Four Nights With the Duke Read online

  Before he could put the idea into words, Mia withdrew, nipping out of the room. He almost started after her, but thought of the blue shadows under her eyes and stopped himself.

  His wife would be his wife for years.

  He thought he might like her to kiss him goodbye when she was leaving a room. Her lips were . . . delectable.

  They could work on that later.

  Chapter Fourteen

  NOTES ON JILTING SCENE

  Flora has to confront Frederic or seem a jelly-boned coward.

  She should toss her prayer book to the side and tell the jilting faithless count exactly what she thinks of him, that sniveling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse-less man.

  Flora waited at the altar, her graceful hands clutching the prayer book that her dying moth—

  Count Frederic walked into the church, and Flora knew instinctively, with just one look at his devilish black eyes, that he intended to humiliate her in the worst possible way, in front of the whole of the beau monde. She hurled her prayer book like a discus, knocking him to the ground.

  Then she walked over his prone body on her way out the door.

  This isn’t working.

  Mia awoke the next morning feeling much better.

  Few women would complain about being married to a wildly handsome duke. Though they might grumble about Vander’s ready agreement to forego consummation of their marriage.

  She would have put it down to dislike of her figure, but although Vander thought she was dumpy, he had kissed her that one time. Well, two times.

  Men were like that, by all accounts. Merely being in the vicinity of a woman made a man eager to bed her. It was interesting to discover that her governess had been correct in that respect.

  She rang the bell for Susan and walked into the bathing chamber, only then making an important discovery. A door on the opposite wall from the bathtub almost certainly opened into Vander’s room. And Mia couldn’t see a hook that would prevent him from walking straight into the chamber while she was bathing.

  Naked and surrounded by all those mirrors.

  That would absolutely not do. Hooks must be installed immediately. In the meantime, she made Susan stand guard before that door while she bathed.

  Sometime later she made her way down to the breakfast room, finding it empty but for Nottle.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” the butler said. “May I offer my felicitations on your wedding?”

  The words dripped with insincerity, but Mia chose to ignore his tone. “Thank you, Nottle. On another note, I should like someone to install locks on the inside of the doors in my bathing chamber. Both the doors leading to my bedchamber and to the duke’s.”

  “To be quite certain that I understand Your Grace,” Nottle said in a wooden voice. “You wish to have locks nailed onto both sides of the bathing room doors? Those doors were imported from Venice, where they graced a three-hundred-year-old palazzo.”

  “Precisely. Those doors,” Mia confirmed.

  When he didn’t immediately agree, she asked, “Perhaps you would be happier if His Grace confirmed my request?” It appeared that Nottle felt that her rank was trumped by her sex.

  “Of course not,” he said, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Mia wasn’t sure what that meant, but she disliked melted butter.

  And Nottle.

  She moved toward a chair to sit down, but the butler said, “If you will forgive me, Your Grace, I have an urgent domestic conundrum on which I would request your guidance.”

  “Oh,” Mia said, turning back. “Of course, Nottle. What is it?”

  “The late duchess’ animals.”

  “All those glass ornaments,” she said, understanding his problem. “They must be very tiresome to dust.”

  “I was referring not to the collection, but to her canines,” he said, with a pained expression.

  “Winky and Dobbie!” Mia exclaimed. “Of course I remember her dogs. Dobbie must be getting on in years. What became of them in the last year?”

  “Generally speaking, they have been confined to the gardener’s shed. And, on occasion, the potato cellar,” he added.

  Mia frowned. “Why on earth are they in a shed? They’re used to having the run of the house.”

  “I would ask you to bend your eye to the carpet in this room.”

  Through a triumph of will, Mia did not roll her eyes, but instead looked down at her toes. “Yes?”

  “Silk, woven in the mountains of the Kashmir,” the butler said, his voice exhibiting signs of enthusiasm for the first time. “Not only are claws deleterious, but I regret to inform you that in the wake of the duchess’ passing they developed a propensity for unconstrained urination.”

  Mia took a moment to work out what he was saying. “They were probably in shock! And no wonder, if you confined them to the potato cellar. Did the duke approve of this treatment?”

  “I do not disturb His Grace with domestic arrangements,” the butler said loftily.

  “You didn’t even ask him?”

  Nottle’s eyes shifted. “The duke has no interest in such trivial matters. However, as it has transpired, His Grace accompanied Lord Carrington to the kitchens for a late-night snack, and the dogs were discovered. I should be most grateful, Your Grace, if you could ensure that the animals are confined to the nursery at all times. I will have the carpet in that room taken up.”

  “Winky and Dobbie will not be confined to the nursery, any more than they should have been in a cellar,” she told him. “Accidents will cease as they grow calmer.”

  If possible, the butler’s long face grew even longer. “Am I to understand that the rugs are hostage to the emotional state of those animals? May I have your permission to keep them confined until they achieve a point of serenity, Your Grace?”

  “One might almost think you were trying to be humorous, Nottle,” Mia said. But it was clear he was not. She sighed. “The dogs will reside with Charlie; since he is unlikely to spend much time downstairs, the carpets will be protected.”

  Nottle inclined his head, apparently mollified. “Perhaps you can inform me, Your Grace, what sort of accommodations we should make for your ward, given his . . . condition.”

  Mia’s eyes narrowed. Was that revulsion she detected? She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “My nephew is somewhat restricted in his movements, but he never causes trouble.”

  “I was wondering whether some of the chambermaids who do not have strong stomachs should be reassigned.” There was a look in his eyes that confirmed he would prefer that Charlie live in the potato cellar to the nursery.

  With this, Mia’s previous doubt was erased. Her face must have conveyed a warning, because he added, “For the good of the young master, of course. No one would want him discomfited by the foolishness of a country girl.”

  “‘The foolishness of a country girl,’” Mia repeated. “What precisely do you mean by that?”

  The butler looked down at her from his considerable height. “This household prides itself on overlooking disagreeable particulars whenever possible. It is the way of the Dukes of Pindar.”

  “I understand there have been more than enough to avoid,” Mia said. “But I am the current Duchess of Pindar. Are you telling me that you foresee maids fainting at the mere sight of Charlie?”

  “One would hope not,” Nottle said. “But one must be awake to such possibilities, given the child’s malformation.”

  Mia came to an abrupt decision.

  “You are dismissed,” she said, pulling herself up as tall as she could, which unfortunately was only to his armpit. “I am letting you go. If the duke wishes to furnish you with a recommendation, that will be entirely up to him. But I would like you gone by noon.”

  Mia had dismissed only two servants before, in both cases for stealing. And in both cases, the servant in question had responded with every sign of guilt.

  Nottle did not adhere to that pattern.

  He too pulled himself upright until he to
wered over Mia—obviously using his height to try to intimidate her—and announced, “I have served the Dukes of Pindar since I was eighteen.”

  “In that case, His Grace must see virtues that I do not,” Mia snapped. “He can enumerate them in his letter of recommendation. But no one in this household will retain his or her position if my nephew is treated with even the slightest sign of disrespect. You might wish to impart that to the household, Nottle, before you pack your belongings.”

  “We’ll see what His Grace says to this,” the butler said, his voice all the nastier for verging on a hiss.

  A sound came from the open door behind him and Chuffy walked into the breakfast room, clapping his hands lightly. “Come, come, Nottle. You don’t really think that a newlywed duke will countermand his wife’s control in domestic matters, do you?”

  “This is unconscionable,” Nottle said, for the first time looking a trifle disconcerted.

  “I shall not stand up for you,” Chuffy advised. “I don’t care for the way you look at me when I’ve had a drop more than is advisable.”

  “I’m sure that I have never offered you the least offense.”

  “Well, you’d be mistaken. I think you’re often offensive when you believe you aren’t,” Chuffy retorted. “Come now, my dear, would you like a glass of Canary wine? It’s just the thing to settle a morning stomach, I find.”

  Mia discovered that she was shaking. She wasn’t used to this sort of confrontation. She retreated out the door Chuffy had just entered, followed—to her dismay—by both men.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my chamber for a moment,” she said to Chuffy, ignoring Nottle. She walked back up the stairway, keeping her hands in front of her so that neither man could see they were trembling.

  Upstairs, she darted back into the room, closed the door, and leaned against it. Susan looked up in surprise. She was unpacking the trunks that had arrived the night before, carefully putting Mia’s gowns in the clothes press.

  “Goodness, my lady,” Susan asked, “whatever is the matter?”

  “I’ve just dismissed Nottle.”

  “You did what?” her maid cried.

  “I let him go,” Mia said, sinking into a chair. “I told him to be gone by noon.” Her heart was still racing. “It was dreadful, Susan. He initially refused to leave until he’d spoken to the duke, but mercifully, Sir Cuthbert was very supportive.”

  “Sir Cuthbert is a drunkard, but a sweet one, by all accounts,” Susan said, dropping the gown she was holding onto the bed and coming over. Her face was alive with curiosity. “What on earth made you so angry at Mr. Nottle? Mind you, I don’t care for him. He thinks entirely too much of himself. You’d think he was the duke.”

  “He was rude about Charlie,” Mia said. “Beastly, really. He implied that the chambermaids would faint at the sight of his foot.”

  “That is beastly.”

  Mia’s heart was beginning to slow. The dark, frumpy gowns lying on the shelves of the clothes press caught her eye and she made another lightning decision. “I need some new gowns, Susan, made from silk, in beautiful colors.”

  She’d be damned if the floors of Rutherford Park were better dressed than its mistress.

  Susan beamed. “Now that Sir Richard isn’t holding the purse strings, you can order whatever you wish. You’re a duchess!”

  “I suppose,” Mia said. She had never really bothered about clothes before. Charlie didn’t care what she looked like, and she hadn’t wished to spill ink on expensive fabrics. Ever since the season in which she debuted—only to be roundly ignored by all eligible young men—she had lived quietly at home, occasionally attending local assemblies, but rarely venturing to London, and never into high society.

  But she felt shaken by Nottle’s contempt. She had a shrewd feeling that her wardrobe had something to do with his attitude, though her father’s relationship with the late duchess likely lay at the heart of the problem.

  Susan veered back to the topic of the butler. “It was terribly ill-bred of Mr. Nottle to oblige the grooms to talk about His Grace’s fisticuffs with Sir Richard. Mr. Gaunt would never allow such gossip. Mind you, Mr. Gaunt had a way of making his feelings known: he never cared for the way Master Charles Wallace’s mother used to shudder if she caught sight of him. But he wouldn’t say anything aloud.”

  That particular memory confirmed Mia’s impulsive decision to get rid of Nottle. Poor Charlie had put up with disdain from his mother; he needn’t face the same from the butler.

  “Last night Nottle said at the supper table that Master Charles had a flipper instead of a foot,” Susan said, both hands on her hips now. “I said as how he was utterly wrong about that, and he told me to shut my mouth.”

  Mia felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. It wasn’t merely the confrontation with Nottle; it was all too overwhelming. “Susan,” she said desperately, “I cannot stay married to the duke.”

  Her maid plopped down on the bed. “Why not? He’s a fine figure of a man, and the household likes him. That says a good deal. And now you’re a duchess.”

  “I don’t want to be a duchess! I never did.”

  Susan scoffed at that. “That’s like saying you hate diamonds. Only a witless woman would say that she doesn’t want to be a duchess. You can have all the gowns you want.”

  Mia shrugged.

  “All the books you want,” Susan added. “And the young master can have a tutor again.”

  “His Grace thinks I’m dumpy,” Mia said, coming out with the truth of it. “And fat.”

  Susan’s brows drew together. “How do you know?”

  “He thought I was carrying a child.”

  “What?”

  “I was able to disabuse him of his error,” Mia said miserably. “But I dislike the idea of being married to him. He’s too handsome, Susan. There’s a disbalance between us that cannot lead to a happy marriage.”

  “Were you wearing the blue merino when he said that? It does bunch up under the bosom. I’ve always said that Mrs. Rackerty down in the village should keep to her garden.” She hesitated, and added, “I noticed that he didn’t visit your bed last night, though it was your wedding night.”

  Of course she’d noticed. Servants saw everything. “We’ve decided to put the business of making an heir off for a good period of time. Years, most likely.”

  “You are not fat,” Susan stated firmly. “You have lovely curves. We shall have to prove him wrong.”

  “Dumpy is another word for short. I’ll be known as the Dumpy Duchess.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “You think so?” Mia was actually a little hurt. Susan had been her maid—and, in practical terms, her only female friend—for three years.

  Susan pulled Mia until she was standing before the glass. “Your dress goes up to your collarbone,” she pointed out.

  Mia nodded. “I like it that way.”

  “And these extra ruffles at the shoulders do you no good.”

  “I need them.”

  “Why?”

  “To balance my breasts. They’re too large.”

  Susan’s eyebrow shot up. “Is that why you always want ruffles?”

  “So would you if you were short and had cabbages in front. You’re a full head taller than I am, Susan, and you have no idea what it’s like to be my size.”

  “I would love to be your size. Particularly in front.” She plucked at her bodice. “Look at me. I have almost nothing here.”

  “Apple dumplings, not cabbages.”

  “What? Why are you talking about food?”

  “I don’t like to draw attention to my bosom. I’m too short for dresses that catch up under the breasts. They’re made for ladies with long legs, while on me, they billow out and make it appear that I’m carrying a child.”

  “Your legs are nicely shaped,” Susan said. “As are your ankles. I think we should order a scandalously short gown with almost no fabric in the bosom.”

  Mia
rolled her eyes.

  “You are married now. You have to dress like a duchess: à la mode, not behind by two years.” She plucked at the ruffle. “Or ten.”

  “It will make no difference.”

  “Costly gowns make all the difference. We could leave for London tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Susan nodded vigorously. “In order to visit a modiste. You know my sister Peg is in service with Lady Brandle. When I visited Peg last month, we discussed every modiste in the city of London, and I know precisely whom we should see.”

  “I can’t. My novel—”

  “Your husband neglected you on your wedding night,” Susan said, her voice sharp. “No woman should stand for that. We’ll transform you into a woman so exquisite that the duke will beg for entry to your chamber.”

  Mia liked the idea, though she didn’t believe it possible. “I can’t go to London. You know Charlie doesn’t like to travel, and I am certainly not leaving him alone in a strange house while I gad about to buy some new ribbons.”

  “You need more than ribbons!” Susan cried.

  “I thought I might go for a ride,” Mia said, changing the subject. “Do you happen to know whether Lancelot was delivered last night? I’m not hungry for breakfast.”

  “Yes, he did,” Susan confirmed, “which reminds me, you need a new riding habit as well.”

  Mia nodded, painfully aware that her habit had apparently shrunk, as the fabric was straining at the brass buttons that ran down her front, which lent even more emphasis to that area.

  “Now that you are no longer plain Miss Carrington,” Susan said thoughtfully, “you might be able to summon a modiste to Rutherford Park.”

  “They would come here, to the country?”

  “We shall offer double.”

  “Double?”

  Susan put her hands on her hips. “My lady, your husband did not even attempt to join you in bed last night, did he?”

  Mia frowned at her. “Must we go around and around on the same topic?”