Page 70 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“Waifs and strays,” he said again, but there was no bite to it now, “we’ll make a fine menagerie.”
As the carriage turned, he felt the first threads of tension loosen in his chest. Gillray might plot, Dreadford might sneer, but Christine was his now, and he intended to ensure that neither law nor scandal could take her back.
Twenty-One
From her chamber, Christine could hear the faint echo of servants bustling two floors below, the clatter of dishes, and the murmur of preparation for the final dinner of the Duke Hunt. The house seemed to hum with excitement, as though eager to see the conclusion of the Dowager Duchess’s latest romantic enterprise. Christine, however, felt only a tightening unease.
He has not yet returned. I asked Constance to let me know if he did. Surely he would come to see me if so.
Tristan wished to remove an obstruction from their path. He had promised to return. Faced with one last night at Greystone, Christine found her stomach tying itself into knots.
One more night and then…and then what? If Tristan goes back on his word, I am lost. I have nowhere to go. I cannot go to Selina. I cannot.
Hours had passed since his departure, and with the toll of every hour her apprehension grew. She had tried to reason with herself—he was a man of business, and there were matters of his estate that might need attention—but the argument rang hollow. Her imagination, so often her friend, was now her worst tormentor.
She stood before the mirror, staring at the reflection of a woman who scarcely seemed herself. Her gown, soft ivory silk trimmed with gold embroidery, caught the waning light and made her skin glow faintly. Constance had insisted on arranging her hair into an elegant twist, leaving only a few curls to frame her face. She looked…composed. Almost regal.
The door opened quietly, and Constance entered carrying a pair of pearl-drop earrings on a velvet tray. “The Duchess said you should wear these, my lady. They belong to her, but she wishes the victor of the Duke Hunt to show them off. Those were her words.”
Christine turned, smiling faintly. “I fear I shall never be used to such finery. These pearls could pay a servant’s wages for a year.”
Constance dipped her head. “Then I am glad to see them on someone kind.”
There was something brittle in her voice, and Christine, who had learned to hear sorrow even when it whispered, looked more closely. The maid’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes swollen.
“You’ve been crying,” Christine said gently, “what troubles you?”
Constance hesitated, then set the tray down with trembling hands. “I should not burden you, my lady.”
“Nonsense. Sit a moment.” Christine drew her toward the small settee near the fire. “Whatever it is, I shall not repeat it. You have my word.”
The girl perched on the edge of the cushion, twisting the edge of her apron. “It’s James, my lady. The coachman.”
Christine smiled. “Your sweetheart. You told me of him.”
Constance nodded miserably. “He wishes us to marry. I…I wanted to wait. But now there isn’t time…”
Her voice broke. Christine took her hand, warm and shaking. “I think I understand why time is an issue,”
Tears spilled over the girl’s lashes, and she nodded, unable to summon words.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of. These things happen occasionally, even to the gentry.”
“But the gentry get to live it down, my lady, begging your pardon, we don’t. Her Grace would sack us both, with no reference. We’d be in the poor house. I swear we meant no wrong. We thought to wed before anyone knew. James says we must run, but where could we go? No one hires a girl in my condition, and we cannot live on coachman’s wages alone.”
For a long moment, Christine said nothing. She felt the ache of recognition, this quiet desperation, this helpless dread of the world’s judgment. How many women had found themselves destroyed by nothing more than their own hearts?
I was naive to try to play it down. Of course, she is worried. It is regarded as the worst of sins.
“You love him,” she said softly.
“With all my soul.”
“Then you shall not run,” Christine squeezed her hand, “Tristan, His Grace, has need of good servants at Duskwood. And a coachman. You and James may come with me.”
Constance blinked in astonishment. “My lady, I could not…”
“You can, and you will. And you will be free to marry.”
