Nancy gave a nod. “It’s not that they’re tight-lipped or unfamiliar, madam. It’s only, well, they seem rather to simply not speak unless it’s necessary. I get the feeling it’s a rather taciturn household.”
Louisa was not at all surprised to hear this.
“Nancy, may I ask you a personal question?”
The servant gave a quick nod, her expression unchanging.
“Do you have a beau in your life?”
“No, madam. It’s unwise for those in service to form romantic attachments. It can make finding work difficult.”
How very sad. “You have no one at all?”
“I have my family, madam. I do get to visit them twice a year.”
Louisa pushed to her feet. “Nancy, you shall have tomorrow off. I know transitioning households can be difficult, and I plan to spend the morrow learning my way about this new place. I shan’t have need of you. Would you like me to arrange a carriage to take you to your family?”
Only Nancy’s eyes gave any indication that she’d heard her mistress as they rounded slightly in shock. “Your Grace, I couldn’t—”
“Unless you have any helpful information regarding one’s relations with men, I think it would be all right for you to rest tomorrow.” Louisa gave her maid a sardonic smile.
Nancy’s mouth softened as her eyes took on a hint of understanding. “Madam, if I may, servants often hear the rumors of the ton, and…” The maid’s voice trailed off.
“And I’ve married the Beastly Duke?”
Nancy looked about her as if searching for danger. “Well, yes, madam.”
“It appears I have, but I assure you the rumors are far worse than his bite. If only he was better at communicating…” It was her turn to let her words trail off.
Nancy stepped forward, her expression earnest. “Your Grace, if I may. My mum is always saying how my da isn’t quite how he seems. He’s a burly man as you can expect from a farmer, but he’s always been sweet on my mum. Perhaps His Grace has a harder exterior than his heart. You might just be surprised if you simply talk to him.”
Here Louisa stood on her wedding night getting advice from her lady’s maid. Not that the woman was wrong about what she suggested. Louisa was beginning to suspect the same thing.
She took the maid’s hands into her own. “Thank you, Nancy. That should be all for tonight. I’m sure you’d like your bed.”
Nancy’s smile was grateful. “Thank you, Your Grace. Should you wish me to braid your hair before I leave?”
Louisa shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll see to it.”
It would be nice to have something to keep her hands busy while she waited for her husband to arrive. With a flash, that night on the terrace came back to her, leaving her hot and unsettled. Would he do that to her again? Would he do…more?
Nancy gave a bow of her head as she moved toward the door, but Louisa stopped her.
“Oh, Nancy, it just occurred to me. You’re lady’s maid to the mistress of the house. I suppose I ought to call you by your family name now.” Nancy had been with Louisa since her coming out, and it felt odd to call the woman anything but her given name. But Louisa supposed the rules of society dictated otherwise now that she was a duchess. And besides, Nancy had earned the recognition. “You must get used to me calling you Williams now.”
Had the light been better, Louisa would have sworn Nancy blushed.
Her maid gave a small curtsy. “Thank you, madam.”
Louisa watched the door shut on the only person who shared a connection to her childhood, and soon she was standing alone in her rooms as the Duchess of Waverly.
A fire had been laid as the spring was slightly chilly and the warm summer nights had not fallen on London as of yet. She concentrated on the snap of the flames if only to distract herself from her thoughts. Without knowing she did it, her hands explored her torso and stomach, anticipating the touch of her husband’s hands on her body, discovering her every curve, feeling—
She coughed and twisted around to retrieve her brush. After a few furious strokes, she abandoned the brush and carefully plaited her hair into a loose braid over one shoulder. Her night-rail was a new one from her trousseau, and the lace edgings were still snowy white and crisp. With her hair in a loose braid and color high in her cheeks from the day’s events, Louisa might have said she looked pretty.
But was this how one dressed when awaiting one’s husband on their wedding night?
Nervousness swamped her, and she picked up her dressing gown, suddenly feeling exposed and raw standing in the middle of her room. Pulling the garment tightly around her, she made her way to the fire, welcoming its warmth. Tucking her feet beneath her, she slid into the chair closest to the fire and wrapped her arms about herself.
There was no need to be nervous. Sebastian had proven himself respectful and attentive, if he sometimes erred in his delivery of his intentions. Physically, he’d never hurt her. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had done nothing but made her feel utterly cherished every time he touched her.
When he’d slipped his hand into hers in the carriage after the wedding breakfast, she’d nearly lost what little she’d eaten, so startled was she by the simple, sweet gesture. She should have told him the truth then. She should have been honest with him about the guilt she carried, but something stopped her.
She wasn’t sure where they stood and what their relationship was to be. It was so confusing and visceral. One moment he made her feel precious and the next he supplied one-word answers and made her feel as though she were the least important thing in his world. The man was trying, to say the least.
So she’d kept her secret. There was no reason to tell him anything about her past that he needn’t know. She’d carried the guilt for so long. She would simply continue to carry it.
There was a small clock set on the mantelpiece, and she glanced at it now, wondering when her husband would make an appearance. It was just after midnight, and had this been any other night, she’d have still been in ballgown and slippers and dancing the night away with every eligible bachelor the ton had to offer.
But now it was different. That part of her life was over. Now she was well and truly wed, and Jo was safe. Jo’s future was safe. Perhaps Louisa could finally rest.
The fire tugged at her, but her eyes would not close, her body wound tight with anticipation. Should she wait for him in the bed? Was that what was expected?
She glanced again at the clock, a sudden thought striking her.
What if he didn’t come?
Theirs was not a love match nor even one made of their own free will. There was nothing to dictate he should visit her tonight, only the obligation to consummate the marriage, but if he gave no credence to the marriage to begin with…
Louisa got to her feet, unable to sit any longer.
He had been late to his own betrothal ball. What was there to suggest he would visit her tonight?
He’d already made it abundantly clear that she had trapped him, that he felt the confines of his marital prison. She had never thought him one to marry, and now she had forced him into it, pinning him with the unyielding arms of honor.
Damn him.
She didn’t know where such a strong thought came from, and it startled her. She pressed a fist to her stomach and sucked in a breath.
It was Sebastian’s fault.
The whole of her life had been focused on making her sisters happy, and Sebastian had stepped into her world and shown her she had feelings of her own. Wants and desires. Passion. All of those things she had simply ignored because her sisters came first.
And now he wasn’t coming.
He showed her the hunger that could exist between a man and a woman, and now he was going to leave her wanting.
That may have worked with another woman, but it wouldn’t work with Louisa Darby.
She pushed up the sleeves of her gown and without stopping to rethink her actions, she marched to the connecting door and pounded on it
.
* * *
He wanted nothing more than to drink the glass of whiskey he held precariously balanced between the tips of his fingers and the arm of his chair. But it was the second glass of whiskey he’d poured that night, and he never drank the second glass in its entirety. He might have sipped at it and savored it, but never would he toss it back like he’d done the first one.
His wife lay in the bed in the connecting room, and he was hard at just the thought of slipping in there and making love to her.
Whiskey was not enough to banish her from his thoughts.
He pictured her in a virginal gown of snowy white, tucked into bed with the covers pulled tight to her chin, her golden hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. He wanted to run his fingers through that hair, take fistfuls of it and bury his nose in her scent. He wanted her pressed against him, feeling the way she fit so perfectly, like nothing and no one before her.
But he knew if he gave just a little, he was doomed.
His father’s dead body flashed through his mind, and reluctantly, he took a sip of whiskey, the only thing left to him to push away his torment.
The banging startled him so badly he choked on the small sip of liquid, coming up off his chair as though someone had poked him directly in the arse with a hot poker.
He knew it was sometime after midnight, and his heart kicked up its pace as he went to the door and threw it open. The corridor was deserted, and he stared at the empty space for an interminable length of time as he willed his heart to stop pounding. Whatever was going on?
The pounding sounded again behind him, and he pivoted, casting his gaze back over his shoulder.
Someone was knocking on the connecting door.
If his heart was racing before, now it slowed to deadly levels.
Louisa.
Louisa could be the only one knocking on that door, and judging by the force with which she did it, she was not pleased.
He closed the door to the corridor, unconsciously throwing the lock as if to assure himself there would be no other intruders that night. He marched over to the connecting door and thankfully yanked it open before she could start pounding again. He found her standing there, fist raised as if she planned to continue her assault.
He stared at her without greeting as the pressure with which he was grinding his teeth prevented speech.
He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to see her like this. He didn’t need to witness the stuff of his imagination come to life. Only the reality was far worse.
The snowy virginal gown was there, but so too was a satin robe that draped every curve of her body. Her hair wasn’t spread across a pillow but instead hung over her shoulder in a braid that tempted him to unwind it.
It only helped when he took in her face, and her tight, angry lips, her hooded eyes, and narrowed nostrils.
“You’re not coming.”
He doubted she understood the double entendre, but it still forced him to surreptitiously adjust his tight trousers. She had stated the problem precisely. He was not coming. She was staying safely in her rooms, and he was staying safely in his.
“I’m sorry?” He thought if he played innocent, they could reach the end of this conversation without him undoing eight years of careful control.
Instead, she stomped through the open door and turned on him.
“It is customary for the husband to visit the wife on their wedding night to consummate the marriage.”
Even when she spoke with such clinical acuteness, it did nothing to lessen his desire for the act of which she spoke.
“It is customary.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But what of our marriage is customary?”
He didn’t know why he had asked the question. It would not at all encourage the end of this conversation and see her safely back in her rooms. But something compelled him to keep her here for just a little longer. Surely, he could control himself. He’d been doing it for so long now it was nearly second nature.
A shadow passed over her face at his words, and he felt a pang of regret, for what he didn’t know. He’d only spoken the truth. There was nothing traditional about how they had come to be married, and he was only pointing out that fact. But his words had struck something within her, and a part of him wanted to comfort her. He took a step forward before he caught himself.
She retreated, however, her next accusation already on her lips. “How our marriage came about may not be customary, but we are still required to live with one another now that we are wed. Do you propose carrying on in a half state of existence for the rest of our marriage? You living your life while I live mine separately?”
“Yes.” He hadn’t meant to speak the word with such force, and it ricocheted through the room like a gunshot.
It was as if he had slapped her. Her mouth registered shock in a soundless oh as she took a quick step back as if the word itself had forced her to.
“Louisa.” It was all he got out before she threw up a hand. It was his turn to react as though he’d been struck. The single gesture arrested him in his stance, his mouth snapping shut.
“I beg your pardon.” Her tone was even, as if he had not just pulled the foundation from everything she clearly had expected of their marriage. “I hadn’t realized you would wish this to be more of an arrangement. I understand.” She did the oddest thing then. She smiled, but it was a smile tinged with what could only be pain, but somehow he thought the gesture automatic for her.
How often did she use that smile on her sisters? How often did she use it to placate one of them?
His mind blanked at the expression. He hadn’t known he held the power to hurt her so deeply. He had never held such power over anyone. Having lived a separate existence himself these last eight years, he had forgotten what it was like to have one’s words and actions affect another person. Now he’d hurt the one person he would never wish to. His chest tightened as he stepped closer yet again, but she was already turning back toward the door.
“I apologize for interrupting your evening. Good night.” She slipped through the opening of the door with such cold grace, he hadn’t realized she’d even moved.
Fear gripped his throat, strangled his words, but watching her disappear like that, knowing how he must have hurt her, he knew he had to fix it and fix it fast.
“I can’t fall in love with you.” The words were nearly shouted as he watched the door closing between them, but at his outburst, it stopped.
He hung there, suspended. Would she open the door or continue to close it? He wished he’d had more experience with this sort of thing, but he hadn’t bothered as it was the very thing he wished never to encounter.
He may have blundered the entire thing, and could he really blame her for her escape? He’d just doomed her to a loveless marriage. Louisa Darby, the sunshine in every room, the belle of every ball. He’d just singlehandedly condemned her.
His chest hurt, and a throbbing had begun at his temples. He concentrated on breathing, but the door had still not moved. After what seemed an eternity, the door opened but only slightly. Louisa’s head came around the corner.
“I’m very sorry, but did you just say you can’t fall in love with me?”
He swallowed, unsure of his voice. “Yes, that’s precisely what I said.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion even as she gave a brief nod that she’d heard him, and then worst of all, she withdrew her head and closed the door.
The click of the door shutting pierced him, and he turned away, unable to look at the place where she’d disappeared.
He should have told her. He should have been honest with her from the start that theirs would be a loveless marriage. But even then, he recalled her reaction to those women at the breakfast that morning. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was more than just her mother’s death that weighed on her. There was something else, something darker.
He couldn’t allow himself to feel remorse. She had her secrets just as he had his.
&n
bsp; Then why did he feel so absolutely wretched?
He strode over to the decanter of scotch he had left on the table beside his chair. Forget the second glass. He wasn’t stopping until he was well and truly drunk.
He’d just pulled the stopper from the bottle when the connecting door crashed open. He spun around so quickly, scotch sloshed in the decanter, and he quickly reset the stopper before any made its way out.
Louisa stormed in, dressing gown flying out behind her like an enraged goddess. But she wasn’t enraged. A deep line was nestled between her eyes and her mouth was already working out what he knew would be an endless stream of questions.
“What do you mean, you can’t love me?” She stopped several feet from him, her arms swinging madly as she gesticulated her question. “I know you’re…well, different, but I happen to know I am quite fetching, and some would even call me pretty. You yourself called me beautiful. Why are you so certain you cannot love me?”
He set down the scotch. “You assume this has anything to do with you.”
She crossed her arms, her satin dressing gown twisting about her. “I am your wife and the person in question. I should think it would have something to do with me.”
“It has nothing to do with you. If anything, you make it extremely difficult for me to stay true to my course.”
Her expression relaxed at this. “I apologize again for trapping you. I promise—”
“Why do you keep apologizing for that?” He cut her off. “I offered for you. You did not demand I wed you to alleviate the potential danger to your reputation. I chose to do that.”
“You wouldn’t have been forced to make that decision if it were not for my careless actions.”
He took a small step toward her. “Careless they might have been, but no one dictates my decisions. You must not accept guilt for the position we now find ourselves in.”
Her shoulders squared, and her chin went up at that. “It is not guilt. It is responsibility, and I take mine seriously. I promised to be a good duchess, and I shall. You won’t be disappointed.”
The Duke and the Lady Page 8