Page 16 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
Chapter Four
"Gemini, is it really noon?"
Ava blinked as Sally, the chamber maid, pulled open the velvet drapes, allowing bright rays of sun to bathe her sumptuous bed chamber.
Emily's sumptuous bedchamber, Ava corrected herself sternly.
This was but her third morning to awaken on a soft feather-mattress, but already Ava had become rather accustomed to the style in which her twin sister lived. Emily's bedchamber, a large room with high ceilings and two bay windows looking out onto Grosvenor Square, was so palatial that on her first night there, Ava had pinched herself to make sure it was not a dream.
The room was decorated in shades of soft rose; from the velvet drapes upon the windows, to the hangings on her four poster bed, everything matched perfectly. A large fireplace dominated the far wall of the room, and in it a merry flame burned from dawn to dusk—such luxury!
"I have never slept so late in all my life," Ava continued, as she stretched her weary muscles.
"You always sleep 'till noon, my Lady," Sally replied with confusion, "At least you used to always sleep 'till noon. Did you want me to wake you earlier?"
"No, no, noon is perfect," Ava replied quickly, inwardly cursing her slip of the tongue, "You'll have to excuse me Sally, I am still a little tired after Lady Jersey's ball."
Which was the truth. Ava had not realised how demanding London's social scene would be. Last night Emily's eldest brother, Theo and his wife Beatrice, had kept her out until the small hours of the morning. And, even though the clock had been striking two when they had left, Lady Jersey's ball had remained full of revellers. Ava shuddered to think of the amount of work that would be required to clean it.
You don't have to worry about cleaning anything for now, a voice in her head reminded her, all you have to worry about is repelling the Duke of Kilbride and you did a jolly good job of it last night.
She frowned a little at the memory of her altercation with the intimidating duke. That Emily had given hercarte blancheto act as she pleased around the man, did little to assuage her nerves at having spoken to one of England's most titled men in such a dismissive manner.
Still, she thought with another frown, he rather deserved it. Ava had struggled to reconcile the warm, smiling man she had oft seen in Mr Hobbs', with the man who had written the curt letter demanding her attendance at Lady Jersey's.
When she had berated him last night for not saying please or thank you, she had meant it. It was Goethe who had said that a man's manners were a mirror in which he showed his portrait to the world, and Ava had not liked the picture that Kilbride had painted for her.
Rude. Arrogant. Condescending.
