Page 43 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
His brow cleared. ‘For a while I thought he might never marry and provide the next heir, but now it seems all is well on that front, too.’
Pain clutched at her heart. He had said he did not want to rush having children. He’d proved it with his actions the previous evening, but she hadn’t admitted to him the full truth. Her shame of being barren. He might not want children now, but surely he would, eventually.
Even the servants were getting their hopes up. Shame filled her. And guilt. She must tell her husband.
The old man’s eyes twinkled with a pleasure that seemed to make her pain worse. ‘Is there anything else you would like to see, Your Grace?’
She fought back a sudden rush of tears. ‘Thank you, no, you have both been most thorough.’ The housekeeper had also made it clear that everything was so well run, there was no role for Julia, apart from approving the menus for the week.
Grindle escorted her back to the drawing room, where she took out her needlework. She glanced at the clock. It was barely ten. Perhaps she should leave this for later and go for a walk. Visit Bella in the stables.
She went to the window. The day was cloudy, threatening rain, but perhaps it would hold off for a while. A carriage coming up the drive gave her pause. Who on earth would be calling at this hour of the morning?
A few minutes later, Grindle announced the Dowager Duchess of Dunstan.
A strikingly beautiful woman with black hair and an olive cast to her skin swept in. Her eyes tilted upward at the corners, adding to her exotic allure. She looked familiar. Of course, her son, Lord Luke, was the masculine version of this very feminine woman. Alistair was not going to be pleased that his stepmama had come to call when he was out.
Julia rose and curtsied. ‘Your Grace.’
The woman swooped across the room and embraced Julia. ‘My dearest daughter, no need for ceremony between family, surely?’ She turned back to the butler. ‘Grindle, bring the tea tray and some of Cook’s lovely little cakes. I declare I am famished.’
Grindle looked none too pleased, but bowed. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Sit down. Sit down,’ the Dowager Duchess said, waving Julia to a chair and taking the one in which Julia had been seated. She picked up Julia’s embroidery and inspected it. ‘Very nice, my dear. Where is my stepson?’
‘Visiting a tenant, Your Grace.’
‘Call me mama, my dear. A tenant? On his honeymoon? How very odd? But then he was always cold, even as a boy.’ She gave Julia a kindly look. ‘But perhaps he has changed.’
Julia scrambled to catch her breath. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you at last.’
The Dowager’s smile lit her face, making her look even more beautiful. Her gown was of the richest purple silk Julia had ever seen and fit her slender figure to perfection. Her jewels were worth a king’s ransom. ‘How lovely you are to say so. I know my stepson would not agree, since he did not invite me to his wedding.’
Guilt assailed Julia. ‘It was a very small affair. I apologise.’
‘No matter. The deed is done.’
Grindle and a footman entered with the tray. The Dowager Duchess signalled them to set it down on the little table beside her. ‘Now, Julia, how do you take your tea?’
Julia flinched. She had been remiss, first in not ordering the tea for her guest and then in not arranging things properly. Now the poor Dowager was forced to act as hostess. ‘With milk and a little sugar, please.’
The Dowager smiled, her dark brown eyes warm and friendly. Julia could not imagine why her husband had taken her in dislike. ‘Perhaps you could move your work, in case I spill.’
Flustered, Julia leaped up. ‘I beg your pardon.’ What on earth was the matter with her? Perhaps it was the Dowager’s forceful personality making her wits go begging. She put the embroidery in its linen bag and tucked it in a drawer before taking her cup from the Dowager.
The Dowager took a sip of tea and gave a small sigh of pleasure. ‘Now, tell me all about yourself.’
Julia sipped her tea. For once the tea tasted as tea should. Perhaps her illness had made things taste strange. ‘My father was an earl. I was widowed three years ago.’ What else could she say that would not have this woman turning up her nose?
‘A widow? And how on earth did you manage to catch the most elusive bachelor in London? You are to be congratulated, my dear.’
Heat flushed all the way to Julia’s hairline at the recollection of how she and Alistair had met. ‘Dunstan and I met at the house of a friend.’ If one could call the owner of a brothel a friend. ‘He offered and I accepted.’
The Dowager’s brow furrowed. Something flashed in her eyes. ‘A love match, then.’
If only it were. She looked down at her hands. Pride did not allow her to reveal the truth and if this telling sounded romantic, perhaps it was better left at that. If more explanations were to be made, those would be left to her husband.
The Dowager raised her cup as if in toast. ‘I must say, I was surprised. All the family were.’
