Page 61 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Fine work, even if I do say so myself.
He had painted the former Duchess not at the age she had been when she had died, but rather as he remembered her during his childhood. How much simpler life had been back then. He had been so carefree and happy, spending his life either running around the garden or with a paintbrush in hand, with barely a thought of his impending dukedom and the responsibilities that came with it.
Responsibilities like taking a wife…
He found himself wondering what would his mother think of the way he was living his life. Uncomfortably, he realized he knew the answer to that question. No doubt she would be proud of the work he was doing to bring the gallery to life. But he was also sure she would be devastated to know of the reclusive and self-punishing manner he had been living in.
Strange that I am only thinking about these things now.
For years, his grandmother had told him his mother would wish for him to get on with his life and be happy. Frederick had merely brushed her words aside, convincing himself she was wrong. But now… something felt different.
Was it the fact that the opening of the gallery was nearly upon them?
Perhaps.
But deep inside, Frederick knew it was more than that.
I know it is my wife who is causing me to think in this way. To see a life that is filled with more than just grief and regret.
He turned at the sound of a knock at the door. He felt his heart skip a beat, expecting Veronica back from the school. He realized he was looking forward to hearing her latest stories about her students. But it was his grandmother who stood in the doorway.
“Oh.” She brought her hands to her heart at the sight of the portrait. “Oh, Frederick, it is wonderful.” She took a step closer to the easel, examining the painting closely. “You have captured her essence perfectly.”
“I am glad you think so. Painting from memory was something of a challenge, but I did not wish to use one of her earlier portraits as guidance. It did not feel as though it would be my own work.”
A warm smile of reminisce spread across the Dowager Duchess’s face. “You have done a fine job. Your mother would be so proud.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last words.
“It will hang in the entrance hall of the gallery,” Frederick told her. “So the moment people step inside, they will think of Mother and her work. Perhaps then people will come to remember her for art, and her dream of opening a gallery to support other artists, rather than the scandals she lived through, or the way she died.”
Frederick swallowed heavily, suddenly overcome with emotion. Though he knew his mother’s death—and apparently scandalous life—was rarely spoken of throughout thetonthese days, he was certain there were many people who remembered. His mother deserved far more than that. And he would see to it that she got it.
The Dowager Duchess wrapped her bony fingers around his upper arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It sounds wonderful,” she said. “Now. What do you think about a little afternoon tea in the garden with your old grandmother?”
Frederick eyed her warily. “What is it you wish to talk to me about?”
The Dowager Duchess gave a hearty, dismissive, as though his fears were not entirely warranted. “Nothing at all, my dear. I’ve just barely had a moment alone with you since you married. I would just like a little time to hear about your life.”
“Ah,” said Frederick, closing the door of the studio. “So you wish to pry.”
“Pry? Me?” His grandmother snorted. “Not at all. I would not dream of it.” She walked with Frederick down the passage towards the door to the terrace. “But if there is anything thatyouwould like to discuss, then of course I am always here to listen.”
Frederick gave her a wry smile. “I see.”
Somewhat optimistically, his grandmother had already requested afternoon tea for two to be brought to the garden terrace at the back of Brownwood Manor. A large teapot stood at the center of the table, along with several plates of cakes and biscuits. The Dowager Duchess had clearly planned to lure a little gossip out of him with a sugar overload.
He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Grandmother. You know I do not have much of a sweet tooth.”
“Yes, yes, I know, you grumpy old thing.” She waved a dismissive hand in his direction and sat neatly at the table as the footman pulled out her chair. “But you simply must try this gingerbread. The cook has truly outdone herself. I think even you might like it.”
Knowing there was little point protesting, Frederick sat opposite his grandmother and allowed the servers to fill his teacup. When they were both seated and the food had been served, the Dowager Duchess dismissed the staff, leaving the two of them alone in the garden. It was a warm afternoon; the last one of the summer, Frederick guessed. Or at least, hoped. He had only been out here two minutes, and already the heat was making him irritable.
Or perhaps that is the fear of whatever it is my grandmother plans to interrogate me about…
“Well, Grandmother?” he pressed. “What is you wish to know?”
The Dowager Duchess took an enormous bite of a cream cake, then dusted powdered sugar from her lips. “Believe it or not, I really did wish to just have a little time alone with you, my dear. Find out how you were faring.” She sipped her tea and gave him a small smile over the top of her cup. “I hear you told Veronica what happened to your mother.”
Frederick brought his cup to his lips. “Yes. I did.”
