This Duchess of Mine (Desperate Duchesses Book 5) by Eloisa James

Author:Eloisa James [James, Eloisa]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-05-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

March 31

Elijah turned over from a confused dream in which Jemma was riding a white horse far ahead of him, disappearing into a wild, bramble-strewn forest. He was calling to her to wait, but she was too far ahead—

“Wake up, damn it,” a cold voice said.

He opened his eyes to find Villiers standing by his bedside. Vickery, his valet, was hurriedly throwing open the curtains.

As always, Villiers was magnificently dressed, from his coat to his snowy neck cloth. “You’re a deep sleeper,” he said, tapping his sword stick.

“It’s early.” Elijah pulled himself up in the bed. Then he added, “I’m shocked. I thought you were the sort who didn’t rouse until ten of the clock at the least, and after that would take the morning to dress.”

“I don’t,” Villiers said, all evidence to the contrary.

Elijah squinted at the windows. It couldn’t be later than seven or eight. Jemma had promised to take him with her at two o’clock.

“Stop smiling in that nauseating fashion,” Villiers barked. “You make me feel ill. I’ll wait for you downstairs. We have an appointment in forty minutes, so make your toilette a brief one.”

“Appointment?” But he was talking to an already-closed door, so he swung his legs from the bed.

Vickery was nervously pulling clothes from the wardrobe. “Will you wear the velvet today, Your Grace?”

The coat was black, like most of Elijah’s clothing. “I need an appointment with my tailor,” he said. “I no longer wish to look so funereal.”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” He drew out stockings, boots, a shirt.

“You don’t appear as nervous when I am in a hurry to go somewhere,” Elijah observed, pulling on smalls.

Vickery actually shivered. “His Grace the Duke of Villiers is so proper, so rigid in his dressing and clothing!”

Elijah waited.

“Perfect in every way,” Vickery added, his voice hushed. “And his valet…everyone knows Mr. Finchley is the best in London.” He sounded as if the man were an alchemist who could turn lead into gold.

“Is Villiers so difficult to dress, then?” Elijah pulled pantaloons over his stockings.

“Everything—but everything!—must be perfect,” Vickery said. “He has been known to tie his neck cloth fourteen, fifteen times. A fresh cloth each time, you understand. And everything next to his skin is the finest linen. Once he threw a pair of smalls out the window because they were inadequately ironed.”

“Bloody absurd,” Elijah murmured. “Do you iron my smalls, Vickery?”

His valet looked offended. “I iron only your neck cloths, Your Grace. I cannot trust anyone else with those. A laundry maid irons your intimates, of course.”

“We have a maid just for ironing?”

“Several,” his valet said, kneeling to help him slip on his boots. “Her Grace, naturally, has some three personal maids, as well as a laundry maid who works only with her garments.”

“Half of London,” Elijah marveled, “toiling away simply to keep two people adequately dressed.”

Vickery was holding his wig. Elijah looked at it with distaste. “The Duke of Villiers never wears a wig,” he pointed out.

“Never. His Grace sets his own fashion.

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