Chapter 4

4

It was already darkwhen the carriage stopped in a small yard in front of a grand house. While the duke climbed out of the carriage on the other side, one of the footmen opened the door for her.

She climbed down and looked around. Through the tall, wrought iron fence, she could see a town square on all sides of which were terraced houses and several mansions, all illuminated with gas lamps. None of them were as grand as this one.

Gas lamps flanked the wide stairs leading up to a large portico with four columns three stories high supporting a triangular roof structure with Greek statues on top. The mansion was perfectly symmetrical, and it spanned the entire length of the square. Grand rounded windows were lit on the ground floor, and she could see a curtain shift as a figure moved.

The courtyard in front of the house had perfectly cut grass on both sides of the semicircle driveway. And rosebushes bloomed along the length of the mansion.

This mansion could fit five of Bardsley House, a modest redbrick, two-story cottage with a leaking roof, sinking wooden floor, and crumbling brickwork. Bedfordshire…a sudden wave of homesickness hit her. She had no clothes, no luggage with her. Could she have imagined this morning when she’d packed to return home that she’d never arrive there, and instead would come to London, a city she’d never visited before, and to a duke’s mansion?

The butler and other servants hurried down the stairs to line up before the duke, who nodded to Emma and stretched his arm out in a silent invitation. She swallowed under questioning glances from the servants.

“May I introduce,” he said, “the Duchess of Loxchester. My new wife.”

The servants widened their eyes, but at least there were no open mouths. He introduced the butler, Standen, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Eastbrook.

“Welcome to Longton Place, Your Grace,” said Standen.

“Mrs. Eastbrook, please put the duchess in the bedchamber adjacent to mine and assign her a lady’s maid. Please ensure the duchess gets cleaned up before dinner. Find her suitable clothing, perhaps from my mother’s wardrobe, until the modiste can be engaged.”

Clean, fresh clothes… Emma practically sagged in relief. She could still smell her own stink and wondered how the duke had tolerated it the entire way here.

And through all that, Emma couldn’t shake the feeling she was dreaming. That this could not be real. One simply wasn’t bought by a duke. And they could not be married, not legally, even if he had just introduced her as his duchess.

What did she get herself into? And how would she get out of this?

Inside the mansion was a large hall lit with gas lamps and candles. A grand chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, light sparkling as it was reflected by the crystals. Large landscape paintings decorated bright turquoise-green walls. Mahogany sideboards had gilded metal mounts of lion faces and the legs had paw-shaped feet. Vases of red roses stood on the sideboards, giving the room a pleasant flowery scent.

The duke had been silent for most of the journey. She had tried to talk to him, but he had been brooding and grumpily replied with hmms.

As Mrs. Eastbrook and three maids led her up a grand staircase with a gilded railing with leaves and flowers, they passed more beautiful paintings, no doubt of previous Dukes and Duchesses of Loxchester. Emma’s chest tightened, her middle sank, and, just as with Sir Jasper in that poor brick cottage back in Bedfordshire, she felt trapped.

Only, in a golden cage this time.

She was led to a lovely bedroom with pale lilac wallpaper made of silk, with patterns of leaves and birds and flowers. A mahogany bed with a lilac and golden canopy stood against one of the walls. Violet silk curtains with fringes decorated three large windows. The fireplace had a black grate with intricately wrought ornaments of vines. Coal crackled softly inside, making the room wonderfully warm. There was a mahogany wardrobe, a chest of drawers, an elegant desk and a chair. A soft Axminster carpet covered the floor.

The bedroom was as large as her whole drawing room back home.

She hated how much she liked it. How much she craved to lie back in that undoubtedly soft bed and listen to the quiet of this large house and know that she was safe and free.

Something she had wanted so desperately ever since she’d married Sir Jasper.

Something she would never be.

The maids hurried to give her a sponge bath as Mrs. Eastbrook explained that dinner was about to be served and there was no time for a proper bath. She promised Emma would have one after dinner and left.

Removing the swineherd’s wife’s clothes felt divine. So did washing off the grime. Another maid brought in a beautiful dress of a gentle white silk with a layer of transparent gauze. The bodice, which ended just below the bust, had tiny pearls sewn onto the embroidered patterns of vines and flowers. The skirt was gathered under the bust and was light and floaty.

She’d never worn or seen such a pretty, and no doubt expensive, dress. When the maid put it on, it wasn’t quite her size—a little too large in the bust and too short, but the maid quickly adjusted it right on her.

“It’s Her Grace’s last year’s gown,” said the maid through tight lips that held a needle, “so she said you can have it, Your Grace.”

After the maid combed and arranged her hair, Mrs. Eastbrook knocked on the door and came in, asking her to come downstairs as the duke and the duchess were awaiting her presence.

She truly didn’t want to. His mother would never be pleased about this. And seeing the grumpy duke once again, trying to claw the reason for his actions out of him, felt like a struggle, and she was exhausted.

But maybe she’d finally learn the truth and find a way out.

As she descended the stairs following Mrs. Eastbrook, the duke stood next to a shorter, elegant, and beautiful woman in her fifties, who glared at Emma with disapproval. The duke’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in surprise. Her knees weakened under his dark, smoldering gaze as he slowly looked her over from head to toe. When she reached the floor, the duke offered her his hand and she took it, the heat of his body scalding her even through her glove.

“Mama,” he said, turning towards his mother, “allow me to present my new wife. Lady Emma Rockliffe, Duchess of Loxchester.”

Emma met the stern, amber eyes of the duchess. She could see where Sebastian got his good looks from. Her hair was pale gold, a mixture of white and blond, and she had high cheekbones and few wrinkles. Her mouth straightened into a line, and Emma held her breath. Would the dowager duchess acknowledge her or not? It would be clear in the order of precedence leading into the dining room.

The duchess cocked one eyebrow. “I do not know where you came from and how you managed to steal my son. But because of you, Sebastian refused a very eligible match with an earl’s daughter and a proper lady. A match that had been arranged between his late father and the lady’s father, who were friends. And now…”

Emma opened her mouth to contradict her, to say she’d never intended to break any matches, but the duchess didn’t allow her to speak.

“I will never call you Your Grace, I will never call you Duchess, because I refuse to allow my son to be entangled with a swineherd’s daughter.”

Daughter? Is that what the duke had told her? Of course, she supposed, he couldn’t say Emma had a husband.

But the duke shook his head. “Mother, do not dare to talk to the duchess in this fashion. Who are you to teach anyone about morals?”

The duchess pursed her lips, and without sparing another glance to Emma, walked to the dining room.

As they followed her and took their places, Emma’s mind raced, planning how to act. She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t know what the duke was playing at, but it was clear to her that she was only a pawn in his games. She needed to leave and hide so that Sir Jasper wouldn’t find her. She was an educated woman and could look for a governess’s post somewhere far away where no one knew her.

The first course was brought, French chestnut soup. Through the tense silence, utensils clanked against the china. When it was cleared, the next course was brought—a salad and cheese were put in front of her.

“I’m surprised a farmer’s daughter knows how to eat properly,” said the duchess, eyeing her coolly.

“Mama, where are your manners?” said the duke.

“I suppose they left the building the moment I learned of your escapade.”

The duke appeared to be suppressing a smug smile. “Please.”

“What do you intend, my dear?” The duchess leaned forward, seeking Emma’s gaze. “You are not seriously intending to be a duchess? You were never prepared for it. You were prepared for a life of animal husbandry, to cook and to clean and to raise children. Not to dance in ballrooms and lead conversations with diplomats and noblemen.”

Emma straightened her shoulders. She didn’t care to be intimidated, nor did she think the duchess had any right to judge her, even if she thought she was a simple woman.

“I do know manners because my mother was a lady’s maid. Although I’m not sure how that’s any of your concern, nor the reason your son chose me. Had you not bullied him to marry someone he did not want, he would not have felt the need to do something drastic.”

She felt the duke’s hot gaze on her and met his eyes. They were surprised and warm and full of respect. No, that was not at all what she wanted. She needed him to despise her. To get rid of her. To let her go. Not to be interested in her.

The duchess’s eyes narrowed at her. “It speaks. And quite eloquently. Could a lady’s maid really teach a farmer’s daughter to speak so well?”

Emma didn’t let herself lower her gaze or cower. “I’m a good imitator.”

The duchess sighed, picked up her fork, and stabbed a piece of cheese. Then she leaned to the duke and said, “I see it is useless to try and convince her to leave you. But you and I will have a proper conversation. I will not let you keep her. This is a scandal!”

A smirk spread across the duke’s lips, and he never stopped watching Emma. “A scandal. Yes, I suppose so.”

After two excruciating hours, the evening was over, and Emma was allowed to go upstairs. When the door closed behind her, she sagged against it with relief. She hadn’t even tasted the food on her plate. There was a bathtub waiting for her with steaming water.

There was a knock at the door behind her. “The bath is ready, Your Grace,” she heard the maid’s voice. “May I help you?”

The maid came in, helped her to undress and slide into the bathtub. She asked the maid to leave, and finally, blessedly, she was alone and it was quiet. She listened to the fire crackling and let her body melt in the hot water, laying her head against the back of the tub.

There were footsteps from behind the mahogany door that connected her and the duke’s bedrooms, then the door swung open. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging herself, staring at the figure in the opened door.

His feet and his muscular chest peeking from beneath a dressing gown, the duke stood gazing at her, heat in his amber eyes.