Page 9 of The Jilted Duchess
She was still holding onto the small bundle of flowers she had held as a bride, waiting to be given to the worst man she had ever met. The stems were crumpled together so tightly that they had almost fused into one in her fist, sticky and sweaty and damp with fear and rage and humiliation.
The flowers themselves were wilted and drooping, a sad array of daisies and roses. A foolish combination, she thought. Innocence and love, two things that had no place in her marriage to Benedict Lennox.
Her dress was uncomfortable with all the extra embroidery and lace. She stood, glancing at the clock in her room, which was too large and at the same time too impersonal. If her husband wasnot going to come to her room and remove her dress the way he was meant to, she could at least get out of the things herself and make herself comfortable.
Why am I crying?she thought to herself crossly as she fumbled for the laces and buttons, carefully undoing them one at a time with clumsy fingers until she could slip the dress off over her shoulders and step out of it. It lay on the floor, a puddle of white silk and pink lace and girlish dreams she'd never even had in the first place.
She had never wanted the wedding night, the discarded clothes, the wedding bed.
She had just wanted freedom.
Alexandra bit her lip as hard as she could and took off her gloves one finger at a time, folding them and crossing the room to find a dresser to store them in. There was pleasant enough furniture in the room, a pale green dressing table that had clearly been owned by a woman at some point in its past, a tall wardrobe of pale wood with cunning handles and a writing desk with a lovely red velvet lining. Yet there were no decorations, none of her things except one of her bags propped in the corner, nothing that marked it as belonging to her.
If Louisa had been here, she might have said something whimsical about it being like Alexandra had stepped into a shell left behind by another woman, but as it was just her, she felt cold and alone.
She carefully smoothed out her gloves and then stepped out of her wedding slippers, which had delicate satin and beaded tops, and put them away in the wardrobe at the very back. She crossed back across the room and picked up the gown, draping it over one arm and taking it to hand it up in the closet on its own, stark and lonely like her.
That done, she sat at the dressing table and looked at herself. She was bony and lanky, long-legged and long-armed with a long, thin nose and too many freckles. Her eyes were green like her mother's eyes, and her hair was too untamable if left free, brown waves tangling around her shoulders and refusing to sit in one place.
She slowly removed each pin from her head, placing them neatly into a drawer of the dressing table and then brushing her hair carefully the hundred times she had always been told to. Her throat was tight and sore, with not crying out loud, her eyes ached and stung, but she kept moving, kept fastidiously cleaning up her things. She was strong and sensible, and she was capable of surviving anything.
When her hair was in chestnut clouds around her shoulders and her pale, drawn face was even paler peeking out of the middle of it, she stopped and put down her brush. Every motion was particular and careful, just as she needed to be as she crossed to her case and drew out a nightshift, slipping it over her head and buttoning it up.
Demure. Polite. A good wife. A promising marriage. A duchess. All things she could make herself into if she tried. She wouldtry. She could. It was better than the alternative, after all. He couldn't beworse.
What now?
Why is he taking so long?
She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after nine.
Surely no man had ever been so reluctant to join his wife in their marriage bed? Why was he not here? Was he displeased with her? Was he angry?
Alexandra felt a slow thrum of anger build in her chest. If her lord husband was displeased, then she had a right to know about it, to know what she could do to make things better, not to be left to wonder when or if he was coming! Was he expecting to come to bed after she was asleep? Perhaps to wake her from some dream when she would not be expecting him at all?
No.
She frowned and walked across the room. With as much deliberation as every other action she had taken that evening, she opened the door and left. She walked slowly and steadily to the end of the hall, turned, and headed towards the kitchens, where she would likely findsomeonewho might know where her husband was.
"Your Grace," Mr. Laroux was saying, an elegant man with enough ruffs, buttons, and fancies on his clothing to qualify as a dandy in his own right. "His Grace has retired to his study for the night. He was quite clear that he had work to do and did not want to be disturbed. Might I suggest you take up with him in the morning -"
"Quite," Alexandra said coldly. "And yet I am his wife and we have just been married. I believe it is quite within my rights to disturb him tonight of all nights."
"Your Grace," Mr. Laroux was leading her towards the study in question, even if he did have rather a lot to say about why it was a bad idea. "His Grace was not expecting to be wed today. Perhaps after a little time to get used to the idea -"
"I also was not expecting to wed His Grace today," Alexandra retorted. "He can adjust. I have had to."
“Can I implore you to change your mind, Your Grace?”
“Do Duchesses usually change their minds?” Alexandra asked with interest. “Or do they do what they will?”
Mr. Laroux seemed a little perplexed by the question. “It depends on the duchess, Your Grace.”
She nodded. “I believe I am going to do what I will tonight, Mr. Laroux. If you would not mind showing me my husband’s study, I would appreciate it.”
Mr. Laroux did not reply to this; he merely drew her attention to a particular door and then withdrew politely, as any good servant should, when there was about to be trouble between his master and mistress.
It was the first time that she had been in a position to cause that kind of trouble, and Alexandra was rather excited about it. It felt not quite like having power, but at least like being able to impact her fate for once.
