Page 25 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
She had heard the voices and knew the Duchess and Dowager Duchess had returned from the chapel. And the knowledge of that terrified her. She did not know who she was dreading facing more: the younger Dowager Duchess, who had made her furyat the situation painfully apparent at the wedding; or the elder Dowager Duchess, who had used Gemma as a pawn to craft her grandson's life into the shape she wanted.
A knock sounded at the door and Gemma looked hurriedly into the mirror of the dressing table, doing her best to smooth her flyaway hair. There was little point trying to make herself presentable, she decided. Her blotchy cheeks made no secret of the fact she had been weeping, and she could smell her own musky scent on her skin. She had hoped she might be able to hide away at least until Ivy and her belongings showed up.
“Who's there?” she called.
“It's me, my dear.” Gemma clenched her hands into fists at the sound of the Dowager Duchess's voice. “May we speak?”
She gritted her teeth. The last thing she wished to do was speak to the lady who had upended her entire life. But she knew she could not hide herself away forever. And she had already determined that this second-story window was far too high to jump from…
She opened the door an inch, greeting the Dowager Duchess with a steely expression. The old lady offered Gemma a smile. It was a smile she had seen around the dinner table at Volk House many times, and she longed suddenly for her own grandmother's embrace.
“May I come in, Your Grace?” asked the Dowager Duchess.
Reluctantly, Gemma opened the door, allowing the Dowager Duchess inside. Her brown and black terrier darted in ahead of her and began trotting around Gemma's bedchamber, nose to the floor.
In a warm, familial gesture, the Dowager Duchess perched on the edge of Gemma's bed and gestured for her to sit beside her. In spite of herself, Gemma sat. She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them.
“Come here, Lucy,” the Dowager Duchess cooed to the dog. “I believe Her Grace could use a little affection.”
At the sound of her mistress's voice, the dog scampered over to the bed and let the Dowager Duchess scoop her into her arms. Unceremoniously, the old woman planted the dog on Gemma's lap. She felt its wet little nose nuzzling against her hand. She allowed herself the faintest of smiles, which disappeared the moment the dog leaped back off the bed to inspect the fly tapping against the outside of the window.
“Your grandson did not take advantage of me behind the church, Your Grace,” Gemma said. “He did not sully my honor. But I suspect you already know that.”
The Dowager Duchess opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, as though thinking better of it.
Speak!Gemma wanted to cry.Admit this was all your doing!It would make little difference to anything, of course. But some part of her—the part that had spent her entire adult life trying to be as decent and upstanding as possible, even in the face of her father's drunken gambling—wanted to hear the Dowager Duchess say she knew Gemma's decency was still intact.
“I know this is not the life you had planned,” the Dowager Duchess said finally. “And I am sure all this is quite a shock to you. But my grandson is a good man. And he will treat you well. I am sure of it.” She reached out and pressed a soft hand to Gemma's wrist. Despite her anger at the old woman, the gentletouch brought fresh tears to her eyes. “He will be a good husband to you if you let him.”
Gemma shook her head.No, she wanted to say,I know what kind of man your grandson is. The entire ton knows what kind of man he is. He is the kind of man who warms his way into ladies' beds uninvited…And now they all thought her as indecent and improper as him.
Her tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped at them quickly. “I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said. “But as far as I am concerned, your grandson will never be my husband. Not in anything more than name.”
She expected an outburst from the Dowager Duchess, but the old woman just patted Gemma's wrist again. “Larsen Manor is very beautiful, my dear,” she said, deftly changing the subject. “The gardens are simply magical. And you will simplydiewhen you see the library. Your grandmother tells me you are very fond of reading.” She squeezed Gemma's wrist and stood up, scooping the dog from the floor and tucking her under her arm. “Whenever you are feeling up to it, I shall take you on a tour.” She flashed her a final smile before disappearing out the door.
Sandra Felps, the Dowager Duchess of Larsen, sank into her chair at the dinner table. Though Wyatt and his mother were already at their places, the room was as stilted and silent as a tomb. The only sounds were the gentle click-click of the servants' footsteps and the soft clinking of plates as they placed bowls of soup in front of each member of the family.
Sandra looked at the empty chair beside Wyatt. “Will Her Grace be dining with us tonight?” she asked her grandson hopefully.
Wyatt tossed back a mouthful of wine, not looking at her. “No. Apparently, she does not wish to eat tonight.”
Oh, this is not good. This is not good at all. I ought to have tried harder to coax her out of her room.
Sandra felt a pang of regret at all she had put Lady Gemma through. But thingshadto be this way. They just had to do it. One day, she felt certain, Lady Gemma would see that. And so would Wyatt. She just had to give it some time.
Wyatt's mother, Martha, kept her gaze pinned to the door, as though she might will the poor child to appear. “Dreadful manners. Although I suppose we can expect nothing less, given her parentage.”
Wyatt smacked a sudden hand onto the table, making the cutlery rattle. “That is enough, Mother. I have already asked you once to treat my wife with respect. Must I repeat myself?”
Sandra hid a smile. For all his philandering and questionable choices, the boy did have something of a backbone. Just like his father had had.
All those years ago, Sandra had stood back and allowed her son to marry a lady of his choosing. And she had turned out to be cold and calculating, interested in little more than the title her husband could furnish her with. Little wonder Martha had selected Henrietta Henford as Wyatt's wife—the two ladies were strikingly similar.
Sandra had made a huge mistake in letting her son marry Martha. Their marriage had been short and unhappy, the house utterly devoid of warmth and compassion. There was no way she was going to sit back and watch Wyatt make the same mistake. She was certain that, had he married Henrietta Henford, hergrandson would have become far more reliant on the escape the gambling halls and the taverns could bring.
Sandra knew deep inside herself that her son's unhappiness over his choice of wife had led to his untimely death at the age of just five-and-thirty. And she had been willing to do anything to stop Wyatt from facing that same fate. Even if it meant bringing a little shame to the family. Thetonwas easily bored. Soon enough, Lord So-and-So would sleep with his scullery maid, or Lady Whatsername would run off with the stable boy, and all the gossip surrounding the Larsens would be forgotten.
Shocked into silence by her son's outburst, Martha brought her wine glass to her lips. “I have treated your wife with great respect,” she said tautly. “I have allowed her the entire day to wallow upstairs in her room without interruption. The least she could have done is show her face at the dinner table.”
