Page 55 of Her Duke By Accident
Alicia felt herself tighten. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Ayles.”
“I apologize, Your Grace,” she said. “I just want you to understand.”
Alicia turned away from her. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand what happens in Garvey.”
“And that shouldn’t be a problem, Your Grace. Sometimes,” she said, “you just need to accept things for the way they are. Accept that your husband is only a man you had to marry for propriety’s sake. Accept that he is withdrawn and closed off — it’s not like hewantedto marry you.”
Alicia winced at her words.
“Besides, it was just a sham marriage, wasn’t it?”
The duchess met the governess’s gaze. “I suppose it was.”
Miss Ayles stood and fluffed out her skirt. “Take heed in speaking to the duke, Your Grace,” she said as she walked to the door. “You might find you regret it afterward.” With a polite bow, the governess left the drawing room.
Despite how much Matthew despised gentlemen’s clubs, he found himself preparing a carriage once more to head into London and visit Lew’s and Crake’s. After giving Danvers his word on returning, he figured he’d get it over and done with before the nightly crowd rolled in.
Waiting on the front steps of Garvey, Matthew turned at the sound of footsteps coming towards him. “Good morning, Mr. Livingston.”
The butler breathed deeply by the time he got to where Matthew stood. “I hope all is well, Your Grace.”
“It very much is,” he replied.
“Where are you headed?”
Matthew glared. “Lew’s and Crake’s.”
“Really,” the butler mused, “again so soon?”
“I wouldn’t get into it with me, Mr. Livingston.”
The butler let out a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t dare, Your Grace. I only wished to catch you before you departed to ask about some specifications.”
“What kinds of specifications?”
“Ms. Crawford was not clear in her notes about it,” Mr. Livingston said, “so do you know how many extra candles we should order for the ball? The townhouse is quite naturally dark with where the sun rises and sets, so I assumed an extra crate or two. But just to be sure, what is your suggestion, Your Grace?”
Matthew stared at the old man’s balding head in confusion. “Candles for the ball?”
“Well, yes, Your Grace,” he said. “The ball Her Grace is organizing. I was sure you had heard of it by now.”
“Of course,” Matthew growled, clenching his fists at his sides. He fought the anger that rose in his throat and turned to face the butler. “Refer to the duchess and the housekeeper for that, Mr. Livingston.”
The butler bowed his head. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
Matthew didn’t know what to do at that point. He could feel Mr. Livingston’s eyes on him, as though the old man had something else to say. “What is it?”
“Nothing, Your Grace,” he said. “Except?—”
“Out with it, Mr. Livingston.”
“Why would it be so difficult to host a ball, Your Grace?”
“It is not a matter of difficulty,” Matthew snapped. “I will not allow myself to be the laughing stock of the ton because of the carelessness of my wife.”
Mr. Livingston bowed his head again. “Of course, Your Grace.” The butler made his way slowly back up the stairs.
Matthew breathed deeply, tapping his foot impatiently. “Where is that damn carriage?” he muttered under his breath.
