“Yes, Your Grace. At once.” He wrung his hands together, as though debating whether to ask questions. “And the wedding breakfast, sir? Is it?—”
“There will be no wedding breakfast,” the Duke said shortly. His tone made it clear that no more questions were to be asked. There was a moment of silence, and Gemma could feel his eyes on her. His eyes, and the entire rest of the household's.
She refused to look at him. Refused to look at any of them. She kept her gaze fixed on the polished tiles of the entrance hall, feeling a fierce flush of shame gathering in her cheeks.
Finally, the Duke cleared his throat. “Mrs. Walsh, have the Duchess shown to her rooms at once. And then see to it that quarters are prepared for her lady's maid.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The housekeeper, Mrs. Walsh, extricated herself from the lineup and hurried toward Gemma, dropping into another awkward curtsey. “This way, Your Grace. Please follow me.”
Relieved to be free of the bewildered welcoming party, Gemma trailed the housekeeper up the wide staircase that rose from the center of the entrance hall. Only now did she dare look up and take in her surroundings.
Larsen Manor, it had to be said, was a work of art. Tasteful and lavish, without being too ostentatious or overbearing. High white walls were interspersed with wide windows, and curtains of tasteful pastel colors tied back neatly. The floorboards in the entrance hall shone like a mirror and the polished marble of the staircase gleamed. As Gemma followed Mrs. Walsh up to her rooms, she saw the walls of the upstairs passageway were painted a tasteful mint green, and one polished oak door after the next awaited her as she peered down the long hallway.
A collection of portraits were gathered at the top of the stairs, as though overseeing the smooth running of the house. Gemma found her gaze lingering on the timeworn faces of the old dukes and duchesses. Would her own portrait hang on this wall one day? The thought was so ridiculous she almost laughed.
Because not a piece of this felt real. It felt like nothing more than a cruel joke, a terrible daydream. This could not be her life now. There was just no way. Gemma reached out a sudden hand, grappling with the wall to stay upright as her legs wavered beneath her.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Mrs. Walsh asked in alarm.
To her horror, the hysterical laugh Gemma had been trying to hold in slipped out. The housekeeper raised her thin gray eyebrows and opened her mouth to speak.
“Forgive me,” Gemma said before the older woman could speak. “You must think me terribly rude. This is all just… something of a shock.”
Mrs. Walsh tilted her head, and Gemma could practically see the curiosity burning behind her brown eyes. She could tell thehousekeeper desperately wanted to ask what on earth had led to this bizarre turn of events.
The harsh expression Mrs. Walsh had dished out to her misbehaving charges in the lineup had vanished, replaced with one of empathy. The old woman's face was kind, creased with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that suggested a life full of laughter and smiles. Gemma could tell that, while she might run the household with an iron fist, there was an undeniable warmth to her character.
Inexplicably, she felt a sudden urge to open up to her. After all, she was completely alone in this place. She had been torn from her family in the most confounding of circumstances.
But of course, Gemma knew she could do no such thing. Not as the daughter of an earl, and certainly not as a duchess.
A duchess!The thought almost brought a second round of manic laughter.
Instead, she lifted her chin and offered Mrs. Walsh a pale smile. In spite of all that had happened, Gemma was proud of the way in which she carried herself. Proud, in a strange sort of way, of being known as Lady Highbrow. It showed the world she would not let herself be dragged down by her father's reputation. Showed the world she had a little pride in who she was. And right now, that was the only thing she had left.
“I am quite all right, Mrs. Walsh. Thank you. But I would like to see my rooms.”
The housekeeper bobbed her capped head. “Of course, Your Grace.” She led Gemma down to the end of the long corridor and opened the door on the left. It opened onto a room so vast and exquisite that it was all Gemma could do not to gasp.
Sunlight poured in through enormous windows that took up most of one wall. Beyond them stretched the acres of garden behind the manor, neatly manicured in places and allowed to grow enchantingly wild in others.A place to escape to, Gemma found herself thinking.
A polished wooden writing desk was tucked beneath the window, a set of empty bookshelves standing beside it, waiting to be filled. Through the open door beside it, Gemma could see what she assumed was her dressing room, with its large mirrored dressing table and a porcelain washstand beside it.
In the center of the room stood a palatial bed, hung with white damask curtains and laden with blankets and pillows of the palest pink. Gemma found herself staring at it and felt her stomach turn over.
“You must tell us if the décor is not to your liking, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Walsh. “The colors were chosen at the request of…” She faded out. “Well. You know… If there is anything you would like altered, do not hesitate to ask.”
Gemma swallowed, the near-mention of Miss Henford barely registering. Her mind was suddenly swamped with the thought of what she might be required to do in that bed.
Like it or not—and she most certainly did not—she was the Duke of Larsen's wife. And as his wife…
No. She could not follow that thought through. Partly because it filled her with anger. And partly because the thought of the Duke coming to her bed set something simmering inside her. And that was something she was certainly not going to entertain.
As far as I am concerned, he is my husband in name alone…
The moment the thought entered her head, tears began to well behind her eyes. She blinked fiercely, determined not to let them fall.
She turned back to Mrs. Walsh. “Thank you,” she said, barely managing to keep the waiver from her voice. “The décor is lovely. I do not need anything altered.”
