Page 17 of In Want of a Wife
“Please,” Charlotte said, her voice a quiet calm that reverberated through the empty foyer, “let our guest in, Stevens. Apparently, he’s expected.”
Charlotte gripped Kate’s arm and fumbled for Lily, instead dragging Kate backward toward the parlor down the hall and leaving Lily by the balustrade.
“You two are ridiculous sometimes,” Charlotte muttered.
“That was rude. Certainly wasn’t very duchess-like,” Kate mocked.
Lily snickered, carefully edging toward the railing before peeking over as Stevens stood back and allowed a tall man with short, black curly hair stride in.
That was her husband. This tall…
He glanced up, meeting her curious study, then smiled a slow, crooked grin made of everything sinful and wrong in the world.
The smile of a rake.
He arched a brow, nodded his head as if all knowing,and tore his stare away before following Stevens down the hallway, leaving Lily there forgetting…
Everything.
Stonehurst was a palace,which signified more reasons why an annual income of five thousand pounds would not be an issue.
He stepped over the threshold, struck by the magnificence of the house. This woman was leaving this to marry his brother? Rafe had lived more than half of his life in a hammock, surrounded by men from all paths of life, going months at a time without setting eye on a woman or standing on steady land.
He felt the heated stare before he spotted her peeking over the balustrade. Big brown eyes blinked hard, stirring something within him. Strange, considering he couldn’t see the rest of the person, only the dark brown curls piled high upon her head.
Rafe followed the footman down a long hallway full of classical busts to a reception room. The walls were the same stark white as the entrance. He couldn’t help the shiver that raced down his back. Something about the grand house was cold. If the blonde woman who had him ushered in was to be his brother’s wife, she would do well. Icy would fit well.
But something wasn’t right. He had corresponded with one Lily Abrams who, after exchanging several letters to sort out the details of the impending nuptials, had agreed to meet him here at Stonehurst Palace? Stonehurst Manor?
Well, it didn’t matter. What did matter was the manner of this welcome, which was odd. Lily Abrams was no duchess, and he had for sure seen a carriage painted with a duke’s insignia in the drive.
He stood by the massive limestone fireplace and waited, the model of decorum which was wasted on account of his brother's absence. The walls were a warm white that reminded him of the seafoam that washed ashore after a storm. The large tall windows were flanked with blue silk brocade curtains tied back with largetassels. And though there was elaborate gilded millwork and columns framing the large room, there were no paintings or portraits. Only two stone statues of Greek gods perched in two alcoves opposite one another and abutted by two elaborately carved walnut chairs.
Something was surely off. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. If this failed, he deserved whatever came his way.
A few moments later, the blonde woman entered.
“Mr. Davies, is it?”
He nodded.
“I see.” She cast a sweeping glance from head to toe, then motioned for the other two women in the hall to enter. “I am the Duchess of Dandridge. Welcome to my home, Stonehurst Park.”
“Your Grace.”
They rushed into the room like feuding children, laughing and pushing each other until they spotted Rafe by the fire. Then quite magically, they became their governess's best pupils, all straight lines and womanly airs.
“Mr. Davies,” the brunette woman said, bowing her head. He studied her for a moment as the odd stirring within returned. This woman was uncommonly pretty, doe-eyed, and in possession of an amazing smile.
She stretched out her hand in an elegant curve, as though she expected him to bow and press a courtly kiss on top. Instead, he reached for it because he didn't know what else to do and shook her hand.
The woman behind her, tall with raven black hair, stifled a giggle as she nudged the duchess.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am to be your wife. I am Miss Lily Abrams.”
“Lord? No, not a lord.” He cleared his throat. “I am Lieutenant Rafe Davies of the Royal Navy and you are not to be my wife,” he replied, withdrawing his hand and stepping away.
He would never take a wife.
