5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Breakfast was a strange affair. Louisa spent most of the time talking with Violet and Henry and teasing little Colin. The two sides of the family mingled as little as possible, an invisible barrier seemingly keeping them apart. It was unlike herself to be so uncomfortable, but she hoped that once they were past the officialness of the day, she and the duke could begin their separate lives. Together, yet apart.
Yes. She only had to get through the day. Then things would settle.
"I fear we must be going," Violet said, balancing Colin on her hip, trying to keep his hands out of her hair. She gently pushed his frosting-covered fingers away from her face. "Colin is getting ready for his afternoon nap. If he misses it, this party will take a very decisive and unpleasant turn."
Not that it had even been pleasant to begin with.
"Of course," Louisa said. She went to her nephew and took him from his mother's arms. She kissed his round cheek, loving the soft warmth with a slight crust of sugar. "Now, Colin, you must be good for your mother."
The little boy giggled, burrowing his head into Louisa's neck. A laugh bubbled out of her, though she hated that she had to give him back. Violet reached for him, and Louisa relinquished the sticky boy to her.
Henry came beside his wife, taking Colin once he saw his son's enthralled raptures with Violet's hair and face. "Now, Louisa," he began, leaning his head away once Colin's curiosity transferred to Henry's wavy brown locks. He brought his face closer, lowering his voice. "If you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to write or come home. Do you understand?"
"Of course, Henry." She reached forward, running her fingers through Colin's hair to tame a stubborn lock. "No need to be so dramatic. I am only moving across town."
Henry frowned, waiting a moment before placing a quick kiss on her cheek. "All right, my dear," he said, turning to Violet. "Let us be off before my hair is standing on its end from all the sugar on Colin's hands."
Violet chuckled as she gave Louisa one last hug. Long, tight, and full of unspoken things. She would be there if Louisa needed her.
"Very well. Now you three be gone or I shall have to ask you to leave." Louisa laughed, waving as Henry and Violet left the room with Colin peering over Henry's shoulder.
"I see my party is leaving," Louisa's mother said, taking her into her embrace. "I hope it won't be too long before you visit." Her eyes glistened as she attempted a firm smile.
"You will be sick of me." Louisa pulled back, squeezing her hand in farewell as Lady Wood walked out with her escorts.
The attendants all cleared the room, and the quiet became deafening. Where was her mother-in-law?
"My mother went to lie down," the duke said, as if reading her thoughts. He stood across the room. "She had a headache."
Silence hung in the air, and Louisa went to fill it. But before she could speak, the duke continued. "Would you care for a tour of the house? It is rather large, and I feel it would be incumbent for you to know your way around."
Louisa walked over to him, unable to bear the space—both figuratively and literally. "That sounds lovely. I would enjoy a tour very much."
He did not meet her eye, but held his arm out for her to take, and she slid her glove around it.
What on earth?
Louisa's eyes flew wide, and she stared down to where her hand cradled his arm. The girth made no sense. He was a duke. Someone accustomed to a life of leisure. Surely he was not doing manual labor. Then how in blazes was his upper arm so firm beneath her hand?
He must have noticed her strange reaction, for he finally met her eyes. "Is something wrong, Miss Morgan?"
Best to cover her embarrassment with a change of conversation. "Miss Morgan? I do not believe that is my name any longer." She smiled up at him.
He paused, as if mulling over her words. "What am I to call you then? Your Grace?"
"No," she said with a laugh. "That sounds much too formal for my liking. How about, simply, Louisa?"
"Very well," he said, nodding. "If that is what makes you most comfortable."
"And what shall I call you? Boroux? Duke? Your Grace?"
He used his free hand to rub his brow. "If I am to call you Louisa, then perhaps you should call me Robert. Unless we are in formal company, of course."
"Then what shall I call you in formal company?"
"Either Your Grace or Boroux."
Of course. Louisa was surprised he even suggested she use his Christian name at all.
The duke nodded, taking a step and leading them down the hall. "Shall I begin with my favorite parts of the house? Or save those for the end?"
"Like saving the sweet for last?" Louisa smiled. "I would often steal a sweet at any point in the day, much to the protests of my governess."
Robert glanced down at her, his expression, well, quite frankly, unreadable. "I cannot decide if that surprises me or not."
"No?" She adjusted her hand on his arm. Goodness. This man must move large items of furniture on a frequent basis. There was no other explanation. "Perhaps we should share some things about ourselves as we continue our tour. I feel it would be beneficial to understand each other better."
"A logical idea. What do you wish to know?"
"Anything." She kept her gaze focused ahead as he turned them down a hall brightly lit by the sun. The one wall consisted of only windows looking out toward the back of the estate, where lush beds of flowers reached their colored petals toward the sky.
He paused before glancing down at her. "Would you mind going first?"
Louisa pulled her attention from the flowers and back to her husband, meeting his blue eyes. "Well, you should probably know that I do not take myself or anything too seriously."
He turned his attention forward as they walked. "That is one thing I did know."
Louisa watched him carefully to see if there was any crack in his exterior, but much to her chagrin, there was nothing.
"You wish to be surprised by my facts, then?" She cupped her chin with her free hand as she pretended to be deep in thought. "My favorite color is peach. Unless it is flowers, then my favorite is yellow. If we are talking about wall color, then blue."
"I see," he said, doing a remarkable job of seeming truly enthralled with a conversation that must be entirely dull to him. It almost made her laugh.
She continued. "I find my least favorite color is lavender."
The duke glanced about the hall. "How unfortunate, as we have an entire room featuring the color."
"It is a very festive room. I credit the designer for their creativity, at any rate. They did nothing in halves, to be sure."
"That would have been my great-grandmother. I have been told it was her favorite room of the house."
"And what is your favorite room?"
"My library." He didn't miss a beat.
Louisa nodded, slightly pleased she was able to pull forth anything from him. "I look forward to seeing it on our tour then. And what do you hypothesize will be my favorite?"
The corners of his mouth turned down as he thought. "I cannot pretend to know. Hopefully you will find a place here that is comfortable for you. If there is a particular room that you are interested in, do not hesitate to let me know and you can do with it as you please."
They walked the halls, mostly in silence except for when his grace made some note about a portrait or family heirloom. When they arrived at a door on the third floor, her escort paused.
He pulled his arm from her, grasping his hands behind his back as he nodded toward the door. "This will be your room. Would you care to see it?"
She shrugged in jest. "I must at some point. And I should rather like to change."
"Oh, of course. I apologize I hadn't thought of that sooner." The duke's severe facade softened as his mouth dropped open slightly. At least his face moved for once. "Your new maid is already here and ready to perform her duties. Shall I call for her?"
"Nonsense. I can manage that." Louisa crossed her arms over her middle as the duke swung the door open. So far, while being rather serious and stuffy, her husband had been perfectly pleasant. She couldn't have claimed to know much of him other than the glimpses she'd had over the years in ballrooms and visits to the theater. And now he was her husband . . . Life was a funny creature sometimes.
Louisa strode into her room, looking around at the opulence of it all. A four-poster bed complete with a canopy stole her immediate attention. Next to be noticed was a bench beneath the window to allow one to enjoy the view, a toilette table and chair, a wardrobe, some expensive drapes that pooled on the floor, and enough space she could hold a small party if she felt so inclined.
"Is the room to your taste?" the duke asked.
She spun toward him. "It is incomparably lovely. I fear I will have no need to leave. Almost everything I require is right here." She swept her arm out to encompass the grandeur. "Except food, of course."
The duke looked about the room, his stoic reserve still firmly in place. But when his eyes met hers, she could swear they held a hint of restraint. She would have to be very astute being married to this man. He did not give his feelings away freely.
Though, neither did she.
He did nothing so bold as shift his feet, but he did clear his throat, as if it had a tickle. "Do you plan to dine with us this evening?"
"Unless you would like me to squirrel away food in my wardrobe."
He narrowed his eyes as he kept her gaze. "I think it would be good for us to dine together."
Just as Louisa opened her mouth to assure him she had been teasing, he interrupted her.
"Less temptation for rats, you see."
Before Louisa could cover her mouth, a short, scoff-like snort erupted from her throat and nose. "Your Grace, did you just make a joke?" Or perhaps he had been serious and was actually concerned about the prospect.
A grin quirked his mouth for a second before disappearing. "Truly though. I hope you plan to take your meals downstairs."
He evaded her question. How interesting. "Of course. Is there a standard of dress I should be aware of?" She couldn't seem to stop her quips. They were waiting on the tip of her tongue with every remark she made. Something about his stuffy demeanor made her want to crack it wide open and see what was underneath it all. Unless this was it. The stuffy and serious demeanor might very well be at his core. But his comment about the rats—she was sure there was something else.
"We dress in evening attire for dinner."
Ah. Of course they did. But as Louisa listened to his answer, her eyes swung about and caught on another door.
The one that joined their rooms.
Her cheeks warmed and her gaze inadvertently swung back to the duke, who stood staring at the same door with wide eyes. She wasn't sure if time actually slowed, or if they both were so severely uncomfortable that it had really only been a few seconds.
Finally, the duke dipped his head, quickly clearing his throat. "I will see you at dinner, Miss Morgan." He turned and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts and questions. Questions such as, what all did a marriage of convenience entail? And why on earth was he still calling her Miss Morgan?