Page 7 of Courting the Duchess
Though she could not hear what was being said, she could make out the low rumble of masculine voices as words were exchanged, likely between Sterling and one of the servants. She supposed she’d have to grow used to sharing space with him, whether she cared to or not. Penny was right. This was technically Sterling’s home. Everything within it was his. Evenshewas his, according to the letter of the law. How nauseating that a system could afford a man the right to abandon his wife for years and still be allowed to hold all the power. Her soul railed at the unfairness of it all.
There she went again about fairness…
There was a rustle of silk as Penny held up the gown for her; the sound broke the spell the adjoining door seemed to have upon Alaina’s attention. She stepped into the dress and laced her into the garment. Tiny seed pearls and glass beads caught the flickering lamplight in dancing fractals of glitter. She examined her reflection, gradually gaining confidence as her appearance came together.
Her earlier meeting with the housekeeper, Mrs. Frank, and Cook had started poorly. Alaina’s temper had been boiling over and, unused to seeing her quite so flustered, her staff hadn’t quite known how to handle it. To their credit, despite some fits and starts, they took her churlishness in stride.
Did she want to have a special supper for the duke?
We can’tnothave supper. We must eat, regardless.
Would she prefer it to be served on the fine china?
It seems rather excessive to do so for two people. (Plus she didn’t trust herself to not throw a few of the plates and/or utensils at some point during the meal.)
Were there preferences on what should be served?
This inquiry had given her pause. She realized that neither the housekeeper nor the cook had been in residence when Sterling was last in residence at Morton House.
At last. Inspiration struck her.
Peas. Lots of them. Pea soup. Mashed peas. Pea pudding—if there is such a thing.
No one could ever accuse her of knowingnothingabout her husband.
“Glad to see something has made you smile.” Penny grinned as she tucked and pinned the last curl into place and met Alaina’s eyes in the mirror.
She hadn’t realized her expression had altered as she’d pondered her supper plans. She ignored the comment and, instead, thanked the maid when she brought out Alaina’s pearls.
Donning her last bit of armor, Alaina made one final assessment and enjoyed a final cleansing breath.
It was time to face her husband.
And this time she was better prepared.
Chapter Three
Sterling returned anotherbook to the shelf in the library after idly leafing through its pages. The collection of rows and rows of books in the room had already been substantial when he’d left, but, over the years, Alaina had made significant contributions of her own. Now, each shelf was stuffed from floor to ceiling with leather-bound tomes in shades of brown, black, blue, green, and even red. Where his materials—his favorite collections of essays and novels—had once been within easy reach, he’d had to search only to discover most of them relegated to the highest and most inconvenient corners of the room. It appeared that his wife had even installed several additional cases in his absence to accommodate the increase in the collection’s volume. He felt a grudging amount of admiration as he stood back and surveyed it all. Alaina had found a passion and possessed broad literary tastes… things which had initially drawn him to her and he was reminded of this as he examined the shelves. A quick skim of the titles showed him everything from philosophical works to popular literature commonly sold in smaller installments. Alaina had certainly made herself at home in his absence.
There were touches of her in every room he’d explored thus far.
Well…not every room.
The ducal chamber had remained untouched for nearly a decade.
The hearth had been clean but the room was stuffy, and likely hadn’t been aired in years, given the stale atmosphere and film of dust coating the sheets draped over the furniture. His old clothes remained in the wardrobe where they’d been left—woefully out of date, slightly moth-eaten, and likely wouldn’t have fit him even if they hadn’t been. He’d gained at least a stone on his frame; his routine of riding and boxing had kept him in fine physical form. What was intended to be a twelve-month absence had been continually extended and he’d needed a way to keep himself from going mad as he chafed against the role he’d been assigned to play. It was far easier for a debauched duke to flit in and out of the lavish parties and gatherings thrown by Europe’s powerful and influential men. He drew less attention when it was believed he was nothing more than a pleasure-seeking rogue with fewer thoughts in his brain than notches on his bedpost. However, because he’d cultivated his actions, behavior, and speech in public, that didn’t mean he’d changed who he was in his heart and soul; his greatest task was now getting Alaina to see and believe that. He was still a man who loved to ride and read, who enjoyed spirited verbal discourse and as many sweets as he could stomach.
Despite what anyone now believed, he was still the same man who’d been raised by a loving mother and a father who’d instilled in him a rampant sense of duty to King and country. When he’d inherited his title at only four-and-twenty after both his parents succumbed to separate illnesses within weeks of one another, Sterling had vowed to do whatever he could to uphold his father’s noble beliefs. And, when he’d been approached with an opportunity to do so, he’d accepted without a second of hesitation. He’d chastised himself for his rash decision time and time again over the years, but he couldn’t have known that he’d meet Alaina mere months after that choice, one that would alter the course of his life.
Now, nearly a decade later, he was both the same man and a different one. He maintained his unwavering loyalty to duty and he’d sheltered what parts of him he could while he molded his exterior to fit what was required. As much as he’d hoped to fall back into the life he’d left behind, it had become immediately apparent to him that it would not be so easy.
Walking into his bedchamber at Morton House felt like stepping into a shrine to his former life—a much simpler time when he had been foolish enough to form hopes and dreams and aspirations. His naiveté was nauseating to him now.
How could he not have predicted the impact his decisions would have on his life?
On Alaina’s?
Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, his instincts tuning into the slight stirring in the air telling him he was no longer alone.
