounded by people, people you love, it can be lonely. A duke is seldom alone, but he’s also seldom a real part of other people.”

  “Yes, I see.” And she did—and her heart ached for him, for all he was giving her the privilege of seeing now. She had thought she could help him by being perfect in her duty. But maybe they could help each other most by just sitting and listening. Learning each other so they need never be alone in a crowd again.

  Was that even possible?