Page 39 of His Haunted Duchess
Frederic nearly jumped out of his chair. Carlyle bowed from the doorway closest to the kitchens.
“The evening meal is in the final stages of preparation, sir. It will be ready in a quarter of an hour.”
Frederic breathed deeply through his nose.
“Yes, thank you.”
His wretched pulse wouldn’t settle in a place like this—too many interruptions. He felt more like running a lap around the house than sitting down to eat, but perhaps some food would do him good. He had but a few minutes to wait.
A copy of Aristotle lay on the side table. He picked it up and flipped through the pages. He brushed away his thoughts and turned his eyes to the words.
“Friendship is essentially a partnership,” he read. “It is not a lack of love but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”
Frederic sighed and rubbed his eyes. As if he needed reminding in his current situation. He and Lady Caroline were but a week away from being complete strangers, much less genial acquaintances, but he didn’t need his marriage to be happy—just civil. That was achievable, at least.
He flipped the page, searching—for the first time in his life—for a droll comment on the navy or economics. His eyes found a new passage.
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”
He tossed the book back onto the side table. Aristotle, not for the first time, had not been as helpful as he had hoped. He wanderedto the shelves to return the volume and searched for something else to read.
He passed overThe Sorrows of Young Werther—too pathetic—andThe Bride of Lammermoor—too droll. Surely there was something better available than those. He needed something meatier, something less dramatic. He made his way to a lower shelf, stooping to find an old copy he’d used in his own lessons years ago.Where in the world was Tacitus when you needed him?
The dinner bell rang. He stood, straightening his jacket, relieved and annoyed. Tacitus, it seemed, would have to wait.
CHAPTER 13
“Really, your ladyship—I can’t imagine what possessed you to bring out the monkey.”
Winifred looked as the Duke of Wellington might recently have felt cresting the hill on his way to the battle in Wallonia. Her face burned with red at the edges, and her white cap was askew.
“He seemed as if he wanted airing,” Lady Olivia panted. “Cut him off, will you, or he’ll get into the stables, and there will be an almighty ruckus.”
The wedding was but a few days away. In the spirit of festivities and farewell, Aunt Olivia had invited both households to a picnic on Kingston Estate. The monkey, an afterthought, had—due to its truancy—immediately catapulted to the center of attention. Esther, in a rich brown bonnet, set off admirably by an ostrich feather, cocked her head.
“It does seem dreadfully improper having so many animals about.”
Winifred and Lady Olivia chased the recently escaped and gleefully exuberant creature across the lawn.
“Get him! Come here, young man, and earn that sandwich!”
Philip, who up until that moment had been wholly invested in a cucumber sandwich and a bit of cold chicken, sprang into action. Aunt Olivia directed him to the monkey’s blind spot where he trotted with apparent enjoyment. Esther shook her head and sighed.
“It does seem as though the monkey would be happier indoors.”
Aunt Olivia ignored her which, all things considered, was a fairly wise decision. The monkey was more than enough of a distraction at the moment. Aunt Olivia stood, feet akimbo, her skirt spread like the tent of a paisley circus and her arms outstretched. The monkey turned on its heel and leapt across the grass.
“There it goes! After it! Once it gets to the trees, we’re done for!”
Philip and Winifred hurried after it. Carlyle slowly shook his head and stared down at the creature with studied disapproval.
The monkey, for a fatal moment, paused. The entire party sprinted across the lawn like a party of Franks near Rome. Themonkey screeched and ran ahead of them, its tail curling like a shepherd’s crook flailing over a pursuing herd of sheep.
Caroline, wearing an airy white dress of cotton muslin and a beige spencer, sat on a grey linen blanket. She felt much like a pearl in an oyster before it had been polished. Frederic sat next to her, looking out over the lake.
She did feel some unease about how he might perceive her aunt’s—oddities. Years of experience had taught her to take such eccentricities in her stride, such as the occasion when Ajax had chewed the hem of Lady Ethington’s best dress robe during a dinner party. She hadn’t missed Lady Ethington nor minded the absence of her visits, but she had worried on behalf of her aunt.
Frederic looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world or at least none that dared to disturb his current serenity. He took a thoughtful bite of the sandwich he was holding, savoring the bite as he chewed it.
