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Margery had hoped with the crowd attending the trade fair that they would have some pork or perhaps a bit of beef. She so hated living in the country. There was nothing to do and no good fun things ever happened. Just mean, bad things. When she went to London again, she would show Jonathan. She would spend, spend, spend, and make him pay all of the bills. All of them. That would teach him to leave her with a mere footman!

To give the lad his due, he held a huge umbrella over her and hastened with her to the open doors of the main hall. Not a single drop spattered on the naively arranged knot of curls on the top of her head, while he was soaked to the skin. He even canted the umbrella so that he could close it while it was still outside the door, shedding the bad luck that could ride in on any storm.

Suddenly, Margery felt truly magnanimous. She took a silver penny from her reticule with her gloved hand and pressed it into the footman’s hand. He flashed her a saucy grin, closing his fist about the coin. He then bowed and gave her the traditional country salute of the Gwyndonmere estate: the back of his closed fist to his forelock. It was supposed to signify undying loyalty or some such nonsense.

She did not see the man watching her from the shadows.

* * *

His goddess came running in out of the rain, sheltered by a wide umbrella in the hands of a drenched footman. She generously gave the young man a coin out of her reticule. This would be so amusing; he could scarcely contain himself. Perhaps the youth would only fall ill, who could say? It was a good test for his future plans.

It would all be so amusing to watch. He almost laughed to himself, but that would give him away.

Chapter 12

The tiles rattled on the castle roof. The storm was moving in fast. Celeste hurried to have the Duchess’s dinner things laid out in good order. As the first drops of rain began to spatter down, she checked the lattice windows to make sure they were securely closed. She thought for just a moment, then opened them, closed the protective shutters, and then closed and latched them again.

Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but when winds blew in from the ocean or down off the mountains, large items such as tree limbs sometimes got tossed about. The windows, with their tiny diamond shaped panes, were terrifically expensive. No need to have one break, just because someone was negligent about closing the shutters.

She lit the candles in the bed chamber, creating a warm glow in the room. After a moment’s thought, she stirred up the fire, as well. By the time the Duchess came in, the room was cheerful with warm light and redolent of burning pinewood. Tea steeped on the hob. Crackers, cheese, and soft rolls were on a tray by the fire.

The Duchess began shedding clothes as soon as she entered the room. Celeste hastened to help her, mindful of the many tiny buttons on the walking dress. Even so, one of them popped off and flew across the room. “Never mind that,” the Duchess snapped when Celeste started to look for it. “I need to be bathed and looking my very best when I go downstairs tonight. The storm moving in has cut short the festivities, and since the Duke seems to think that we are at poverty’s front door, we must make the best of the trade that will come from this fair.

Celeste held her tongue, even though she wanted to point out that from what she had heard, the Duchess was responsible for a great deal of their penury. Several of the maids had pink net petticoats courtesy of large swatches of silk netting that had been set out for the rag and bone man in London. Instead she said, “I believe your bath is ready. Will you have your cup of tea in the tub?”

“That would be splendid. Don’t forget the cream and sugar.”

Celeste helped the Duchess into her bathing shift and then into the tub, wondering what it would be like to have nothing on your mind but bathing, dressing and making small talk. She placed the tea on a small table beside the tub and began rubbing cleanser into the Duchess’s hair.

Outside, the wolves up in the hills howled, and somewhere on the castle grounds a dog howled, and then another answered it. The Duchess trembled under her hands, and Celeste looked down at her with surprise.

The Duchess looked scared. “I don’t like it when the wolves howl. I always think of that philosophy riddle governesses like to set. If you are riding in a sleigh in the dark night with your dearest friends, and you can only escape if someone lightens the load by jumping off, who will you throw out?”

“We are safe, Your Grace,” Celeste soothed. “I closed and locked the shutters before the storm began. No one is getting thrown to the wolves tonight.”

The Duchess looked at her for a moment, almost as if she thought Celeste had lost her mind. Celeste didn’t know what to make of the blank, uncompromising stare. Then the Duchess said, “I will wear my velvet tonight, Celeste.”

The change of mood was so abrupt, Celeste blinked for a moment, then said, “Of course, Your Grace.”

* * *

The Duchess was resplendent in her blue velvet gown. Its off the shoulder style displayed her white shoulders to advantage. They were further set off by a ruching of black lace. Celeste dressed the Duchess’s hair in a tall pile on her head, accenting it with strings of jet beads that sparkled in the auburn tresses.

The embroidered front panel of the gown helped create the perfect S-shaped profile so favored in the newest mode, as fashion transitioned from soft Grecian drapes into stiffer, more ornamented styles. The panniers were light, however, nothing like the heavy continental styles worn twenty years earlier.

The overskirt was looped up with knots of jet beads to reveal a sheer black underskirt over a black silk petticoat. Perfect black kid slippers peeked from beneath the underskirt. The whole nearly overwhelmed the Duchess’s slight figure, but she carried it off with aplomb, and deemed the effect “acceptable.”

When the Duke came to the door to claim his wife he said, “Very fetching, my Duchess.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the Duchess replied. “We must keep up appearances no matter what.”

“Quite so, Your Grace.” His eyes met Celeste’s in a glance past the tower of hair. His face was grave, but was there just the slightest crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes?

He understands. I hope the evening feast will go well.

Celeste dipped her head, and bobbed a quick curtsy to the Duke before he closed the door. When the Duke and Duchess were gone, she began her usual routine of cleaning the room. But she could not get that glance out of her mind.

I scarcely know him, except for seeing him about the estates. But I know of him. The staff who have been here since he was a boy worship him. The villagers speak of him with respect and bring him their troubles. Yet she rails at him, nags, picks, and snipes. It makes me want to slap her instead of soothing and cosseting.