Page 24 of His Enemy Duchess

I am a duchess now.

She shuddered, though it was stiflingly hot in the carriage.

“The servants expect you to be their mistress now, so you need to look like you have some semblance of dignity about you,” he said in the same cool tone.

The family carriage was taking them to Heathcote Manor, deep in the wilds of the countryside and so far from her own home and family, the sound of clopping hooves tapping rhythmically in her ear.

“I might have had time to refresh myself if you had not snatched me away two seconds after the priest declared us wed,” she grumbled. “My mother had an entire wedding breakfast and festivities prepared. Wasted now. How isthatdignified behavior?”

Thomas gazed out the window at the passing tangled hedgerows. “I saw no need to linger.” He sighed. “You will appear disheveled, that can’t be helped, but you must seem as if you are fit for your new title. You cannot be absentminded and forever in your daydreams—you must be strict in front of them. Then, and only then, will I consider calling you ‘Duchess.’ It must be earned.”

“You will never call me that, then,” she said with conviction. “Did you or did you not give me an entire speech about how you remain true to yourself? About how you will not even crack a false smile to keep up appearances? Why wouldIdo any differently? I am not strict, I am not duchess-like, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

He continued to watch the world pass by. “That is fair, I suppose. Go ahead and ruin this, for all I care. Let them gossip and talk all about how the lady of the house is a slattern who doesn’t know how to run a house. I am sure it will betremendousfor this illusion of a wedding we have crafted.”

“Ah… so my absentmindedness is the problem and not the fact that your face has been stuck in a frown since the day you were born?” She nodded sarcastically. “I’m sure no one will gossipabout how the Duke never smiles around hiswife. No, no, heaven forbid that you should be judged.”

Sophia bent forward, irritated as she tried to unravel the knots in her back and loosen the laces of her too-tight shoes.

Thomas looked at her with confusion. “What are you planning to do with those?”

“Goodness, must I ask permission for everything I do? Must I request your consent whenever I think of breathing?” She pulled off both shoes and placed them beside her on the velvet squabs. “My feet hurt, is all. If I want to throw something at you, I promise you, you won’t be forewarned. I grew up with two brothers, my dear husband. Trust me when I say, I can hold my own in a fight.”

Thomas turned and looked outside once more, and though she did not trust her eyes, she could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. It irked her to see him draw amusement from her annoyance, and though she held her tongue, she could not hold back her mind.

And if you bite me again, Your Grace, do not be surprised when I bite back.

A meandering driveway took the new Duchess to her final destination. To annoy Thomas further, Sophia pulled down thecarriage window and stuck her head out, determined to get the full experience of arriving at her prison, where the staff would be sure to see her.

The manor was not as bleak as she had imagined it would be. It was a fine feat of architecture in golden sandstone with four floors of glinting sash windows, and a triangular roof that made the entire manor look like one enormous portico. Larger than her family’s residence, the lawns were well kept, and she spotted an ancient oak tree with sprawling branches, offering the pleasant shade that she craved in the sweltering heat of the carriage.

Not a terrible prison. Plenty of woodland to get lost in.

“Will you show some decorum?” Thomas growled, grabbing her by the back of her gown as if she were a naughty pup and pulling her back into the carriage.

She rounded on him. “Touch me again and I will show you how indecorous I can be. I can make you rue the day you married me.”

“No need,” he replied. “I already do.”

The carriage stopped by the grand entrance—two sets of steps leading up to a terrace where the front door could be found—preventing any further venom from spilling between them.

She looked sullenly ahead, at least a little bit interested in Thomas escorting her around the house and showing her all the little nooks and crannies where she might hide from him in due course.

Maybe it has secret rooms and fake doors or?—

Thomas had already exited the carriage and was heading up the steps without her, leaving the carriage door hanging open as if to say,See to yourself.

Sophia bolted out and stormed up the opposite set of steps as fast as she could, but he was already in the house by the time she caught up to him, storming into the entrance hall.

Thomas was taking off his tailcoat and passing it to a servant, revealing the billowing sleeves of his shirt. Beneath were the powerful arms that had saved her from embarrassment at the Whittakers’ ball. She stared at them, all her rageful words dying in her throat as she watched him loosen his cravat, unbutton his collar, and roll up his sleeves, exposing corded, sun-browned forearms that had the most startling effect on the traitorous butterflies in her stomach.

He turned around in his state of undress and looked at her and then at her bare feet, which were now touching the pristine hardwood floor, trailing the grassy dirt from outside.

“The lady is in need of slippers, Miss Wright. Bring her some,” he ordered the maid, who held his tailcoat like a prize. “Or don’t,I guess.” He turned and walked towards the arch of a hallway on his left. “Dear wife, the staff will show you around.”

“What?” Sophia rushed to try and block his departure, lifting her skirts so she could run. “You are not seriously going to leave me alone, are you?”

“I assumed you would prefer it,” he replied, maddeningly perceptive.

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