Page 18 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
“Oh, what sweet darlings,” Emmeline said, crouching down in the straw to get a better look at them. They were only a few days’ old, eyes still closed and nosing their mother’s side.
“Yes, well.” The groom shifted uncomfortably. “His Grace does not like kittens, you see, Your Grace.”
“Not like kittens?” Emmeline held one tortoiseshell kitten up to the light, its little pink mouth opening and letting out a tiny mewl. “How could anyonenotlike kittens?”
“He says there are more cats in the stables than he knows what to do with.”
“Well,” she murmured, more to the cats than the groom, “we cannot be having that, can we? Leave it to me, Lochlan. I shall manage it.”
Lochlan nodded, visibly relieved. “I am glad you see the sense in it, Your Grace.”
Emmeline hid a smile as she made arrangements for the cat and her kittens to be moved. It would not do for them to be outside, too, given the weather was decidedly cold. No, they would do better in the library. If she was lucky, they would grow up without the Duke’s knowledge, and by the time he finally discovered them, they would be fully grown house cats.
That seemed especially likely, given the fact he never seemed to leave the east wing. He would probably not venture into the library for another few months, by which time they would be larger, if not full-grown.
When the kittens had been collected, Emmeline scooped them up in her shawl and made her way back inside the house. For once, to her relief, she did not see the Duke, and she was able to make the kittens a sweet nest amongst the cushions of a sofa, which she removed for the very purpose.
Yes, this was perfect.
If he disliked cats so very much, then no doubt he would hate to discover the existence of cats inside his house.
And so much the better that shelovedcats.
“There you go,” she crooned, settling the mother cat in.
There was a chance the cat would return them to the stables, but Emmeline would merely have to keep checking in and making sure she was where she was supposed to be.
Leaving the cats, she moved through the house to the drawing room. One thing she had noticed over the course of her first week in the house was that the drawing room was directly beside the east wing.
If she were to play the pianoforte loudly enough, perhaps she would disturb him, and he would feel he had no choice but to send her back to London. They were not a good match; they were not well-suited.
And, she reflected with a smug smile, he could hardly pretend to be angry when it was somethinghehad suggested she do.
She was a mediocre player and had not sat at a keyboard for a long time, but she ran her fingers over the keys and took a moment to compose herself. This was yet another reason Aurelia would make a more pleasing wife. Aurelia played and sang like she was a goddess from Olympus itself. There was nothing more pleasing to the ear than her playing, and it had entranced more than one local baron’s son when they had been children.
Emmeline, however… While she had received the same lessons that Aurelia had, their governess being extremely proficient, she had come away with lots of training and very little skill.
Flexing her fingers, she began to play. First, a scale, to warm up her hands, plonking the notes as loudly as she dared. Then she embarked on a folk song, accompanying herself with approximate precision and no grace. Her voice was, when she applied herself, pleasant enough, but she made no effort to sing well, merely doing her best to sing loudly.
This ought to become a routine, so long as she was assured he could hear her. She was not entirely certain her voice box could survive otherwise. When she was about to embark on her second song, footsteps approached, quick and irritated.
“What the devil is that screeching?” he demanded, stepping into the room with his customary brusqueness.
“My husband.” Emmeline gave him a poisonous smile. “Will not you join me?”
“I think not. What are you doing?”
“You encouraged me to sing, did you not?”
A knowing look flashed in his eyes, and it almost felt as though he was… amused. Though that could not be right. She was proving how ill-suited they were.
“So,” he said, “That is what this is about.”
“I cannot pretend to know your meaning, Sir, but I am glad I am pleasing you.” She continued to play, her fingers missing the notes in a jarring symphony of errors. “Will not you join me?”
“You know I will not.”
She cast him a coy glance, knowing just how much it would irritate him. “You did not object to joining me the last time we spoke.”
