Page 16 of Claimed By the Duke of Ice

She turned back toward him, and he could tell by the redness in her nose and under her eyes that she was holding back tears of anger. Again, a now-familiar ache hit him in his chest, and he had to look away.

“As you say, it has been a long day,” Grace continued, her voice tight. “And since you will not be joining me, I should like to have the apartments to myself to prepare for sleep.”

She curtseyed to him stiffly, neither willing to look at one another.

“Good night, Your Grace,” she said, her tone cold and distant.

Nathaniel bowed to her formally, and without another word, he left the room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Not a full moment had passed since Nathaniel left before Grace heard a knocking at her apartment doors. Hoping it was her husband, she went to them quickly. Disappointment filled her as she saw Mrs. Snievely standing there with a young woman dressed in a simple white blouse and long, black skirt.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mrs. Snievely greeted her warmly, curtseying. “The Master has informed me that you did not have a handmaid come with you, so I have brought you Bridgette.”

“It will be a pleasure to serve you, Your Grace,” Bridgette replied demurely as she curtseyed.

“She can help you with your bath,” Mrs. Snievely offered, “or if you prefer to manage that on your own, she can begin to put away your belongings.”

Grace had practically forgotten what it was like to have a handmaid. Since her father’s financial stumble, her family had let go of her beloved handmaid, Cora, along with most of their staff. Only a housekeeper, cook, and liveryman had remained, and she had become used to dressing and preparing for her day alone.

“If you are too tired, Your Grace, we may come back in the morn,” Mrs. Snievely ventured.

Suddenly realizing that she had simply stared off after introductions, Grace shook her head and did her best to smile at them warmly.

“No, Mrs. Snievely. Forgive me. I am still a bit out of sorts,” Grace apologized. “Please, do come in.”

Grace opened the door wider, allowing Bridgette and Mrs. Snievely in. At once, Mrs. Snievely offered to put her things away, and Bridgette followed Grace so that she could help her into the bath. It was strange to have servants to do everything again, but she had to admit, she was grateful for the company.

After Bridgette helped her out of her wedding gown, Grace sank into the warm pool of water and took a deep breath. Suddenly, she was very thankful for it, for the heated water lapped at her muscles and the strain in her neck, making her feel better immediately. Closing her eyes to the pleasure of the bath, Grace let her hang rest back onto the lip of the tub. She was startled for a moment when she felt someone grab her hand then relaxed once she opened her eyes and saw it was Bridgette getting ready to wash her fingernails and arm.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” Bridgette replied in a soft voice, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Feeling silly and perhaps a tad bit sorry for herself, Grace shook her head.

“It’s not you,” she replied, relaxing again. “There are just many things here I am not used to.”

Mrs. Snievely came out of Grace’s closet, looking around for more luggage.

“Where are the rest of your trunks, Your Grace?” she asked, perplexed.

Grace smiled bashfully. “There’s only these two, Mrs. Snievely,” she replied honestly.

Mrs. Snievely chuckled as she shook her head. “Well, that is fine, Your Grace. Have no doubt that His Grace will soon have your drawers and closet bursting in no time.”

“He will?” Grace asked, leaning up so Bridgette could wash her back.

“Aye, His Grace is a generous man,” Mrs. Snievely replied. “He doesn’t like when it is pointed out, but he is.”

“Just not generous with his time, I suppose,” Grace murmured, looking down into the water.

“Oh, come now, You Grace,” Mrs. Snievely urged gently, kneeling beside Grace’s bath. “His Grace has his quirks, to be sure, but give him time. You will soon see he is a good and kind man in his own way.”

“I don’t know,” Grace breathed, shaking her head. “His Grace is so hard to read. Sometimes, he looks and speaks to me so intimately as if he has genuine feelings for me. Other times, though, he can be so cold and callous. I can’t seem to understand him.”

“Do any of those ways involve taking off his gloves?” she asked.

A pained look came over Mrs. Snievely’s face as she pressed her lips tightly together.

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