Page 7 of The Duke's Return
“A peacock,” Genevieve responded automatically and received a rap of a fan on her shoulder. “I told you not to put the feather in.”
Phoebe was forever trying out a new style, never comfortable with what she picked for herself. She’d seen someone wearing a colorful turban on their carriage ride to the gallery, and had forced a detour to find herself something. It was only an extra feather in her hair, but it was certainly… colorful.
As Genevieve eyed it warily, she hoped it wouldn’t fall over on her. The colors were vibrant, true, but the setting of the feather was far from reassuring.
Forcing herself to look away, she glanced around the gallery to spot three matrons of society in the corner. All three of them were hiding the lower halves of their faces behind their fans. Not out of the ordinary should they be attending a ball or wandering through a park, but definitely odd in a gallery. They weren’t even looking at the nearby art.
When she looked, all three of them hastily turned away and toward one another. She frowned before turning back to Phoebe.
Her friend was pouting. “It will be all the rage soon, I do believe. That must be it. They’re admiring the colors. It helps with the red hair, you see. Can you believe my mother thought I should wear pink today? What a lark! She believes that if I only wore pink once, I should finally find a proper gentleman to marry.” Then she snorted and waved spiritedly at the matrons.
The attention was too much for Genevieve, who flushed. Her dearest friend since childhood had always been opinionated.Clever and protective, Phoebe was the youngest of three children. She knew nothing but boldness, such as feathers in her already bright hair, though sometimes Genevieve wondered what else she hid.
I know she dreams of romance. She’s always telling me to read those books, sharing her favorites. But her father says there is no rush for her to wed, so she might do as she likes. Is she truly happy, I wonder, to be as she is now?
“I think we have bigger concerns in life than the presence or absence of pink,” she said at last. “Come, let’s find another room. We can enjoy the art there.”
“Perfect!”
Except it was difficult to return to that state of mind to enjoy the art once they found a small and empty exhibit room. It had taken the last forty minutes for Genevieve to properly look at any of the paintings. After noticing the stares, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.
What if they know the duke has returned? My husband has only just returned but there is no telling who else might know. Perhaps they know I’m a recluse. They couldn’t possibly care. Or do they think that might change upon knowing he is in town? What a bother all of this guessing can be!
“Genevieve?”
“Hm?”
“You’ve not looked at one picture and keep wandering in circles. Are you thinking about those ladies? Or is something else wrong?”
She managed a fond smile. “It’s not the feather. It’s only… Oh, I shouldn’t like to be a bother.”
Tsking, her friend pulled her close as they stood before a painting of a beautiful lady dressed in mourning crepe. “Do not be ridiculous. You are never a bother. You are my dearest friend, and I will vanquish every dragon in your path if I might. Perhaps I can help?”
“How kind you are,” Genevieve told her with a smile. “Thank you, but I think that is unlikely. I am… Well, I suppose I’m wondering if everyone might be staring my way. I may again be the subject of gossip columns.”
It had been awfully uncomfortable when she married the duke, for he disappeared, and her name was shared in the papers. Invitations rushed in and everyone wanted a bite of the new duchess. How awful that first month had been for her.
“Whatever for? Did you cause a scandal without me?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said with a sigh, wrinkling her nose at her friend. “It seems women can’t control their husbands as much as my mother told me. The Duke of Southwick has returned to England.”
Phoebe’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon? Your husband?”
A lady and gentleman stepped into the exhibit space, forcing the two of them to lift their fans and tuck further into their corner so as to not be overheard. “Yes,” Genevieve muttered. “He’s in my house this very minute.”
“His house, too, I believe.”
“He hadn’t resided there since he was a lad,” Genevieve said, echoing what Mrs. Culpepper had told her many months ago. “It is not entailed and it’s practically mine at this point.” Her friend snorted. “Phoebe, please!”
But Phoebe was wrinkling her nose, a smile curving her lips. “Oh, Genevieve, don’t look so dour. How exciting this is! Your husband has returned. I didn’t think he could stay away from you for long. You’re too lovely and he is well known for liking beautiful women.”
That did nothing to help her. “Now you’re being ridiculous and I don’t appreciate it. There is nothing romantic about his return. The man is a rake and a scoundrel. The thought of him being anything else is entirely laughable.”
“He does have a weighty reputation,” her friend admitted. “Notorious, even. But quite charming. I danced with him once.”
“As you’ve told me a dozen times. Perhaps you should have married him.”
“Goodness, no. His complexion is too much for me and I am entirely too much for him,” quipped Phoebe. “But do tell me. Did he say why he returned if not for you? His leave hardly helped his reputation. No one understands why he married, let alone married you.” Phoebe added an apologetic smile to her words.
