Page 29 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Her Grace’s reticule. Yes, of course.
Veronica collected the reticule from where the Dowager Duchess had discarded it in the middle of the table, then made her last goodbyes to her family. She followed her husband up into the entrance hall of the manor, as he walked with an arm around his grandmother’s waist. Once he had steered her into the stern supervision of her lady’s maid and they had disappeared—with some difficulty—up the staircase, he turned back to Veronica.
“Well,” he said, tugging on his cravat to loosen it, “I don’t think I have ever seen ladies of that age put on quite a display before.”
Suddenly, Veronica found herself on the verge of uncontrollable giggling, that her grandmother and the Dowager Duchess waltzing with the dog really had been utterly hilarious. She laughed. “Nor have I. Although I have to admit, I am not all that surprised.”
The Duke laughed loudly. A real laugh, not a forced chuckle, or a snort of derision. His face lightened and his gray eyes shone with sudden warmth. For a moment, he looked an utterly different man. Boyish, almost.Happy.The sight of it made something swell in Veronica’s chest. She dared to take a step closer to him.
The Duke held her gaze for a long second, his lips parting and his laughter falling silent. “I… You…” He swallowed visibly. “You are wearing the emerald earrings,” he said.
Veronica looked down shyly, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable beneath his gaze. “Yes. I thought it only fitting. I hope it was not too forward of me…”
“No, of course not,” he said in a half-voice. “You are part of the family now, after all.”
Veronica swallowed hard. “Yes, I… I suppose I am.”
The Duke raised and hand and brought it toward her face, only to pull away at the last second. He cleared his throat and took a step away from her. He hurried towards the bellpull to ring for his housekeeper. She appeared within seconds. “Mrs. Holloway, please show the Duchess to her quarters,” he said stiltedly. He gave Veronica a pointed look that she struggled to interpret. “I am sure she is ready for a rest.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The housekeeper turned to Veronica and gave her a warm smile. “This way, Your Grace.”
Veronica glanced over her shoulder at her husband. The smile was gone from his face now. In its place was a look of bewilderment, as though he was trying to make sense of his own actions. What was going on inside his head, she wondered? Navigating this man felt like an impossible task. If only she could glimpse inside him, even if only for the briefest second.
Mrs. Holloway led her up the wide marble staircase and down a long passage, painted the color of eggshells. When she opened the door to the Duchess’s quarters, Veronica was unable to stifle a gasp. The room was at least three times the size of her bedchamber at Volk House, with oriel windows looking out onto the vast expanse of the garden, and a wide window seat beneath them. An enormous canopied bed held pride of place in the center of the room, hung with crisp white curtains, and tied back with silky yellow ribbons. The walls were painted the palest blue, and a large seascape hung on the wall opposite the bed.
“Oh,” Veronica murmured, “it is beautiful. Everything is just perfect.”
Veronica took a step toward the painting. She knew from a single glance that the late Duchess had painted it. The fact that her husband had left it in here for her to appreciate was not lost on her.
Mrs. Holloway smiled. “I am glad you like it, Your Grace. Take a moment to look around, and then I will show you to your workroom.”
“My… workroom?” Veronica repeated.
“Yes, ma’am. The Duke had one of the guest suites turned into a studio for you. He said you would need it for your painting.”
Veronica’s heart skipped a beat. He had really done that for her? She felt a sudden swell of affection for the enigmatic man downstairs.
“I should like to see it now, please,” she said.
“Of course, ma’am. This way.”
The workroom was two doors down the passage, with the same expansive view of the manor grounds. A large easel was set up close to the window, and a wide set of shelves lined one wall. A quick glance told Veronica they were full of painting supplies. She turned back to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Holloway. That will be all.”
“Very well, Your Grace. Shall I have your maid sent up to help you change?”
“Not yet. I shall ring for her shortly. But I would like to explore the studio first.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Mrs. Holloway bobbed her head, then disappeared out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the long passage.
Veronica went to the shelf and began to examine the supplies. Pencils and charcoals, oil paints and watercolors lined the shelves, along with fresh sketch books and brushes of all sizes. Whoever had filled this room with supplies had thought of everything. And she had little doubt that that person had been the Duke himself. Only an artist would know to be so thorough.
“I hope you like it.”
Veronica whirled around at the sound of her husband’s voice. He was standing in the doorway with his hands folded behind his back, now in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his cravat hanging loosely at his throat. The perplexed look was gone from his face, and he now looked calm and composed. Expectant, as though he were keen to hear her thoughts on the studio.
“Like it?” Veronica repeated, rushing towards him. “Oh, Your Grace, I love it. Truly.”
He smiled. “Good. The oil paints are of a very fine quality. They are the brand I use myself.”
