Page 21 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
Edith’s mouth had gone dry, and desire had flared in her belly. Shaking off the spell, she cleared her throat politely, turned to glance out the window, and wondered whether any of it had been real or simply a figment of her overactive imagination.
She took a calming breath, then gently rubbed Tilly’s arm to rouse her. “Tilly, we’re here,” she murmured.
Tilly blinked her eyes open, looking around drowsily before gasping at the sight of the castle.
“Whoa…” she breathed, looking at the tall towers and ancient stonework.
Laurence opened the carriage doors, and Edith helped Tilly step down. Tilly looked around wide-eyed at her surroundings. Edith’s attention was more focused on the servants who were lining up to greet them.
“This is the new Duchess, Lady Edith Thornwaite, and our daughter, Tilly. I expect you all to treat them with respect,” Laurence said firmly, not using the wordadoptedto refer to Tilly, which Edith appreciated.
The servants nodded and bowed to both Edith and Tilly.
“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Edith offered.
“And you, Your Grace,” the butler replied. “We will endeavor to look after you both during your time here.”
Edith nodded, then noticed that Laurence was no longer beside her. She looked to her left and saw him striding toward a large white horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and retrieved a leather bag offered by a waiting attendant.
“I am off to finish some business,” he said, before flicking the reins and riding away.
Edith’s mouth fell open as she realized that her new husband had all but abandoned her, but she quickly closed it and looked at the housekeeper, an older woman with salt and pepper curls tucked under her cap.
The housekeeper gave her a sympathetic nod. “He is a busy man. We can but welcome you, Your Grace, and your daughter,” she said. “This is Abigail; she will be your maid. And this is Mrs. Woodley; she will be Tilly’s governess.”
Edith looked at Abigail, who appeared to be a woman in her thirties with auburn hair, and Mrs. Woodley, an older and stern-looking woman.
“Good to meet you.” She nodded to the two women.
She felt Tilly’s hands grip her skirt. Edith looked down at the girl, who seemed intent on hiding in the fabric.
“Tilly… what are you doing?” she asked gently.
Tilly let out a shy murmur.
“You can tell me.”
“She looks strict,” Tilly whispered. “The matron of the workhouse sometimes looked at me like that.”
Edith’s stomach clenched at Tilly’s mention of the unfriendly workhouse matron.
“Tilly, you’ll be cared for here. You don’t need to be afraid of anyone,” she assured, before slowly leading the girl inside.
The main foyer was well-appointed, with wooden flooring covered by a large red embroidered rug. The walls were a deep burgundy, covered with portraits. Light streamed in through distant windows, and a large hearth filled with crackling logs warmed the room.
It was nothing like her first husband’s townhouse, which had been respectable but modest. She was not used to such grand, imposing, ancient rooms. The kind of place that had witnessed centuries of history. The kind that could swallow a person whole if they weren’t careful.
She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. This was her home now. Tilly’s home. She would make it warm, even if the stone walls wanted to stay cold.
Tilly gasped and ran over to one of the chairs, pressing on the fabric, her arms sinking several inches. She then tore down the hall.
“It’s huge!” she squealed.
“Tilly, come back,” Edith called out, not wanting her to accidentally stumble into Laurence’s private quarters.
Once Tilly had returned to Edith’s side, the housekeeper led the pair upstairs, pointing out rooms as they went. Tilly kept gasping at every new, delightful detail.
“I’m so lucky to get to live here,” she whispered.
