Page 31 of A Virgin for the Cruel Duke

Annie squeaked and scowled, rubbing her ear. “Your Grace.”

“Indeed, and we don’t forget such things in my kitchen, do we?” Mrs. Cope said, not unkindly. “There’s manners to be remembered here.”

Before Annie could answer, there was a little knock on the door and Diana appeared, her face merry and sweet and a little book in her hand. “May I join? It smells so good in here and you are all having such a merry time.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said while Sally hopped up immediately to fetch another seat. Diana sat next to Elizabeth with a big smile of gratitude and started to read out little pieces and bits from the comic tale she was in the middle of reading, much to everyone’s delight.

Elizabeth listened happily, watching Sally and Annie squabble quietly in sisterly companionship with half her attention as shecarefully formed the tail of a beautiful bird on the embroidery she was working on. It was something she had often lost herself in back at the Rosenburg estate, creating beauty in a world that had so little.

“I love these little currant cakes,” Diana exclaimed, helping herself and looking deeply pleased when Mrs. Cope immediately added a few more to the plate. “I don’t know how you make them so light, Mrs. Cope.”

“It’s a lot of beating of the batter, Your Grace,” Mrs. Cope said merrily. “It’s why my arm is so strong and feared far and near.”

“I’ll say,” Annie put in and everyone laughed at her rueful expression.

Mrs. Cope cooed and gave the girl a piece of candied fruit. “Oh you’ll learn to get on the sweet die of me, ducky, I don’t hold anything against anyone for long.”

“That’s a fine quality,” Elizabeth said, grinning at Diana, who smiled back. Her littlest sister-in-law had been occasionally joining in on her kitchen visits since she’d discovered them quite by accident and seemed to really enjoy the warmth and the relaxed atmosphere.

“Hullo,” said a new voice, as Selina pushed into the room, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Is this a party?”

All of them froze briefly, wide-eyed like they were being caught doing something wrong. Elizabeth could see that Diana was worried that she had misstepped and that the servants were worried that they might be blamed for it.

She gathered together her courage and smiled at Selina. “We are just taking advantage of Mrs. Cope’s excellent hospitality, sister. Won’t you come join us?”

Selina looked a little surprised at first, like she wasn’t expecting so warm a welcome. Elizabeth knew that they had not been friendly at first, but she also remembered Selina’s support at the dance and had always admired the younger woman’s forthright frankness and quick intelligence. Their eyes met, both hopeful and wary, then Selina looked at her hands and her whole face brightened.

“Is that embroidery?” she asked, hurrying over and taking Sally’s seat as Sally subtly moved to get a new seat for herself and give the ladies room to speak together. “Look how cunningly you have captured Patrick - that’s what we all call that peacock. How are you getting his feathers so iridescent? Do tell me, I’ve been dying to think of a way to get the colors looking right!”

Elizabeth beamed, leaning forwards to point out the way she had layered the threads. “It’s not difficult at all! I separated the silks down to single threats and then twisted them together in the different colors, see how it makes the combination more natural?”

“Doesn’t it take an age to pull apart the skeins, though?” Selina asked, gesturing towards the embroidery and when Elizabeth nodded and handed it to her, looking it over with every sign of delight. “I hate when I have to do it because I always create such a mess and it takes me hours to untangle it again.”

“I wind them into tiny pieces of card as I go,” Elizabeth said, pulling out a little skein she had made for the piece she was working on to demonstrate. “See? It helps prevent the tangling and keeps things neat. I spent a whole evening once getting so tangled that Sally had to come cut me free and I learned my lesson!”

“It was even in her hair,” Sally added from where she was sitting, doing some mending. “I don’t know how you managed it, Your Grace.”

Selina burst into gales of laughter, a hand resting on Elizabeth’s arm companionably and in that moment Elizabeth realized that these people all cared about her. They were all ready to accept her, no matter if she was embroidering in a kitchen in company with a scullery maid and other servants. They didn’t judge her or think her too strange to be associated with. They were in fact sitting with her.

This was happy, Elizabeth thought. This was what happiness was. And it was Stephen who had given it to her.

As Selina started to tell her own stories of mishaps, Elizabeth curled a hand protectively around her heart. She needed to thank Stephen. He had given her so much, so freely and withno other desire than to see her happy. She needed to tell him how grateful she was and she wanted it to be - something sweet. Something that would show how truly she appreciated him.

She remembered him speaking of sneaking off with Herbert as a boy, taking apples and pies and wandering the estate to eat lunch under the sky. He had sounded a little wistful, like he missed the freedom of those days.

Elizabeth nodded to herself firmly. She would take him out on a walk, they would have a picnic just the two of them. She would thank him, and they would be able to move past all the darkness and suspicion and fear that had marked the first weeks of their marriage.

With that decided, she brought her attention back to the conversation around her, soon laughing over some stories of Diana as a baby while Mrs. Cope brewed more tea and Annie and Sally giggled together in a corner.

“Damn it, Westall,” Perceval said, handing over the cigar clippers as he took his first draw. “Not everything is a blasted conspiracy, maybe the couple have affections for each other or it’s another advantageous match. You can’t deny that Seymour is a fine match for any young girl.”

Stephen leaned back in the leather armchair, taking a long draw on the fine brandy that the waiter had brought to them. He and Herbert were at The Royal Hounds, a prestigious gentleman’sclub that the three of them frequented when they had a chance. They were ensconced in a small private sitting room with cigars and brandy and a hearty meal being prepared for them.

“I didn’t summon you here for your optimism, Stapleford,” he said coolly, pouring the other two men snifters of the brandy and toasting them with a gesture. “We must be realistic. Albert Barnes takes no action without having a plan behind it, sometimes several.”

“But love -” Perceval started and then stopped, laughing as Herbert threatened to throw a cushion at him. “If you will stifle my speeches on love, then I will keep myself to unsentimental topics. Could Rosenburg not simply want connection to Seymour’s fortune?”

“Perhaps,” Stephen said slowly, turning the thought over in his head.

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