I should not hate the Duchess. I am her abigail, her shadow self that makes her presentable. My duty is to be her support and mainstay. But I do hate the way she treats him. How can she not see what a wonderful man she has married?
I love him. I never thought to feel this way about anyone.The thought stopped her in her tracks as she was placing a towel in the laundry basket.How can I love him when I barely see him in a day’s time? Yet my heart warms at the slightest praise, the smallest shared glance. Yes, I love him.
Chapter 13
Jonathan kept his face grave as he beheld the Duchess’s raiment. It would not have been out of place for an evening at the opera in London, or even for dancing and cards at Almac’s. For dining at a country estate, it was just a trifle over-done. Still, he could not fault his Duchess’s instincts. The sky-blue velvet of the gown reminded everyone that this was an important occasion for everyone attending, yet the black lace was a somber acknowledgement that the estate had suffered a tragedy just a few days ago. While a serving girl scarcely rated mourning in a formal sense it was a sop to the sensibilities of the household.
Glancing past the tower of auburn hair, his eyes briefly met those of Miss Singer. In that glance, he could see that the abigail knew precisely to a hair how overly elaborate and formal was the costume, and that she held her breath lest she be asked to find another for the Duchess.
In the three months since he had hired her, Jonathan had never seen Miss Singer in any costume that did not look neat, understated, and efficient. Even when she had stepped off the fishing trawler that had taken her all the way to Britain from France, the worn dress that graced her form had been neatly darned and the clunky farmers boots on her feet were polished. When offered a variety of second-hand cast-offs from which to enrich her wardrobe, she had quickly selected those that could be made over to fit her station as a personal maid.
It was all he could do not to smile at the worried expression on the former seamstress’s face as he beheld his overdressed Duchess.
The tension eased as she caught his eye, and she curtsied in acknowledgement.
If only Margery could display even one tenth of Miss Singer’s charm and understanding of decorum.
Jonathan squelched the thought as quickly as it was born. He was a married man, and until such time as he was legally free, he was going to behave as a married man should behave. Miss Singer would not be in his social class in all events. For marriage he would need to look elsewhere. But even though his bed was lonely, he would not join the ranks of titled gentlemen who took their pleasure at the expense of the working class.
He offered his arm to the Duchess, who placed her hand formally on top of it. As the door closed behind her, Jonathan gave his wife his full attention.
“I have some good news for you, Your Grace,” he said formally.
“We could use some good news, Your Grace,” the Duchess returned with equal formality.
“One of our farmer’s came to me at daybreak this morning. He knew that I had been casting about for a suitable main dish for this evening. One of his sheep stuck herself in the bog. They tried to pull her out, but she broke her neck in the struggle to get free. So, we shall have mutton for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, no! Not mutton. For how many nights, Jonathan?”
“Only tonight. I know that it is not your favorite, so the cook is making up as much as we can use in a day, and the rest is going to the Gentle Sisters and to the Poor House.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that. I believe I would rather cluck than baa. How is the cook preparing it?”
“As there are onions showing green, and several carrots to be used up in the cellars, I believe we are having a hearty Scottish broth as an opening. The barley makes it easy to stretch to as many guests as we might have. The main course will be chops that have marinated in our own good red wine.”
“Well, that might be bearable. Our cook is ingenious when it comes to making the unpalatable palatable. You are so stingy with the household accounts, my husband.”
“Only holding with good Scottish traditions, my wife. The sheep had fortuitous timing in making her noble sacrifice when we have so many extras to feed.”
“I hardly know whether to be glad of the company or to be prepared to die slowly of utter boredom. Please tell me that I am seated near someone who can talk of more than sheep, cattle, and fabric mills.”
“Why, yes, my dear. I believe there are some owners of notable vineyards and growers of wheat who will be here to negotiate buyers for their autumn harvests. I think your table companion has an excellent vineyard. I might negotiate for some of his stock before he leaves.”
“Jonathan, could we not once, just once, invite someone who has been to the opera. Or, better yet, bring in someone to perform? I swear you plan to bore me to death so that you can obtain a better model as wife.”
Jonathan feigned astonishment. “I have thought no such thing. I made my vows, and fully intend to stick by them. You brought money and lands to the estate, and married me in good faith. As long as you are doing your part, I will always honor you as my wife. A bargain is a bargain.”
Margery stared back at him, something feral moved behind her eyes. “I thought you would say as much.” Then they went into the dining room so that the evening’s festivities might begin.
Mr. Hammonds appeared at the service entrance and announced, “A hearty Scottish broth, from our own mutton, cellars, and gardens.”
Jonathan smiled at his wife, completely unaware of the jangling bell that had rung over his head with his declaration of loyalty.
* * *
A shadow slunk away from a door across the hall from the dining room. He could use this, oh, yes, he could. The Duke was playing right into his hands. Soon, the Duchess, and all that her child would inherit, would be his to play with as he would.
Chapter 14
