Page 16 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“Your mother is a woman of both heart and intellect. Is she not of your class and station?”
“Yes, of course, but she is the rarity.”
“I see.” As Marybeth’s experience with the noble born was limited, she had no alternative but to take his word for it. “That is a sad thing indeed.”
“Indeed,” the Duke agreed, studying her face once more.
“My apologies if I overstepped, Your Grace.”
“Not at all. I appreciate a woman with spirit. You must never fear to speak your mind around me, Miss Wright.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most gracious.”
“Not particularly, I simply appreciate honesty.”
“But it does not change how you feel about marrying Lady Cordelia, does it?”
“No, it does not, but I thank you for your concern. I would be honored to count you among my friends if you are amenable?”
“It would be an honor, Your Grace.” Marybeth bowed her head in acknowledgement of the honor.
“It is I who am honored, Miss Wright,” the Duke bowed his head in return.
“If we are to be friends, Your Grace, then perhaps you could call me Marybeth. Miss Wright seems quite unnatural to me after spending a lifetime secluded in the forest with only my grandmother and Oliver to provide companionship.”
“Very well, Marybeth. You must call me Felix.”
“Are you certain that is wise, given our significant variance in station?”
“Perhaps a compromise then? In private we shall call each other our given names, but in public we shall continue to use our honorifics.”
Marybeth smiled. “A sound plan, Your Grace.”
“We are in private now, are we not, Marybeth?”
Her smiled turned into a grin of amusement. “A sound plan, Felix.”
“Excellent!” he grinned back. “Now you must always promise to be as honest as you have been with me here and now. No matter the circumstance, you must always tell me exactly how you feel.”
“I cannot imagine that such a thing is wise, Your Grace. I mean Felix,” she corrected herself.
“Perhaps not, but let us try it anyway, shall we?”
“As you wish.” A knock at the door disturbed their conversation. “Come in,” the Duke beckoned.
The butler, Mr. Wheatly, entered and bowed. “Lady Cordelia awaits you in the drawing room, Your Grace.”
The Duke straightened up, adjusted his collar, and turned toward the door with a resigned look in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Wheatly. Please, tell Lady Cordelia that I will be with her shortly.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Wheatly bowed once more and then left the room.
Turning to Marybeth, the Duke bowed over her hand placing a kiss upon its back. “Until later, my dear friend,” he murmured, then left the room, his shoulders as ramrod straight as if he were going to his own execution instead of courting a beautiful noble woman.
Marybeth felt sorry for him and could not understand throwing one’s life away over the wishes of another, even if that person was your mother. Marybeth’s grandmother had raised her to be strong and independent. Intelligence had been encouraged as an asset, though it went against the fashion for young women of the day. Though she had been secluded, her grandmother had made sure that Marybeth was aware of the stark differences of her life and that of the rest of English society so that if the need ever arose, she could stand up for herself, protect herself.
Sighing, Marybeth examined the sleeping features of the Dowager Duchess’s face.Surely, she would not wish her son to suffer so on her behalf. I wonder if she knows the burden she has placed upon him by her request that he marry the Lady Cordelia?Marybeth knew that it was not her place to tell the Duchess such a thing, but she found the urge hard to resist. She hated the idea of a life such as the Duke’s being lost in a loveless marriage. As far as she could tell, there was not even one drop of affection between the Duke and the Lady.
“So very sad,” she murmured aloud to the silent room. “So very sad indeed.”
