Page 97 of Crash Landing
Why had Florence’s family spurned this gem of a daughter?
Chapter Eighteen
Florence could hardlykeep her eyes open by the time they arrived at the impressive Weymouth townhouse situated in one of the more fashionable squares in Mayfair. It was shortly after sunrise, and the façade of the townhouse gleamed in the early morning light. It was quite a grand home, and she imagined the interior would be just as impressive because Trajan’s granduncle had impeccable taste.
She felt like a duck out of water, having arrived bedraggled, covered in dust, and toting a travel pouch containing all of two muslin gowns practical for travel and one impractical silk gown suitable for afternoon tea.
What would the Weymouth staff think of their new mistress when they were better attired in their livery than she was in her wrinkled muslin?
To make matters worse, she had not thought to pack a proper pair of slippers to go with the silk gown, nor had she brought any jewelry with her. And what self-respecting duchess would travel without a lady’s maid or her jewels?
Fortunately, the silk gown she had brought along was pretty enough to wear for her wedding. It was a lovely blend of aquamarine colors with a blue silk underlining and a sea-green sarcenet overlay.
The lack of slippers was a concern, however. She would have to wear her walking boots to the church. Perhaps no one would notice.
She sighed. Of course, everyone would. People always took noteof such things.
“Ready, love?” Trajan whispered as they were let into the house by Bartlett, the longtime head butler who had served under his granduncle and seemed pleased to be serving under him now.
“Your Grace,” Bartlett said with unmistakable good cheer. “A pleasure to have you home.”
“Thank you, Bartlett.” Trajan immediately introduced Florence as “his wife by sundown” and stated that she was to be given the duchess quarters adjoining his suite of rooms.
Florence tried not to cringe at the thought of what must be running through the minds of the Weymouth staff. She was a lady traveling alone with this handsome duke and there was the necessity of a quick marriage, as though she were some doe-eyed waif he had maneuvered into a compromising position and got caught.
A glimpse in the hallway mirror as they were led past the entry hall showed her hair to be an utter disaster—pins loose, wisps dangling from behind her ears and the nape of her neck. One fat curl had simply come undone and lay flat against her cheek.
“No fuss is to be made for us. Just bring up a tub for Lady Florence and assign a maid to attend her. Where is Mrs. Blake? Have her come up to the duchess quarters and assist Lady Florence in making a list of all she needs. Oh, and we’ll need breakfast sent up for us. Just for today. We’ll come down to the dining room tomorrow and the following days.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And we’ll need the house stocked with supplies for several small dinner parties that we plan to have while we are in residence. Close friends, that’s all. No more than fifteen or twenty in an evening. Mrs. Blake can go over the menus with Lady Florence for those. We’ll have a grand party once we have settled in. Isn’t she lovely, Bartlett?”
“Quite so, Your Grace.”
Florence rolled her eyes and smiled at the elderly man who had ajovial look about him. “We have done this all quite haphazardly,” she said. “Forgive us if we have put the household in an uproar.”
“Not at all, m’lady. We are pleased to have you with us.”
Trajan tucked her arm in his as they started up the stairs to the duchess suite of rooms while his head butler bustled off to alert the housekeeper. “Bartlett lives to have his mettle tested. He is up to the challenge. So is Mrs. Blake. It is frightening how organized and efficient she is, and scary how she can read one’s mind almost before one has even had the thought.”
Florence laughed. “You seem happy to be here.”
“It isn’t that I enjoy London above the countryside—you know I do not. But I am relieved we have made it here in one piece and can now put an end to this ordeal in which you are embroiled.” He opened the door to the duchess quarters and moved aside to allow her in.
Florence drew in a breath. “This is beautiful! Your granduncle truly had an eye for elegant design. Nothing is overdone or garish. Much like Gull Hall. It is impressive without screaming wealth and power, which actually enhances the image of wealth and power.”
“Understated elegance,” he said with a nod. “That was my granduncle.”
The walls were a creamy white and trimmings were in a lighter shade, perhaps an ivory white. The curtains and counterpane were of a floral print, the colors of the seacoast to give it an airy feel.
“Want to see the ducal bedchamber?” he asked, smiling like a child given a new toy.
“Of course.” What she cared about most was knowing the interior door between their bedchambers would never be closed to each other.
Her mouth gaped open again as she surveyed this distinctly masculine room decorated in darker colors, with polished wood wainscoting that went around the entire room.
Mrs. Blake, a thin woman in her early forties who could best be described as a whirlwind, bustled into the duchess quarters and thenpoked her head into the duke’s chamber. “Your Grace, I am here.”
