Page 11 of The Matchmaker Meets her Duke
Pandora tossed the book down on the chaise lounge and threw her hands into the air. “Well, he married one, and if he thinks I’m just going to sit here and drink tea all day, he’s got another thing to learn about me.”
“Aha, so she has some spirit after all!” said Agatha with a cackle. “Didn’t I tell you, Rose, my dear? Emmett wouldn’t marry someone without a spine.”
Rose looked up from her cross stitch and grimaced. “I suppose so.”
Pandora glanced down at Rose’s work. A profusion of red dahlias grew from the fabric. “That’s very pretty. What are you working on?”
“A pillow case,” replied Rose in a sulky voice.
Pandora tried again. “I see. Well, it is much nicer than my own work.”
“Humph.”
Pandora bit her lip and picked up her book. It was titledAmelia, by Henry Fielding. Interesting, the name looked familiar, but she hadn’t read it.
“You haven’t answered my question to my satisfaction, young lady,” said Agatha from across the drawing room.
Pandora looked up with a repressed sigh. “I already told you, I don’t know the Dowager Viscountess, and even if I did, I would hardly try and ensnare your grandson into marriage.”
The Dowager raised an eyebrow, and for a startling moment, the family resemblance between her and Emmett was clear. But whereas the expression was charming on Emmett, on the Dowager it looked comical. A smile tugged at her lip.
“Something funny to you? This is serious. That Edna is vicious, I wouldn’t put it against her not to have manipulated you into seducing my grandson without your knowledge.”
This time Pandora did laugh. “Your Grace, please! I matchmake for other people, not for myself. And certainly not for a man of your grandson’s reputation.”
Rose’s cross-stitch hoop clattered to the ground as the young woman stood. “He only has that reputation because of you!”
Pandora’s brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your gossip column! I overheard him and Lord Riverton talking about it a few weeks ago after you wrote all those terrible lies about him. I’ll never forgive you for that.”
“Lady Rose, I–”
“Don’t speak to me!” Rose stormed from the room, cross-stitch hoop forgotten.
Pandora stared after her with astonishment before turning to Agatha. “She certainly is spirited, isn’t she?”
The Dowager snorted again. “That’s one way to describe my Rose. She is the sweetest girl, except where her brother is concerned. There, she is as fierce as an Indian tiger, claws bared and ready to rip into anyone who insults him.”
“Loyalty is a becoming trait, I suppose.”
The fierce look in Agatha’s eyes pinned Pandora to her seat. “That it is. One this family values. See to it that you are not a disappointment.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Pandora in a faint voice. What kind of family had she just married into?
ChapterSeven
Pandora’s new bedchamber was twice the size of her chamber at Ravenswood Manor and had a small adjoining room with a writing desk and a window that looked out over the gardens. No hedge maze here, just rows of vegetables and herbs, and a series of greenhouses filled with more delicate plants. It would be a pleasant diversion to explore the grounds tomorrow, to avoid sitting with Rose if anything.
Rose never did reappear, and the rest of the day had been spent reading and dodging Agatha’s questions about Edna Brexley. Pandora had asked a few questions in return but learned little. If there was a reason for Agatha’s obsession, she kept it close to her heart.
Her new lady’s maid was a young woman named Jemima, who Pandora liked immediately. She had merry brown eyes and a ready smile and chatted away without a care in the world as she helped Pandora undress. Jemima tucked Pandora into bed with an air of a mother hen checking on her eggs and bid her goodnight before retiring to her own room in the attic.
Alone. Pandora was finally alone. She lay under the heavy blankets in her nightgown and stared up at the canopy of the four-poster bed. A hundred feelings flew through her heart, disbelief chief among them.
She was a married woman. After several Seasons of helping other women come to this vital part of their life, it seemed impossible that it had somehow happened to her. So much had changed in the passing of a week, and her head fairly spun from it all. She took long, concentrated breaths before she was calm enough to attempt to sleep.
Sleep had almost claimed her when the sound of the curtains on her bed stirring brought her out of the depths. The covers lifted, sending a gust of cold air around her, and someone slipped into the bed. Pandora froze. There was a candlestick on the table to her left. If she was quick enough– Hands reached out to trace up her torso, and she yelped as she reached for the candlestick.
