Page 35 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“We are no longer playing Three Questions. That was yesterday.”
They stepped onto a veranda where tables had been set up in the midday sun with jugs of fruit juice and a selection of cheese and crackers. Peacocks strutted on the lawn below. Lady Martha moved within a court of her own, followed by her obedient fiancée. The frequent glances over at Tristan and Christine told of the subject of their conversation.
“That is a nasty scratch, Lady Christine,” said a young lady whose name Tristan had not bothered to learn.
“I did not see a branch while I was walking with Lady Blanche in the gardens last night, Lady Elaine,” Christine replied smoothly.
“Ah, branches in the dark can be dangerous,” Lady Elaine, a blonde girl with a pointed, slightly vulpine face, said with a thin smile.
“Particularly when one is rolling on the ground,” Lady Martha said, having drifted close enough to overhear.
Lady Elaine smiled, completing the image of a vixen.
“I was not rolling on the ground,” Christine said.
“Your dress had to be laundered, did it not?”
“Do you wear the same dress two days running?” Christine asked.
“I do not, but when laundered, my dresses do not have to be cleansed of soil.”
“Neither do mine.”
“I have had a word with the Dowager Duchess on the subject of her staff. I saw one prowling around last night where he certainly should not have been. And then you appear, scratched and…soiled.”
Christine was on her feet in an instant, face scarlet. Tristan rose no less quickly, putting a hand to her arm. Christine’s other hand held a cup of tea as though she meant to return the favor Lady Martha had paid her on the first evening. Lady Martha eyed the cup but did not step back.
“Apologize,” Tristan growled.
“I have done nothing but state facts.”
“Apologize!” Tristan roared.
Not one gentleman and certainly not her fiancée stepped forward to defend Lady Martha. She finally took a step back into the bosom of her court, swallowing and darting glances from Christine to Tristan.
“What is she to you?” Lady Martha demanded, “I know who and what she is.”
“My fiancée. We are betrothed. That makes her the future Duchess of Duskwood.” Tristan said.
“And my father is the Earl of Faversham,” Lady Martha said, lifting her chin.
“Quite so. And I would not speak to a woman the way your behavior demands. So, I will require your fiancée to give the apology.” Tristan looked at Bingley.“Apologize if you have ashred of honor,” Tristan said in a voice as remorseless as the glaciers that had once covered England.
“I apologize,” Lady Martha said, finally, “I did not appreciate your relationship to His Grace, the Duke.”
“I accept. Please take care in the future about rumors of the kind you were peddling,” Christine said.
Tristan was looking at her, ignoring the others.
She could have publicly rebuked me. She did not. She accepted the role I put on her shoulders. She accepted my offer.
Twelve
The bells of the parish church tolled noon as Christine stepped through the gates of Greystone, her arm linked with Blanche’s. The Dowager Duchess had insisted that her dearest guests enjoy a constitutional after luncheon, complete with parasols, carriages in reserve, and a troop of footmen carrying hampers in case anyone so much as thought of fainting.
“I swear,” Blanche murmured, “the Dowager would send a battalion of soldiers to escort us if she thought it would end in a marriage proposal.”
Christine smiled faintly. The warmth of the day could not touch the cold knot in her stomach. “Perhaps she should. They would be quicker than talk.”
