Page 52 of A Duke's Unwanted Bride
Nineteen
“What is this?” Adele frowned at the collection of packages that greeted her as she walked into the drawing room.
It had been several days since her conversation with the Duke, and though they had seen each other at meals, the man had been out of the castle more often than he had been in it.
She had thrown herself into her sewing in a hope to distract herself from whatever was growing between them. Of course, then he had swanned into her room, and now, her mind had been full of what she could make the Duke.
“I believe there is a note with them,” a voice said from behind her, and Adele turned to see one of the footmen indicating a note that was on top of the collection of things.
She moved towards it and took it in her hands. She unfolded it and read:
Adele,
You may not be able to go to France, but that is no reason you should not learn from the masters. I hope these will help you.
Yours,
Warner
Adele stroked the word ‘yours’ reminding herself that Warner was only acting the part of a devoted husband. She folded the note and tucked it away then began to unwrap the first package.
It was a brand new sewing box made of a beautiful dark mahogany with a green velvet basket to store tools and notions. She opened it, breathing in the scent, her fingers tracing the carefully thought out pockets and compartments. Then she found a catch, and pressing it, she discovered a hidden compartment with a note in it.
I am no great poet, but allow me to say that your eyes are like poetry to me. Your passion burns so bright, it is a lighthouse when I am the distant ship.
Yours,
W.
P.S. I am told young lovers keep notes in such places and thought you should have one — after all, it is bad luck to give someone an empty box or basket.
Adele laughed, even as her cheeks flushed. She tucked the letter back into the compartment and looked at the rest of the things in the sewing basket.
“Needles, thread, wax. Goodness, he did not.” Her fingers brushed the things, and she knew that he had bought her the very best of everything.
Everything was sturdy, well made, and put her current bits and bobs to shame. Not that they were bad, but what he had filled the box with was miles above what she could have ever afforded.
“I cannot believe he did this.” She unwrapped the next package and found bundles of magazines, all related to fashion.
There were books, some that she had already read and others that she had not even heard of. Each varied in their complexity and subject knowledge and was bound in the most beautiful green leather she had ever seen.
He had given her everything someone might need to make fine gowns, to hone her dressmaking skills and even learn something of tailoring for men.
Her heart swelled, and she took a step back, bumping into the housekeeper as she did.
“I see you found his Grace’s gifts.” Mrs. Streatley smiled, an open and honest smile that was completely at odds with the treatment Adele had come to expect from people.
Adele nodded and sat down on a nearby pouf, her head reeling. Mrs. Streatley was at her side in an instant.
“Are you unwell, Your Grace? I did fear you were working too hard.” Mrs. Streatley’s eyes widened. “I shall send for a drink; a strong cup of tea would do you good.”
“No. That will not be necessary, Mrs. Streatley. I am fine.”
“You look white as a sheet.”
“I am just… I am not used to being treated like this,” Adele admitted, and she noticed the tray in Mrs. Streatley’s arms. “Is that for the Duke?”
“Yes. It is his breakfast.” Mrs. Streatley looked between the tray and Adele. “But he will not mind if it is a little cold; I am sure he would far rather I make sure his Duchess was well.”
