Page 88 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“Mostly the weather,” Aslyn told her.
Gillie laughed. “How business is good when the day is warm but even better when the cold winds blow because those without are looking for shelter?”
“Something like that. Just rely on our mock conversations if you find yourself floundering. You handled those quite nicely.”
Aslyn had tutored her on a gamut of topics, forcing her to discuss matters over which she had no interest as though she was enthralled by the subjects, practicing hour after hour.
The coach finally came to a stop in front of the wide steps—a huge reclining lion on each end—that led up to two open doors, a footman standing at attention on either side. Another footman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. Aslyn slipped her hand into his gloved one and allowed him to hand her down. Gillie followed her example, expected she’d be doing so for a good bit of the night. Mick alighted.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Now that she was actually here, she was rather anxious to catch a glimpse of Thorne’s world. She followed her brother and his wife up the steps and into the entranceway. Once over the threshold, she came to an abrupt stop at the cavernous room and the black marble staircases that swept up and around on either side. Portraits, so many portraits, lined the walls that he had to be able to trace his ancestry back to Adam and Eve. She couldn’t fathom it—to know what the person who came before you looked like and the one before him and the one before him. To know the features of the person they’d married, the shade of their hair. To see your deep brown eyes, the shape of your nose, your strong jaw in so many others. She’d never had that, had never missed it, and yet now she couldn’t help but believe what a wonderful bit of history it would be to possess all that knowledge.
“Gillie?” Mick asked gently, snapping her from her reverie.
“Sorry. It’s just so much to take in.” Besides all the portraits, there were statues and vases, some empty, some overflowing with flowers. There were tables and chairs and—good Lord, was that a knight?
They wandered into a parlor where there were so many sofas, chairs, and small tables it was a wonder anyone could move through it. A maid took her wrap, along with Aslyn’s and her brother’s hat, before directing them toward a door at the far end of the enormous room. There were fewer portraits here but a good many paintings of the countryside. Quaint and harmonious. She could imagine finding some peace in this room.
Leaving through the doorway, they entered a wide corridor and followed the length of it until another servant pointed them toward some stairs. “You’d need a map to live here,” she muttered as they began the ascent.
“You learn your way around very quickly,” Aslyn said.
“Did you grow up in a house like this?” Gillie asked.
“Very similar.”
“It’s grand but also seems a bit of a waste.” She couldn’t imagine all the years and all the coins it had taken to fill these rooms withthings. Much better to fill them with people, which she supposed was why they put on balls and dinners and other fancy affairs.
As they neared the top of the stairs, she heard music, lovely music, gentle and slow, coming through the open doorway where people took turns to move through it. She would dance at least once to music like that. Perhaps she could find a music box to play the tune for her whenever she wanted to remember this night.
Then they crossed over the threshold. A tall fellow dressed in red livery asked their names and when he turned away from them, his voice boomed out, “Lady Aslyn and Mr. Mick Trewlove. Miss Gillian Trewlove.”
She began the descent into an enormous room of mirrors, flowers, chandeliers, balconies—
And him.
Thorne was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his forearm resting on the newel post, his smile for her and her alone. She knew it as clearly as she knew she needed breath in order to live—even though at the moment it was a bit difficult to come by. He was gorgeous, simply gorgeous, in a black swallow-tailed coat, white brocade waistcoat, white shirt, and black cravat. And there was a golden chain dangling from a button to a small pocket where she had no doubt his watch was nestled, back with him, exactly where it belonged. All the hours of preparation with dress fittings and waltzing lessons were suddenly worth it, just for a few minutes of gazing on him in all his glory.
Then he was reaching out for her, his white-gloved hand extended toward her. Without thought or purpose, she placed her gloved hand in his, hating that any cloth at all separated them. His fingers closed around hers with such surety that every doubt she possessed about being here melted away.
“Miss Trewlove,” he said quietly, lifting her hand to his mouth, pressing a hot lingering kiss there. “I’m so pleased you could join us.”
“I’m pleased as well.”
He grinned. “Liar.”
“No, really.” She glanced around. “It’s all so magnificent.” Her gaze came back to him. “You’re magnificent.”
His eyes glowed with pleasure, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her compliment but had more to do with her presence. How was it that he could make her tingle all over with little more than his nearness?
Releasing her hand, he shifted his gaze to the couple. “Lady Aslyn.”
“Thorne. I believe you’ve met Mick.”
“Indeed. It seems marriage agrees with you both.”
“I find it much to my liking,” Aslyn said, clearly comfortable with the duke. “I’m sorry your own nuptials didn’t go as planned.”
