Page 15 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“Are youcertainthe duke will take you away tomorrow?” Eliza asked her. “Please tell me you can delay in some way. I shall sorely miss you.”
“I will miss you both, too. I hadn’t thought—” She shook her head, her throat tightening as once again she remembered all the things she would lose—and miss—when she left. “I am so glad you discovered I was here all those months ago and rekindled our friendship. This would have been a lonely year without you both.”
“Andweare glad we found you again,” Eliza hugged her sideways.
Marie pressed a glass of wine into Lydia’s hand. “What you must do, therefore, is convince the duke to let you stay.”
“And how might I do that?” Lydia asked, curling a brow. “He wished to carry me offtonight,need I remind you.”
Eliza held up a hand. “But the soiree made it impossible for you to do so.”
“Precisely,” Marie put in, her eyes lighting again, although this time with the beginnings of a plan. “Surely he cannot expect you to default on social engagements merely because of his impatience!”
“Drag your feet,” Eliza added succinctly. “There must be ways. Tell your maid to unpack because you must look at a particular gown. Or—did you not say you could choose which property of his you can live in? Ask to see them all again.”
Lydia massaged her forehead. “If I do such things, he will see straight through me.”
“Then you will have to make him fall in love with you,” Marie declared.
Lydia dropped her hand and gaped at her friend. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It worked perfectly well for my marriage,” Marie shrugged. “And if he loves you, he will want to keep you here as his wife.”
“But,” Lydia cut in, “I have no desire to make him love me. And I hardly think I could ever come to love him.”
“Nuance.” Marie waved a dismissive hand. “Who said anything about loving him in return?”
Eliza gasped and clapped in delight. “Yes! You must find excuses to be close with him! Remind him how fortunate he is to have such a beautiful wife, and he will be sure to fallmadlyin love with you.”
Lydia glanced from one friend to the other. “Surely you are not both serious…”
“As the grave,” Eliza replied. “More so.”
Marie nodded sagely, and when the music from the pianoforte turned into a jig, she pushed at Lydia’s back. “Quick, dance with the duke.”
“What if he doesn’t want to dance with me?!”
“If you ask him, he will not refuse. He is far too polite for that.” Marie nudged her again. “Go, quickly!”
Alexander turned as his wife approached, an expression of reluctance on her face he could hardly place. In truth, he had been aware of her the entire evening, although he had attemptedto ignore that awareness. It was natural, he told himself, to be paying covert attention to one’s wife. Especially when said wife was giggling with her friends—giggling, he could only assume, about him.
A year ago, when he had encountered her shortly after watching her father pass into whatever lay beyond, he had not been especially struck by her beauty. He had been thinking ofanythingbut her physical appearance.
This morning, when he had seen her again in her bedchamber, he had been shocked to discover she had bloomed like a shy night flower, auburn curls tumbling beside her face and her lush figure flatteringly draped in material he had been hard-pressed to ignore.
Now, dressed in a gown that shimmered in the candlelight and frequently caught against the rounded curve of her hip, he had to confess he had entirely misjudged her. He had presumed her to be a shy, retiring, plain lady. Instead, when he glanced into her hazel eyes, he suspected she had a secret temper to match her hair.
And nowshewas approachinghim.
He ended his conversation with Godwin, who watched him with open and blatant amusement, as his wife came to stand before him, curtsying slightly.
“Husband,” she said, and although her voice was musical, he thought he detected a little resentment there.
Understandably.
“I told you to call me Alexander,” he answered.
She glanced down, her soft lashes casting half-moons on her cheeks. “Perhaps in time I will,” she murmured. “But we are not yet acquainted enough for that, Your Grace.”
