Page 4 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Lady Arabella sighed wistfully. “Not that any of us have a chance with him, I’m sure. They say he only has eyes for Lady Juliet.”
Lady Juliet put on a mock display of bashfulness. “Now, now.” She smiled coyly. “You know nothing has been decided yet. His Grace has not yet asked for my hand. So you are all in with as much of a chance as I am.” She ran long fingers down Veronica’s arm. “And that includes you, Lady Veronica, darling.”
Veronica’s stomach turned over at Lady Juliet’s blatant falsity. “Excuse me a moment,” she said. “I need something to drink.” She hurried away from the group and made a beeline towards the drinks table. Before she could get there, the Dowager Marchioness cut in front of her path and pushed a glass of lemonade into her hand.
“Here, my dear. I thought you might like something to drink.”
Veronica smiled. “How did you guess?” She gulped it down hurriedly, half wishing for something stronger. Maybe that would give her the courage to tell Lady Juliet Carfield what she truly thought of her thinly veiled barbs at her family.
She glanced around the marquee, realizing she was looking for this mysterious Duke of Brownwood. She had heard mention of him before, in passing, the eligible grandson of one of her grandmother’s dearest friends. But she had also heard that the Duke of Brownwood was something of a recluse. Rarely seen out in public. And, it seemed, he was not in attendance at his grandmother’s garden party either. Surely if he was, Lady Juliet Carfield and her band of accomplices would be clustered around him like flies to honey, vying for his attention. As it was, most of the other young men in attendance were chatting amongst themselves, shooting occasional glances at the gathered ladies. Possibly wondering why on earth they were being paid not the slightest scrap of attention.
Again, Veronica found herself wondering if her grandmother had brought her here with the specific aim of meeting the Duke of Brownwood.
The thought was so ludicrous she almost laughed. With her father’s reputation, she would be lucky to secure a penniless baron as a husband, let alone a Duke. True, her sister Gemma was now a Duchess, but she had become one through extenuating circumstances—and no small scandal. And if there was one thing the Volks could do without, it was another scandal.
“Veronica, dear.” She turned to her grandmother. “Are you all right? You did not seem to have much to say to those young ladies Her Grace introduced you to.”
Veronica gave her grandmother a faint smile. “They are not really my type, I’m afraid, Grandmother.” She tried to swallow another yawn. Impossibly, the lemonade seemed to have made her even sleepier.
“Oh goodness, my dear, you look exhausted,” the Dowager Marchioness said. “Perhaps you ought to go upstairs and rest a while. I am sure Her Grace will not mind if you use one of the guest rooms.”
“Are you sure, Grandmother?” Veronica could not deny that the thought of lying down and closing her eyes sounded utterly heavenly. But would it be too rude to disappear less than half an hour after they had arrived—and arrived painfully late, at that?
But the Dowager Marchioness herded her towards the open side of the marquee. “Of course, my dear. Of course. Have a quick lie down and refresh yourself before dinner. I shall send Sarah up after you,” she said, referring to her granddaughter’s lady’s maid.
Veronica shook her head. “There’s no need for that. I shall be quite all right on my own. I shall ring for Sarah to help me prepare for dinner once I’ve rested.”
“Very well, my dear.” The Dowager Marchioness patted her arm. “Take the stairs up to the second floor and be sure to turn left at the top.”
Veronica smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Grandmother. I’ll not be too long. I shall be down again soon.”
She made her way out of the marquee and towards the house.
The Brownwoods’ country home was just as beautiful as Veronica had imagined when she had seen it from the carriage, striking just the right balance between cozy and luxurious. Rustic wooden floorboards stretched the length of the ground floor, dotted with colorful rugs, and as she passed the open door to the parlor, she glimpsed an enormous stone fireplace, unlit in the warmth of the late spring evening. A narrow wooden staircase led up to the second story, and the stone walls in the entrance hall hung with paintings. Veronica wondered who the artist was—she did not recognize the style. She made a mental note to examine them tomorrow when the light was better, and she felt a little more rested.
The Brownwoods’ house and garden truly were beautiful. How she wished she was better able to enjoy it. Her conversation with Lady Juliet and her friends had reminded Veronica that this was no leisure jaunt, but rather, that this party, each and every event of the Season, was about finding her a suitable match.
Soon, she would be married. Veronica knew there was no escaping it. She knew how seriously her grandmother took the task of finding suitable husbands for her three granddaughters, particularly given her father’s reputation. Soon, no doubt, she would be wed to a man she barely knew. The thought left her cold and she tried to push it aside.
“Can I help you, My Lady?” the butler asked.
Veronica smiled. “I am quite all right, thank you. I have already received directions to my guest room.”
“Very good, My Lady.”
She climbed the stairs and paused at the top.Turn left? Was that what Grandmother said? Or was it right?
It had been noisy inside the marquee, and her thoughts were sluggish with tiredness. Veronica stumbled down the passage and pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms. She could see no luggage inside; no coats and hats hung on the hook inside the door. Surely it was fine to take this room for an hour or so. Rubbing her eyes, she sank forward onto the bed. And let out a scream at the feel of another’s body beneath her own.
ChapterThree
Veronica scrambled away from the bed, covering her mouth in horror. The figure who had been sleeping stood just as hurriedly. And not just any figure, Veronica realized sickly. But a young man. Tall, handsome… with a positively murderous look on his face.
“What inhelldo you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“I am so sorry,” she gushed. “I did not think… My grandmother said…”
“Let me guess,” he hissed. “You thought you’d find a creative way of making yourself Duchess of Brownwood.”
