Page 38 of A Wolf in Duke's Clothing

They halted at the foot of the terrace. “I would know were she unwell or unhappy,” the duke said suddenly. “When we were children and I was fostered away, she used to sneak me letters, in the most ingenious ways…” He looked over at her, his expression bittersweet. “I was happy in Matthias’s homeplace, and for the first year, was delighted to have shaken off my silly little sister. But as the years passed, I realized she was the only sibling I would ever have…so I sent her a letter and got a proper ladylike reply contained in my mother’s correspondence, then received Phoebe’s true missive, by clever subterfuge. Thus, we…we became friends and…she was the only reason I came home at all. And then, when it became necessary that she leave England, under a cloud, my heart…my heart…”

He hopped down, and Juventus shook himself from nose to tail. Felicity took her feet out of the stirrups and was halfway through swinging down when the duke’s hands fell on her waist; between her impetus and his abnormal strength, she all but flew through the air, landing backward onto That Chest. She went to move away, but he turned her to face him, swifter than thought, and his arms banded around her, and she felt—she felt like he needed her embrace, so she gave it, without reservation. She squeezed his bulk as best she could, sighed when he sighed, and tilted her head up when his thumb, under her chin, urged her to do so.

“This was not home, for almost all my life,” he said. “I was born here but not reared here. I was nothing but a role to be fulfilled, a figurehead—never a son to be cherished, a boy to be indulged. It was a place to escape and then return to reluctantly. But now that you are here…it is a home, as never before. There is life and joy and hope. There is vibrancy and promise and heart. This becomes home, for all of us, now that you are here, beneath its roof.”

On tiptoe, Felicity reached out to stroke a fingertip down his cheek. His eyelids drooped, and as his head lowered, she moistened her lips with her tongue, heard him groan, felt his growing arousal against her belly, and—

Two of the stable lads whooped as they raced one another around the corner of the Hall. Felicity leapt out of Alfred’s arms, Jupiter squealed and turned to bolt, and even Juventus made as if to hare off. The boys had them in hand soon enough, and Felicity blushed, chagrined. Would they ever be left alone?

“Good lads.” The duke waved them off, and they trotted the horses away.

Lads.That was it! Felicity laid her hand on the duke’s forearm and ignored the flare of desire in his eye. “Alfred,” she said, “where are the children?”

Twelve

The staterooms were opulent, and each chamber was appointed to the highest degree. The chandelier in the withdrawing room was the most majestic Felicity had ever seen, hung with thousands of faceted crystals that would blaze like the sun were the candles lit. She was sure she could have the candles lit did she but ask, but that was wasteful and ridiculous. She was not so far gone in notions of her own consequence, despite all the encouragement to the contrary, to act as one to the highest manner born.

As she wandered from the anteroom through to the withdrawing room, around her bedroom, and into the dressing room, she noted furnishings here and there that could use freshening, draperies that would benefit from turning, and carpets from beating. The paintings were of the standard she now understood as the style of the Hall, and she paused before an image of two small dogs that adorned a wall in the dressing room. Dark as night, the larger dog loomed over the smaller one, who was a honeyed brown. There was a purple bow around the bigger dog’s neck—perhaps that’s what made him look so disgruntled—while the little one sat on a red, velvet cushion, smiling, tail aloft. Felicity was certain it was a she; there was something about the bright-blue eyes and relative daintiness that was feminine. Was this what that man had meant by pups? Did the duke’s sister have the raising of hunting dogs, perhaps?

Felicity regarded her gown, hanging freshly sponged on the door of the nearby wardrobe. She herself was freshly sponged, as she could not get enough of that bathing room, but the thought of donning the same dress for yet another evening was less than exhilarating. She’d prefer not to go down in the latest set of trousers that Mary Mossett had tailored for her; even though Alfred had been taken with her in them, she wished to be ladylike tonight.

Would there be more kissing? She wondered that she wanted to kiss a man who deflected every inquiry and fled when she asked about the Hall’s children. This was on the one hand; on the other was the man who held her like she was a precious being and vowed that her presence here was making Lowell Hall a home.

If that solicitor was ever going to respond, it had best be now. How she hated the notion of marrying because of some ridiculous societal edicts; how she hated the notion of leaving Lowell Hall, which was beginning to feel like home to her as well. She hadn’t realized how alone she’d become in the last five years, how one by one—from her father all the way down to her personal maid—she’d been stripped of company in her life. If not for Jemima and her horses, what would she have done?

Perhaps she could sneak the mares onto Lowell land. Marshall seemed a likely enough fellow—but she would not endanger someone else’s livelihood, for her own ends. What if shesaidwhat she wanted? What if she made the freedom to establish her stud a condition of the marriage? She must have some bargaining power since he was so determined that she wed him.

I will not sneak about, she thought.I do not require permission. I am not a child.

She thought again of Jemima, how she wished for her counsel, when a cursory knock on the door sounded before it flew open. In bounded Mrs. Birks, directing a stream of footmen burdened by trunks and bandboxes and hatboxes. Behind them came O’Mara and—“Jem—Lady Coleman! I was only just wishing for you!” Felicity ran and embraced her friend. “Are you well? However did you get here, and bearing such abundance?”

“His Grace sent for me,” she answered. “Mr. Bates left me a note about bringing your clothes, and O’Mara came to fetch me from Town. I am in alt to kit you out, finally, in garments that will truly reflect your beauty and the fineness of your figure.”

“Please, at the very least, let us offer you a cup of tea.”

“The hour grows late and the first gong approaches,” Jemima said. “I would not have your toilette rushed.”

“Nevertheless. Mrs. Birks, tea, please, and perhaps something else to fortify Lady Coleman after her journey.” The housekeeper went to pull the bell, and Mary Mossett ran into the room. “Your Grace, wait till you see—” She spotted Jemima and stopped abruptly, her mouth agape.

“Lady Jemima Coleman, may I introduce Miss Mary Mossett?” Felicity asked. “Lady Coleman is my dearest friend, Mary, I believe I mentioned her to you? Lady Coleman, Mary is adept with a needle, I am sure you two have much to discuss.”

Mary snorted. “And a thing or two in common, to be sure—”

“Mary!” Mrs. Birks tweaked the little maid’s earlobe. “Make your curtsy.”

She did so, never taking her eyes off Jemima.

“Mary,” O’Mara said in her soothing tones, “this is Her Grace’s dear friend, a fine lady from high society who honors us with her visit to Lowell Hall. It is no surprise that you are so taken with her appearance, is she not wearing a lovely gown? She has brought a beautiful new wardrobe for Her Grace, do help Lady Coleman organize it, do.”

“Aye, Ome—O’Mara,” Mary said, with a tiny yawn.

“Good evening, Mary,” Jemima said. “I would be delighted to no end to discuss the art of fashion with you. Perhaps you might help me unpack?” She gestured to the nearest case, and Mary joined her there.

It was as though the Pantheon Bazaar had come to Sussex. Mrs. Birks supervised the decanting of the two largest trunks, and they yielded a wealth of dresses: day dresses, walking dresses, evening gowns, ball gowns… Felicity spotted at least three of the split-skirt riding habits that Jemima had devised with her in mind. Jemima and Mary unpacked a profusion of shawls, stockings, ribbons, as well as reticules and fans and gloves. The footmen lined up hatboxes along the top shelves of the wardrobes, and underneath, set the sort of containers that held slippers and half boots. Felicity felt as breathless as when the duke had kissed her, and she blushed.

“Are you well, ma’am?” Mrs. Birks hung up the last of the ball gowns. “That bathing room! I hope ye didn’t do the water too hot. These newfangled things, they be dangerous, why, a maid knows just how much hot to lay on, and then how much cold, and so on.” She took a tray from a goggling servant and poured out cups of tea.

“I am well,” Felicity assured her. “I am stunned by this finery. When you said you’d made me clothes, Lady Coleman, I did not imagine it was an entire wardrobe.”

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