Page 22 of Duke of Emeralds
Servants lined up in the grand foyer, bowing and curtsying the instant they walked in. “Allow me to present the Duchess of Lushton,” Thomas said to them, then turned to Hester and gestured toward a reserved woman with silvering dark hair, gray eyes, and a rigid posture. “This is Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, and Mr. Slater the butler.” Mr. Slater bowed again in greeting, but his expression was stony.
“It is indeed a pleasure to welcome a duchess back to these halls, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith said. Her head inclined just enough to acknowledge Hester, yet her expression remained as cold and unyielding as the stone walls surrounding them. A wave of disappointment washed over Hester, mingling with anger at the lackluster reception. She scanned the faces of the other servants, each one as stoic as the next.
“Mrs. Smith shall assist ye in all matters pertainin’ to Lushton Castle. Ye will find her most capable,” Thomas declared, releasing her hand.
Hester’s heart plummeted.But I did not wed Mrs. Smith, she nearly protested, her lips parting to voice her frustration. Yet before she could speak, the housekeeper glided forward, her arm sweeping in a gesture of command. “Right this way, Your Grace. I believe you would wish to see your chambers now.”
Hester cast a glance at Thomas, but he had already turned away, issuing rapid instructions to Mr. Slater. With a resigned sigh and a simmering disappointment, Hester followed Mrs. Smith through the grand hallways of the castle, a sense of abandonment settling over her like a heavy cloak. She had hoped that he would show her the castle.
She paused mid-step and frowned. Why did she feel disappointed? This marriage was only a convenient arrangement and nothing more.
The castle was magnificent, and as they ascended the sweeping staircase, Hester caught glimpses of ornate tapestries that depicted heroic tales and landscapes. She realized at that moment that she knew nothing about the man she married, and she had been so occupied with the notion of avoiding love that she never bothered to learn anything.
Upon reaching her chambers, her belongings were swiftly brought up, and her lady’s maid, Miss Sarah Holt, bustled about, unpacking her dresses and arranging her toiletries with meticulous care.
Hester looked about the room, decorated in tones of deep blue and mahogany—hardly colors fit for a lady, much less a duchess. A shiver ran down her spine. How was she to make this place her home?
“You shall look splendid for dinner, Your Grace,” Miss Holt said as she inserted tiny pearls into Hester’s hair, some enthusiasm breaking through the otherwise stifling atmosphere.
“Thank you, I hope to make a good impression,” Hester replied, smoothing the delicate pale green fabric of a dress between her fingers though the thought felt hollow. She did not feel welcome here, and a part of her wished to dine alone.
Downstairs, she paused at the foot of the stairs, bracing herself for either an awkward dinner with her husband or an unexpectedly enjoyable one. Movement from her left caught her eyes, and she turned to see Slater coming forward and bowing.
“Your Grace, the Duke has asked me to inform you that he shan’t be joining you this evening.”
Predictable. Hester nodded, but before Hester could inquire further, he bowed and departed, leaving her standing alone at the foot of the stairs, bewildered. What manner of servants were these who had no regard for their duchess? And why would Thomas leave her with them like this?
Straightening her shoulders, Heater took a deep, steadying breath and found the dining room. It was a vast and cold space with a round table instead of a rectangular one, and a place had been set for one.
Hester took her seat and eyed the dishes; a first course of creamy soup, a main of roast beef and vegetables, and blancmange fordessert. Then she looked up at the only company she was to have tonight. A footman.
Hester did not so much mind her husband’s absence as she did the castle’s lack of warmth—literal and figurative.
“Is the fireplace usually kept this low at mealtimes?” she asked the footman.
“I…” He glanced at the fireplace which appeared to be banked. “I do not know, Your Grace.”
Hester’s eyes widened slightly, but she did not say anything more as she picked up her spoon and began with the soup. After her solitary meal, she considered retiring to her chambers. However, exploring her new home appeared to be a better idea.
She found Slater in the grand foyer, standing stiffly by a longcase clock. “I would like to see the castle.”
A subtle rise of his eyebrows was the butler’s initial response before he asked, “At this hour, Your Grace?” His tone implied a challenge, and Hester’s confidence immediately deflated.
“I… There is illumination in the castle, is there not?”
“I am afraid Mrs. Smith’s eyesight is especially poor at night.”
“I—I did not ask for Mrs. Smith to show me the castle; I asked you.”
Slater bowed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I must remain at this post for when His Grace returns.”
Hester felt as though she had crossed an invisible boundary by requesting something at anunreasonablehour. “Of course,” she murmured, more to herself, and turned on her heel.
If they wouldn’t show her Lushton Castle, she would discover it for herself. She ventured into the west wing hallway. It was dim with only a candelabra illuminating the space.
“Is this household averse to lighting?” she mused as she picked up the candelabra.
Armed with her beacon, she moved forward. The hallway was a gallery of judgment with stern-faced ancestors staring down from their gilded frames, their painted eyes seeming to follow her every move.
