Page 81 of How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
“I must go find him,” she explained.
“Of course.” Pleased, Jean-Yves bowed over her knuckles. “I will be nearby.”
Releasing him with a grateful smile, Alexandra ventured toward the stairs that would take her down to the second-class decks, and perhaps below to where great loads of cargo were being wheeled out in preparation for incomprehensibly large cranes to load them onto the docks.
“Your Grace!” a dim feminine voice called. “Duchess!”
She’d been so distraught by the events of last night, so plagued by nightmares, and dejected at waking up in an empty bed, that she didn’t mark the call as addressing her.
A hand seized her elbow, and she whirled to find Julia Throckmorton, resplendent in a crisp white sailing kit, holding on to her magnificent hat as the wind tried to rip it away from her luxurious curls.
“You little minx!” she crowed as she threw her armsabout Alexandra, crushing her breath from her lungs before releasing her abruptly. She motioned to her companions, Lord and Lady Bevelstoke, with wild, excited gestures as she spoke almost too rapidly to follow. “There she stood on the train platform in absoluteragsand let me speculate forhoursas to the identity of the new duchess and gave not a single clue it was her all along!” Julia elbowed her meaningfully. “How cruel you are to an old and dear friend.”
Alexandra made a pathetic attempt at a winsome smile. Is that what they were, old and dear friends? Or was that how Julia wanted to shape reality now that Alexandra had become a duchess? They’d not conversed for hours on the train platform. It would be kind to speculate that they’d chatted for minutes.
Lord Bevelstoke, a man of superfluous wrinkles and distracting chin waddle for a man in his mere fifties, had made his blustery apologies right before he’d been called upon to walk her down the aisle.
Lady Bevelstoke, however, stepped forward to render her kisses on the cheek as though she were approaching royalty. “How fare your Lord and Lady Bentham, Your Grace?” she asked in her tight, tiny voice. Alexandra had used to quip unkindly with her brother, Andrew, that the woman resembled her precious Pekingese in more than just her looks, but her voice and temperament as well. “I shall call upon your parents upon my return to Hampshire first thing.”
Alexandra offered them a polite nod, feeling as though another attempt to smile at these people would crack her face like ancient pottery. “I’m certain they’d appreciate that, Lady Bevelstoke. If you’ll excuse me, I—”
Julia cut off her anxious attempt at a polite escape. “Off to your honeymoon, I see. Where are you going? I’m desperate to know. Oh, I’ve guessed it. It’s obvious you’ve nothad your wedding trousseau yet. Is Redmayne taking you to that genius seamstress in Rouen? She’d give one of her fingers to drape you, as you could make sackcloth and ashes look couture. You’re such a beauty. That’s where we’re headed before our Continental tour, her shop in Rouen. I could lend you one of my appointments! We’ve added Italy to our schedule, and I needed extra gowns, isn’t that right?”
Her head spinning from the speed of Julia’s conversation, Alexandra glanced down at her simple day dress. It was one of her favorites. A light frock the color of the Egyptian desert at sunset, with sturdy braided cord at the bodice and hem to weight it against the sand and wind. It just barely occurred to her that most of her clothing was more suitable for an archeologist than an aristocrat.
“Actually.” She nudged her chin up a notch. “The duke is conducting me to an archeological dig in Normandy. Redmayne ancestors are thought to be buried there.”
At least, shehopedthat was still the plan, if he hadn’t thrown himself overboard in the night rather than honeymoon with her.
“Just whereisthat mysterious husband of yours?” Julia queried, making a great show of looking around the deck. “I tried and tried to meet you at the masque and the wedding, but the two of you were surrounded by scads of people. With Francesca and Cecelia glued to your side, I couldn’t get close.”
Alexandra found it overwhelming that Julia tended to discuss two or three subjects at once, so she decided to answer her first question.
“His Grace has gone for… coffee,” she lied. “I’m to meet with him soon to disembark.”
Julia threaded her arm through Alexandra’s. “Let’s take a turn about the decks until then, shall we?” Her voice was asuggestion, but the arm locking Alexandra to her side gave no room for a polite extraction. “Pardon us schoolmates for a moment, won’t you, Lord and Lady Bevelstoke?”
The Bevelstokes fell over themselves with solicitous exclamations as Julia led Alexandra across the wide deck and past large and lovely windows toward the aft.
“If you’re going to dig in Seasons-sur-Mer, then you must know Dr. Thomas Forsythe,” Julia exclaimed. “He’s in second class somewhere, headed to the selfsame dig to excavate some godawful thing.”
The name distracted Alexandra momentarily from her distress. “I do know Dr. Forsythe from Cairo.” They’d been friendly some years ago.
“I spied him at the hotel in Maynemouth only yesterday.” Julia leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s a perfect specimen, isn’t he? I’ve always had a weakness for those vital, poetic intellectuals. I’m intent upon making him my lover just as soon as we’re introduced.”
“Julia!” Aghast, Alexandra blinked around, worried someone had overheard.
“Oh, don’t be a prude!” Julia admonished, shaking her arm before directing them to the steps leading toward the lower decks. “What happened to the Alexandra I went to school with? Always reading forbidden novels, drinking spirits, and attending clandestine meetings with Francesca and Cecelia in the middle of the night in trousers. We’re married women now, we can have such conversations.”
Once they’d emerged from the stairs to the shelter deck, an elegant couple bowed to Alexandra and offered their felicitations. She’d couldn’t for the life of her recollect their names or rank, but she did the best she could to be gracious.
She really was going to make a terrible duchess.
Julia lowered her voice as the couple moved on. “Speaking of matrimony, how fared your wedding night?” She made a sound of pure rapture. “Bedded by the Terror of Torcliff? You should hear the talk among theton.Was that the first time, or have you been lovers for ages?”
Stunned, Alexandra gaped at her. “It was… I… What talk?”
Julia slid her a glance full of mischief. “Oh, you must know that before his—um—disfigurement Redmayne was quite the rogue. Bedded every pretty thing with a title above a baroness until he met Rose. Everyavailablepretty thing, I should say, as he never took married ladies as lovers. More’s the pity.” Her face twisted as though she’d licked a thousand lemons. “What a misfortune you have Rose as a nemesis now, and a relation. She was such a beast at school.
