Page 14 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
The Duke of Studborne was not as she had expected.
They climbedthe stairs at a funereal pace, Cornwort wobbling so much that Rosamund half expected him to topple backwards, where he’d have a reasonably soft landing on her mother.
Mrs. Burnell was busy looking about her.
Several fine marble statues occupied alcoves on the ascending stairs, and there were endless paintings—all finely executed. The tapestries looked rather faded, but one had to allow for that. They were authentic, after all, and probably rather old.
“Such costly things! And such grandeur! To think you might be mistress of the whole spread, my little chick!” Mrs. Burnell squeezed her daughter’s arm. “Did you see the way the duke looked at you?”
“Shush, Ma.” Rosamund gave a warning glare.
It was likely the butler was hard of hearing, but it would be mortifying for her mother’s words to be repeated in the servants’ hall.
Mrs. Burnell lowered her voice a little. “And the portrait! You must have noticed. All men have their preferences, and you are alike. It will all happen just as I’m hoping. He’ll be on his knees within the week!”
Reaching the next floor, the butler continued down a narrow passageway panelled in dark wood, lit by candles in sconces. The smoke made Rosamund’s eyes water. At last, almost at the very end of the corridor, he stopped, turning a handle on one of the doors.
“Your chamber, Madam.” He invited Mrs. Burnell to step through. “The connecting door leads to a room for the young lady. I trust you’ll have all you need. The gong calls to dine at seven.”
With that, he left them, the door clicking softly shut.
“Not bad at all.” Mrs. Burnell fingered the velvet drapes upon the bed post before opening the double doors of the great wardrobe.
“And it looks as if someone’s been hanging up my things.” She beamed. “So nice to have servants again after making do mostly on our own.”
Over at the window, Rosamund looked across the lawns, towards the lake.
It was what she’d dreamed of, wasn’t it?
Such a home? And a titled husband?
He was older than she’d imagined for herself, but he was far from unattractive. In his prime, her mother would doubtless say. Certainly, of an age when he might still father children—which was the point, after all.
“I’ll order some tea.” Her mother was already tugging at the bell pull. “Isn’t it about now that the English serve their cakes and such? I wouldn’t mind a slice of something sweet.”
Rosamund gave her mother a weary smile. “I’ll go lie down for a while.”
“Of course, dear. You rest up. I’ll check in on you when it’s time to dress.” Her mother picked up her scent bottle, giving herself a spritz. “Don’t forget, you’ll be wearing the rubies—but not with dark silk. We need you to look fresh and lovely. The pink dress will be better; more virginal.”
Rosamund gritted her teeth.
Of all the things she would be pretending that evening, her maidenhood was one thing she wouldn’t need to fake.
Chapter 6
With relief,Rosamund rested her back against the door and closed her eyes. Was everyone’s mother like this?
Kicking off her shoes, she wriggled against the lacing of her corset. Over the summer, she’d taken to hardly tightening it at all—even going without sometimes—but her mother had insisted she cinch her waist fashionably while they were in company.
“Good afternoon, Madam. I’m Mrs. Cornwort.” A voice came from across the room. “I’ve been putting away your things.”
Startled, Rosamund looked about her, suddenly self-conscious.
The woman staring fixedly in her direction wore black unrelieved by the addition of an apron.
She was clearly a member of staff—and a senior one at that, judging by her age. Though, the severity of her hair pulled back in a bun and sour expression doubtless made her seem older than she was.
Reaching into the trunk, she extracted a pair of bloomers, folding them into a drawer.
