Page 89 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“I’m not.” Taking Gillie’s hand again, he tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Come. My mother is looking forward to seeing you again, Aslyn, and meeting two new members to your family.”
If the woman standing not too far away as rigidly as possible was his mother, then Gillie doubted the duchess looked forward to anything in her life. She stood there as though she were the model for the carving of a bust for the prow of a ship, a figurehead that would no doubt send the most dastardly pirates sailing in the opposite direction. Thorne folded his fingers over Gillie’s where they still rested in the crook of his elbow, offering her reassurance, which she didn’t need. She’d dealt with those stern disapproving looks her entire life, and knew the best way to deal with them was to offer the mere hint of a smile, as though she harbored a delicious secret the other would die to know.
The duchess eyed her critically, somewhat suspiciously, before turning her attention elsewhere. “Lady Aslyn.”
“Your Grace,” Aslyn said sweetly, with a deep and graceful curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well.”
“It’s kind of you to say so.” She clutched her fingers in front of her. “This must be your husband.”
“Yes. Allow me to introduce Mick Trewlove.”
She angled her nose haughtily as though she smelled something unsavory. “Mr. Trewlove.”
He bowed his head slightly. “It’s a pleasure, Your Grace.” He didn’t reach for her hand, no doubt because he wasn’t certain she could unknot those tightly coiled fingers.
“Mother, I’d like to introduce Miss Gillian Trewlove,” Thorne stated formally.
It seemed to take years for the woman to finally turn her head back to Gillie. “Miss Trewlove.”
For all of the welcome in her tone the duchess might have just been introduced to horse dung.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Your Grace,” Gillie said as politely as possible when she dearly wanted to smack the woman for not extending that plump little hand to her brother.
With a sniff, the duchess pursed her lips. “I realize you are no doubt unfamiliar with such regal affairs, but you are to curtsy before me.”
“Mother—”
Gillie heard the displeasure in his voice, the warning, and squeezed his arm where she still held it before he could continue. She’d never needed anyone to stand up for her, didn’t need it now. She’d practiced for hours to master the proper amount of dipping, lowering of her eyes, humbling expression. The queen of England wouldn’t have found fault with her effort were she to see it.
“I don’t bow,” Gillie said quietly, gently, but with enough steel in her voice to mark it as an unarguable matter.
The Duchess of Thornley merely blinked as though she’d quite suddenly lost her bearings. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t bow before someone without knowing if they are worthy of such an honor. Lady Aslyn knows you and felt you worthy of receiving her curtsy. Perhaps when we are better acquainted, I shall feel the same.”
“I am a duchess.”
“I’m a tavern owner. I suspect we’re both accustomed to ordering people about.”
“Why, you impertinent little—”
“Mother, I would watch your tongue if I were you,” Thorne said sharply, but quietly so that no one nearby would hear. “Do remember I control your allowance.”
With a deep breath, no doubt needed for calming, she glared at her son. “And you remember your duty.”
“Always. Now if you’ll excuse us, I intend to have a waltz with Miss Trewlove.”
“And every marriageable lady here.”
As though Gillie didn’t fall into that category, which of course, she didn’t. She wasn’t going to hand everything she’d worked so hard to attain over to a man—and English law, which had never done her or her siblings any favors, would make her as little more than chattel, giving the single property she owned over to her husband. She wasn’t going to allow a man to determine herallowanceor anything else about her. She wanted a relationship of equal terms, which meant one that existed outside the bonds of marriage. Perhaps the woman who had given birth to her had felt the same, perhaps she’d been strong minded, strong willed and willing to face whatever consequences befell her. Gillie couldn’t help but wonder what her portrait might have looked like.
Thorne led her to the edge of the polished dance floor where couples circled about with abandon. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I simply couldn’t give her the satisfaction of a curtsy, not when she was looking down her nose at Mick like that.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
She jerked her head around to find him looking at her, a tenderness in his eyes. Lifting a gloved hand, he lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “She was abominable. Had I known her good breeding was to be left in her bedchamber, I’d have not exposed you to her. But you handled her admirably.”
“I didn’t find it much different than handling a drunkard. Never give any quarter.”
