The Inconvenient Duchess by Christine Merrill

Author:Christine Merrill
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

There was a hubbub in the courtyard. Miranda could hear it through the open window. She rose from where she’d slept, leaning against the door, and straightened the cramps out of her back. Through the wood she could hear more sounds, fainter, of servants rushing about trying to look busy.

Fire, perh s?

No, someone would have come for her, even if they disliked her management.

There was a sharp rapping on the panel near her ear and she started back in surprise.

‘Your Grace, are you awake? I’d come in, but the door is locked. It’s time to dress. Quickly. His Grace, the duke, is back.’

Oh, God. He’d returned. Just as if he’d seen what had happened the night before and come to call her to account. She unbolted the door and Polly hurried into the room.

They threw together her morning dress and combed her hair, and she surveyed the results in the mirror. If possible, she looked even worse than when he had left her. The dress, which had been sorry when she’d arrived at the house, was looking even more tired. There were places where the thread-bare trim had given way, and Polly had made the best of it by removing the ruffles all together, but the blank lines looked almost worse. The fit was not loose, as it had been, but uncomfortably tight across the breasts.

Her hair. She ran a quick hand through the curls, remembering what St John had said about his brother’s love of long flowing hair, remembering the portrait in the hall upstairs of the winsome blonde surrounded with the cloud of waves.

And her face was worst of all. She was tired, she knew, but not paler for it. She had the guilty flush of a woman just kissed, and there was nothing she could do to force the colour from her cheeks.

Miranda left the room and descended the stairs, trying to keep her head high.

Her husband, if that was still what he was, was in the entry way, shouting orders to servants and directing various bags, boxes and crates to their chosen destination. He shrugged out of his many-caped coat and passed it to the waiting valet. His boots were still dusty from the road, but the black suit he wore was immaculate, his shirt points were crisp and his cravat fell in a complicated knot and was held in place by a jet stick pin. He was every bit the smart town gentleman, rich and well bred. She felt a flash of pride and admiration, knowing that she was his.

He glanced up the stairs when she reached a point about halfway down, and stopped his instructions to the butler, following her with his eyes as she descended. She was again conscious of her sorry appearance. She looked like what she was: hardly good enough to claim a job as maid in the house that she was mistress of.

She reached the floor and stopped a few feet in front of him, dropping into her best curtsy.

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