Page 12 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“Oh, and I have so many in mind.” She sighed and allowed herself to lapse into silence, having run out of things to say to this rude, infuriating man.
He made a noise of undeniable relief, and she began to plot what things she could do to persuade him that he had made a mistake in marrying her.
The miles rattled past as they sat in silence, and Emmeline had decided that she would interfere with the cook, bidding him to make the Duke’s least favorite meals on a regular basis, when the man himself leaned forward.
“There it is,” he said, nodding out the window.
Emmeline twisted, trying to get a good look. The avenue was long but poorly maintained, overgrown and untidy, and beyond was the house. It was evidently a manor house that some ancestor in the past had built to resemble a castle. There were two towers on either side of the building, and the roof resembled parapets. The windows were, she saw with relief, not arrow slits, and ivy rambled up one side of the building, diminishing its imposing aura.
The Duke’s eyes were on her, but for once she was not trying to hide her true feelings from him. They were married, this was to be her new home. Whether or not she would be staying there for long, it was nevertheless going to be an important part of her life. There would be no avoiding it forever.
But if she was going to persuade him that they were ill-suited, she could not be honest with her first impressions.
She wrinkled her nose as the house approached. “It looks veryold,” she said. “And drafty. Are there many drafts, Your Grace?”
ChapterFour
Emmeline stared after the Duke as he disappeared within the house’s walls, swallowed up by his prestige and history. A footman leaped forward to hand her down from the carriage, and a smartly dressed housekeeper approached with a kindly smile.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying. “It is an honor to meet you. When His Grace wrote to inform us that he was getting married and bringing his bride to the house—well, make no mistake, Ma’am, I was deeply intrigued to see what lady had caught his eye.”
Emmeline almost laughed, both at the housekeeper’s chattiness, which was wholly unexpected from a retainer of such a taciturn man, and by the idea that she had caught his eye.
The only thing that appeared to catch his eye was money.
“I am glad to meet you, Mrs.…”
“Oh, Mrs. Pentwhistle. Come on in now, so we can get you settled. I have had your bedchamber prepared, and I hope it is to your taste, although of course you can make changes as you see fit.”
Mrs. Pentwhistle hurried into the house. She was a plump lady of indeterminate age, her demeanor that of determined cheerfulness. No wonder, when one had to consider what she must be forced to endure on a daily basis.
It was a good thing that Emmeline had not expected pomp and ceremony when she arrived because the servants were busy carrying out their duties. Mrs. Pentwhistle introduced her to them by name, and Emmeline did her best to remember them. Just because she intended to force the Duke to chase her out of the house did not mean she should be remiss in her duties in regard to the servants. They were not to blame for their master’s deficiencies.
The interior of the house was just as she had imagined it to be: a little old, a little worn, but in excellent taste. Whoever the previous mistress of the house had been, she had done her job well.
“Well, that would have been the Duke’s mother,” Mrs. Pentwhistle said when asked. Her face twisted with sadness. “That was a tragedy. Gone before her time, she was, and the nicest mistress you could ever have asked for.”
Emmeline crossed to the library window and stared out across the gardens. To her surprise and relief, although the library was as worn as every other part of the house, the chairs threadbare and the bindings on the books somewhat fragile, it was a large and well-proportioned room.
“What happened to her?”
“There was a nasty fire. A terrible accident.” Mrs. Pentwhistle shook her head sadly. “The house has been devoid of a mistress since then, though I pride myself on not letting the place fall to rack and ruin.”
“No, indeed you have not,” Emmeline reassured her. “I would not wish to change a thing.”
Mrs. Pentwhistle’s plump face creased into a smile. “You can be honest, Your Grace” —Emmeline would never get used to the title, she was convinced—“the house is sadly shabby and in need of refurbishment.”
“Oh, perhaps some new cushions for the chairs,” Emmeline said. “And a few new curtains, perhaps, where these have faded from the sun. But it is very elegant and charming.”
Mrs. Pentwhistle beamed. “You are very good to say so, Your Grace. Now, let me show you to your bedchamber.”
Upstairs was much like below, and Emmeline was ushered into her bedchamber, where she discovered a room that had evidently been made up especially for her. A door in the left-hand wall led to the Duke’s room. The proximity of it made her shudder a little, but she steeled herself and looked in her dressing room and the copper tub that was already placed in front of the fire, ready for when she would want a bath.
“Where is His Grace?” she asked after a few moments.
Mrs. Pentwhistle gave a not very convincing smile. “I expect he is in the east wing. He allows no one else there, you know.”
