And I am going to use the opportunity to explain myself!
She knew the Duchess looked down on the Volks. But Gemma had no intention of letting her believe she had a miscreant as a daughter-in-law. No intention of letting her believe Gemma had weaseled her way into Larsen House out of a desperate need for a husband. The idea that anyone might think such things about her was horrifying.
After instructing Ivy to lace her into her most refined pale blue day dress and cover the dark circles beneath her eyes in powder, Gemma drew in her courage and made her way downstairs.
When she arrived in the breakfast room, the Duchess and Dowager Duchess were already at the table.
“I am glad to see you have shown your face this morning,” the Duchess said icily.
The Dowager Duchess shot her daughter-in-law a glare. “Give the poor child some grace. After all she has been through…” She shook her head, then turned to smile at Gemma. “How did you sleep, my dear?”
Gemma slipped into a chair at the table, feeling wildly out of place. She could feel the Duchess's gaze spearing her. She lifted her chin and pressed her shoulders back. She could sense it was a weighted question; could tell the Dowager Duchess was trying to ascertain whether her husband had visited her bed last night. She refused to give anything away.
“I slept well, thank you, Your Grace,” she lied. She was grateful that, thanks to her hasty marriage, she held equal rank with these ladies. It went some way to boosting her fragile confidence. Still, the poisonous looks the Duchess was shooting her served in no small way to remind her that she was nothing but an earl's daughter. And a drunkard of an earl at that.
She brought her teacup to her lips, the warm liquid steadying her slightly. Perhaps now would be the time to explain herself to the Duchess. To express her own disappointment at all that had happened, and make it clear to her new mother-in-law that the wedding was not a result of her own sordid scheming.
Not that she would believe me, I am sure…
But just as Gemma opened her mouth to speak, the door creaked open again and the Duke appeared. His eyes caught Gemma's and she felt a jolt in her chest.
She hated how drawn to him she felt. Hated the way her eyes longed to follow him across the room.
She fixed her gaze on her plate. She absolutely could not let him know how hard her heart pounded when he was in her vicinity. And she would rather die than for him to know how much she had been thinking of him the previous night. Thinking of all the things he could do to her…
She cursed her own body for betraying her. Cursed herself for feeling this insatiable longing for a man with such a loathsome reputation.
He slipped into the chair beside her. “Good morning,” he said. His voice was low and somehow secretive, and Gemma could tell the greeting was meant for her alone.
“Good morning,” she said tautly, not looking at him.
“I thought perhaps I might show you around the grounds today,” the Duke suggested. “Perhaps that might make you feel a little more at home.”
“That is not necessary,” Gemma said brusquely. There was a moment of silence, which Gemma knew she ought to fill with an explanation. But she could conjure neither an adequate excuse nor the will to care. In truth, she did not trust herself to be around the Duke of Larsen. This marriage could never be more than a signed piece of paper. She could not allow it to become real. She would not give the Dowager Duchess the satisfaction. Nor would she let herself be taken in by the wiles of the Duke of Larsen. At least not any more than she had been already.
The Duke let out an audible sigh.
“I have already told Her Grace I will take her on a tour of the house and grounds this morning,” the Dowager Duchess said, trying to inject some warmth into the frostiness that hung over the table. “Is that not right, my dear?”
“Yes,” Gemma said reluctantly. “That's right.”
“Perhaps you might join us, Wyatt, dear?”
“No.” The word slipped out of Gemma's mouth before she could stop it. “I would rather you did not.”
The Duchess clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I think before you traipse off around the garden, Her Grace has a little to learn about etiquette.”
“Etiquette?” Gemma repeated, anger rushing through her. If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her etiquette.
How dare she suggest otherwise!
“Indeed,” the Duchess repeated coolly. “Such as honoring your husband by turning up at the dinner table when he requests your presence. And speaking only when spoken to.” She looked skyward for a moment. “Not to mention being somewhat more open to constructive criticism.”
Gemma's cheeks burned.
“Mother,” the Duke said wearily. “Please.”
“Please,what?” the Duchess snapped, slamming down her fork. Her flinty eyes darted between her son, the Dowager Duchess, and Gemma. “It was the three of you that got us into this terrible situation. Heaven only knows what people are saying about our family now.”
