Page 44 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
After Dahlia gathered the items of food she found in the kitchens—bread, butter, and milk—she marched past Peter, who stood by the entrance of the kitchens, watching her and chuckling at his own private joke.
His laughter irritated her. She would leave him behind! She walked faster.
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Peter drawled. “But unless you wish to head outside, I suggest you turn around and head the opposite way.”
Infuriating man! How could she have ever considered having a true marriage with him?
When they reached the corridor to the private chambers, Dahlia stopped and turned around to face him.
“I believe I can find my way from here, Your Grace.”
Without waiting for his reply, she walked quickly away, head held high. When Dahlia noticed the light of the candle still following her, she turned to Peter.
“Are you following me, Your Grace?”
“Certainly not, Your Grace.”
Dahlia narrowed her eyes at him.
“I am merely heading to my chambers.” He gestured down the corridor with the candle he held, smile still in place.
“Hmph!” How she longed to wipe the grin off his face.
Chapter Ten
Dahlia burrowed deeper in her bed. Although the bedwarmer had long since grown cool, she was still comfortably warm. She opened her eyes to a still darkened room. Curious as to what time it was, Dahlia sat up. She rarely woke up on her own, Biddy usually woke her.
Where is Biddy?
And then Dahlia remembered.
She thinks I am waking up from my wedding night.
Dahlia sighed. She reached for the bell to summon her lady’s maid.
Pushing the bed covers and counterpane off, she swung her legs down on the floor—and yelped from the cold. Gritting her teeth, she walked as quickly as she could to the windows and pulled at the drapes to open them. She wanted light in the room.When that was done, she rushed back to the bed to chase what remaining warmth there was.
Dahlia studied her chambers again. Flooded in morning light, they looked softer and even more feminine compared to her first sight of them last night.
Last night.
She put her hands over her face and groaned loudly.
“Infuriating man!” She punched her pillow. “A brute of a man!”
When she had dressed for the day, Dahlia was escorted to the breakfast room by Mrs. Baker. She remembered the bit of information that Biddy had told her last night and took the opportunity to tell the housekeeper that she had been rummaging in the kitchens the previous night, lest she suspect another of stealing food from the pantries.
At the beginning, breakfast was a mostly a quiet affair with Mary and Claire. Dahlia observed how reserved they were, but as the meal progressed, they asked her questions about her and life in London. She would, by no means, call them talkative, but Dahlia considered their part in the conversation a good start to forming a friendship with them.
“Mrs. Baker said that you would like to see the hothouse,” Claire ventured.
“Why, yes. I had hoped to visit it. I have always longed for one since my cousins had one built in their country estate.”
“Would you like us to accompany you?” Mary asked.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Dahlia smiled a genuine smile. “But only if your schedule permits it, of course. I would not want to take up your time.”
“It isn’t as if our schedule ever gets full here. We sometimes have family dinners with our closest neighbors, or we go to the shops with our friends,” Claire observed.
