Page 28 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
Indeed, Veronica spared a glance at the neat expanse of fields surrounding Westley Manor.
She steeled herself for her new life right before Mrs. Nelson beckoned her inside.
Chapter Ten
“Westley Manor is rather vibrant compared to His Grace and his … dark tastes,” Veronica commented idly as she walked with Mrs. Nelson the following day.
She had just shown Veronica the library that was quite a sight. Bedecked in all manner of bright colors, vibrant reds and pinks, blues and greens, and the peacock patterns adorning the walls around the bookshelves, it had given Veronica an inkling of a headache.
They walked into the drawing room, a brightly colored room that once again made her head hurt to look at. She grimaced, trying to muster a smile before Mrs. Nelson could spot her.
“It is… beautiful,” she added, not wanting to offend.
But the housekeeper gave her a comforting smile. “It is quite heavy on the senses, I understand. But you must remember,Your Grace, that the late Duke of Westley was only His Grace’s uncle. The late Duke most enjoyed colors and embellishments. Many men would have their latest hunt mounted on the wall but…” She gestured to the plume of peacock feathers. “The late Duke preferred peacocks.”
Veronica hid her brewing laugh behind her hand, nodding. “I see. It is rather… eccentric.”
“Quite,” Mrs. Nelson agreed. “His duchess shared the same taste. The Ton is always gossiping about her wardrobe. Many patterns, deep colors that one cannot not help but notice, and a lot of headwear.”
As Veronica surveyed the drawing room before they moved onto the next landing below them and entered the music room, she could imagine the kind of wardrobe either the late Duke or Duchess wore.
“Their combined tastes led to this… lively decor. However, His Grace is always busy with other estate matters or on his travels and tending to business, so he rarely has time to change the manor’s appearance.”
Mrs. Nelson paused at the window, watching Veronica take it all in.
The music room was a bold, ugly shade of green, and it pained Veronica.
“Perhaps Your Grace could take care of some redecoration?”
“I am not at all averted,” Veronica said, shaking her head. “This is a music room! Music is supposed to calm the senses, not send them into a frenzy. I would like a calming appearance for the music room and the library. Cozier, muted colors. Do you think that is where I should start?”
“I would suggest Her Grace starts where she pleases,” Mrs. Nelson told her. “But I would highly recommend staying away from His Grace’s study and not changing anything about that. His Grace is comforted with the study, and he would not take to change lightly in there.”
Veronica nodded. If it was anything like the study he had in Turner Hall, then she would not wish to change anything besides asking to open the curtains once in a while. But she looked around the music room, nodding to herself.
Yes,Veronica thought,it is time for big changes indeed.
Henry was in a foul mood. With his patience worn to the bone, he’d suffered a morning of meeting with tenants, hearing their requests and trying to help them revolve their harvest problems and prices of land.
They did not resent him—if anything the villagers of Westley were kind, gentle people, who had welcomed him as the Duke since his uncle’s passing.
Still, he was eager to shut himself in his study, get back to paperwork, and not have to keep the lengthy conversations up that bored him and wore him down. He was a man of few words unless he knew the power of what those words would do, and he liked to keep it that way.
He swung a leg over his horse and dropped down with a thud, handing the reins to a stable hand who immediately had rushed out to take his horse. It was his favorite, a beastly black stallion that carried him easily across the countryside plains. Whenever he had to trade his horse for the carriages in London, he missed the freedom of riding.
As his horse was taken away, Henry’s eyes fell on a sight he had not expected. Footmen and workers he did not recognize were coming and going through the entrance, carrying a selection of couches and tables out and into a cart.
Confused and angry, not wanting to deal with one more thing in his day, Henry stalked over, paying the workers no mind.
The footmen glanced uneasily at him and then returned to carrying rugs and fabric. Others waited to goin, and he held out a hand to stop them, silently warning them off.
Inside, Westley Manor was in disarray. Furniture that had lined the hallways—a comfortable chaise lounge that he was proneto sitting on after a hard travel day—had been taken out or moved askew to make room for something else. Busts had been adjusted, and curtains had been pulled down.
Heavens above, the wallpaper has come down, he thought, looking into the library. A footman passed him, holding up a stool from the parlor. Henry glanced around incredulously.
“Will somebody tell me what on Earth is going onin my own home?”
The footman stood straighter, his face going pale. “The—the Duche?—”
