The room was opulent, to say the least. It was difficult to believe this was the lesser dining room and that there was a much larger and much grander dining room for guests. Footmen stood at the ready around the room, enough footmen for a noble dinner party, all assembled under the watchful eye of Mr. Taylor. Was such extravagance necessary?
The dinner service was porcelain with exquisite blue and white artistry. The décor was marble and mirrors, everything in the room veined or gilded. Three walk-in fireplaces dominated the walls, all with marble surround and cherub statues.
Charlotte’s mother-in-law matched the room well—cold marble etched with gold. The woman’s dress was fit for a queen. Did she always dress this impressively for dinner, or was it to honor the new duchess? As glamorous as Charlotte found the gem-encrusted coiffure and silk with lace dinner dress, she hoped this wasn’t the expectation for dinner attire. Even Drake and Mary were dressed in garments of stunning quality. There was a striking smartness to Drake that made her both breathless and antsy. Had she set her sights too high?
Only Charlotte and Sebastian were, from this perspective, underdressed for the occasion. She wore her best dinner dress, but compared to the family and the room, she looked simple, plain, and wholly inadequate for the role.
As desirous of this lifestyle as she’d always been, she wasn’t convinced how well she fit. She looked and felt out of place, a country girl in a fairy tale palace. How could someone who had lived his whole life in this grandeur choose her?
The more she thought about it, the more nervous she became. All the training and practice was for naught, as she fumbled with cutlery, almost tipped her wine, and ate less daintily than did Mary or Catherine. Never in her life had anyone accused her of being clumsy. She’d always outshone others at parties and dinners, but those others had never been nobles. She likened herself to a paste jewel.
Feeling alone and conspicuous, she turned to her husband, interrupting whatever Sebastian was saying by remarking, “I am pleased we’re arranged so cozily. Aren’t you?”
Both men turned to her simultaneously, two sets of brows raising in surprise.
“Did you need something, my dear?” Drake asked, staring quizzically.
“Yes, actually. I want to be included in your conversation. What are the two of you conversing about?”
Drake and Sebastian exchanged glances before Drake replied, “Horses.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. I don’t know the first thing about horses. What were you saying? Do continue.”
“We were discussing how best to breed them,” Drake said, his lips twitching.
“Oh. Right.” The heat of her blush spread up her neck and into her cheeks. “I believe the two of you may continue your conversation without me.”
“No, no, I won’t have it,” her husband said, learning back to study her. “You want to be included, so included you shall be. Sebastian was telling me he has a mare with a propensity for kicking the stallion. Curious behavior, wouldn’t you agree?”
Charlotte shot Sebastian an incredulous look, as though to ask if Drake were being serious or trying to embarrass her. His face revealed nothing. He stared back at her with eyes as black as his aunt’s, his face expressionless.
Drake suppressed a smirk when he asked, “Do you suppose she’s feistily teasing the stallion or not interested in him?”
“This is not a conversation for a lady. Please, continue without me. I’ve no wish to discuss this.” If her face turned any redder, she would be mistaken for a lampshade.
She hoped her in-laws couldn’t hear the teasing from their end of the table. How mortifying. A quick glance in their direction reassured her they were deep in their own argument.
“Don’t be coy,” Drake chided. “You’re the one who nosed in.”
“I didn’t nose in,” she defended. “I merely wanted to be included, but not if you’re going to discuss horses. I had hoped you both might wish to discuss something more appropriate, carriage seat padding, for example.”
“Carriage seat padding?” Drake echoed.
“Yes. I have ideas for improving it.”
He folded his arms across his chest, frowning. “Ah. Already asserting your authority, I see.”
“I hardly consider carriage seat padding asserting authority, but I would like to see to improvements around the house. My room, for instance, could do with some freshening. Then there’s the unnecessary number of footmen. The overly formal announcements when entering a room are silly. And, well, I could continue, as I do have ideas, and I would like to share them with you.”
Oh, botheration. With such a conversation starter, he’d think she didn’t like the house or didn’t appreciate her new situation. What woman demanded changes on her first day, especially when this could all be a show for her benefit rather than daily tradition. This wasn’t at all how she intended the conversation to go, but she said the first thing that came to mind to avoid talk of horses.
“As long as you’re happy, my dear. This is what you wanted, yes? To be a duchess?” he asked.
“I am a duchess,” she responded, lifting her chin.
“Yes, yes you are.”
If Charlotte hoped for a traditional ending to the evening, she was in for a disappointment. No gathering in the drawing room for music and conversation. No entertainment of any nature to welcome home the duke and his new bride. In fact, everyone made a mad dash for the door, or so it seemed to Charlotte.
Drake and Sebastian retired to Drake’s study, wherever that was. At least Sebastian had the courtesy to bid her farewell before departing, saying he would leave for home at first light.
He may not be her favorite person in the world, but she felt a stab of sadness at his leaving. The only two people in this house she knew were him and Drake. However forbidding, his presence was a comfort compared to her mother-in-law, which was saying something.
Mary excused herself early, as well, claiming a migraine. Charlotte hoped to do the same. So fatigued from the journey and the emotional strain of the day, she wanted to sleep for a year, or better yet, for forty years.
Her mother-in-law had other plans.
“Follow me. I must show you the conservatory,” Catherine said before Charlotte could make her excuse and retreat.
Uncertain how to decline without seeming impolite, Charlotte complied.
Saying she was suspicious of Catherine’s motives would be an understatement. The woman had already shirked the duty of giving a tour by foisting it onto the housekeeper, so why now show her one room?
With a thump of her cane, Catherine led the way through the east gallery and into a lavish conservatory, equitable in size to the ground floor of Charlotte’s childhood home. Awe-struck, she almost missed the lady’s first words.
“This is the only room in the house without ears. What I have to say need not be heard by the entirety of the staff. Consider it a kindness.” Catherine pinned Charlotte with a piercing stare. “You have not been properly trained, being a daughter of a mere mine owner. I find it disgraceful my son married so far beneath him. He may defend your father as being a Member of Parliament and of landed gentry, but that does not excuse involvement in industry, mining industry no less. I’m disgusted. You are not fit for this title.”
Stung from the tongue lashing, Charlotte lifted her chin, willing inner courage to defend herself.
Catherine continued before Charlotte could respond. “Alas, what is done is done. This week, I will arrange for fittings with the modiste to prepare your new wardrobe.”
Her eyes roamed over Charlotte’s finest dress. With a snarl, she said, “You will dress as a duchess and dispose of those rags. Once you’re presentable, I will arrange elocution lessons. Such a barbaric accent.”
Charlotte was desperate to poke Catherine with a hairpin, but nothing good could come of stabbing one’s mother-in-law.
&n
bsp; “You know why he married you?” Catherine continued, waiting only long enough for Charlotte to frown. “He wished to spite me for insisting he marry. My son had other interests than marriage. He is a wastrel and a disgrace. I and I alone run this duchy; therefore, I will see to its future. I will not have my life lived in vain. If you have half a brain, I will teach you how to take my place so that you may teach the heir. I hope I’ve made myself clear on all points. Off you go. Mrs. Fisk is waiting.”
The dismissal was so abrupt after such harsh words, Charlotte missed her cue to leave. Her mother-in-law slithered away, leaving Charlotte alone in the conservatory. At least, she thought she was alone. Not until she heard Mrs. Fisk’s none-too-subtle throat clearing did she realize the housekeeper stood but feet away. The nosy old crow probably had heard every word of the exchange.
Crestfallen and a tad murderous, Charlotte shadowed the housekeeper upstairs. In hindsight, she thought of at least ten witty responses.
The clincher was, the dowager duchess was right. Charlotte wasn’t fit to be a duchess. She suspected the comments of Drake were accurate, as well, for he showed limited interest in her. Was she nothing more than a pawn between them?
Despite her desire to see the house, Charlotte saw nothing of the upstairs, her eyes too glazed with hurt and confusion. After an eternity wedged within a single hour, the housekeeper showed Charlotte to her room.
As soon as her chamber door closed, she collapsed against it. If she were offered the chance to go home, she’d take it. Only, this was home now. How had everything gone so terribly wrong? She had met the man of her dreams, married him, and been taken to the home of her dreams, yet everything was terribly, terribly wrong. A beast lived in her new home, breathing fire and raining brimstone on Charlotte, and her knight in shining armor barely noticed she existed, much less slew dragons for her.
Drake was her one remaining hope. Only he could set everything right. If she explained to him what his mother said, he could laugh away her worries and tell her she misunderstood the cruelty. He could reassure her he hadn’t married her out of spite, and with a few kisses, make her feel beautiful again.
If consummating the marriage would ally herself with him, then so be it. In this desperate moment, she didn’t care if she was awkwardly virtuous or skittish of being physically possessed as long as she had someone to love her. Thus far, all her decisions seemed to be the wrong choices. Something had to change.
She needed him.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she marched across the room to his chamber door. Her knuckles rapped against the wood. She waited. She rapped again, louder and harder. No response.
He couldn’t still be with Sebastian in his study, could he? Didn’t he know she needed him? She had half a mind to find him, dismiss Sebastian and demand Drake’s attention. If only she knew where the study was. Oh, blast. She didn’t know where anything was in this museum.
Opening his bedchamber door for confirmation, she found the room empty. Swallowing against her temptation to ring the bellpull and ask for directions to the study, she returned to her own chamber to surrender.
No, she couldn’t surrender. At least, not yet. What she needed was a good, long cry followed by inspiration and a plan.
Oh, what would Lizbeth do? Her sister had always been her savior in the past. No task was too small for Lizbeth. Whatever ailed them, Liz would come to the rescue either by resolving the problem herself or talking through a solution. She was the most level-headed, rational thinker Charlotte knew.
Except her sister wasn’t here to advise her. No one was.
If she were here, Charlotte suspected she knew what Liz would say: fight and conquer. There was no sense in moping, and nothing good ever came from self-pity. She would tell Charlotte to accept her choice, and then make it work because she didn’t need Drake if she could save herself.
That was sound advice in theory, but how was she to put it into practice? She hadn’t the courage of Liz, and she certainly didn’t have the gumption. Liz would have given Lady Annick a piece of her mind at the first insult. Charlotte couldn’t. She didn’t dare! Unlike her sister, Charlotte cared what others thought of her. She cared far too much, she knew, but there it was.
Well, she might not have a specific plan of action yet, but she could conjure a fighting spirit.
Tomorrow, she resolved, would be a new day. Tomorrow, she would stand up to the dragon, befriend her husband, and conquer Northumberland.
Chapter 7
“I am the Duchess of Annick,” Charlotte repeated to her reflection several days later.
The mirror in the Gray Parlor was an avid audience.
“I am the most superior peer in England, only one step removed from royalty. I have authority and condescension. I am the Duchess of Annick.”
Repeating the affirmation renewed her strength and quailed her doubt, at least for a few minutes.
She was born for this role; she could feel it in her bones. She’d like to think Drake had chosen her above all other women because of her personality, beauty, and potential as a duchess. She couldn’t allow anyone to convince her differently, especially not herself.
The morning after her arrival had been trying. She’d spent most of it with the housekeeper, Mrs. Fisk, learning the rhythm of the house, meeting the lesser servants, touring the downstairs, and discussing with Cook the menus. With every comment, question, and suggestion Charlotte made, Mrs. Fisk responded that she would take it under advisement and consult with Her Grace, the dowager duchess.
It had taken all Charlotte’s might not to dismiss Mrs. Fisk on the spot for her insubordination, for talking back to Charlotte as though she were of no consequence in the household.
The days that followed had been equally as trying. No matter what change she tried to enact, the housekeeper deferred to Lady Annick. The lady herself reminded Charlotte with each hour spent together that she was less than expected, a grand disappointment, and must undergo exhaustive training to fulfill her role adequately.
The only time she saw Drake was at dinner when they exchanged small talk, nothing more. Something had to change. She’d not been there a week, and already she was miserable.
Short of starting an open rebellion, Charlotte convinced herself to tread lightly. She could try to affect minor changes, insignificant in the eyes of the dowager duchess, to make the home hers and establish control, and in doing so find subtle ways to best the woman. At least, that sounded like a good plan when she lacked the courage to do anything else.
What if she put her foot down only to learn her word meant nothing here, and her mother-in-law reigned supreme? Or, possibly worse, she found that grain of courage, forced Lady Annick out of the way, and then failed at running the estate?
No, she would learn from Catherine while planning a sneak attack. Charlotte needed to gain the support of those around her, test her limits, and discover the chinks in Catherine’s armor.
“I am the Duchess of Annick,” she repeated.
Turning from the mirror, she laughed to find Captain Henry hanging upside down from his tree, trying to unbraid the frayed end of a rope with his beak. At least he was loyal to her.
Moving to the escritoire, she took the opportunity to write letters to Lizbeth and Aunt Hazel. She had already changed for luncheon and still had about an hour before Catherine would meet her for their daily training. Pulling out stationary from a drawer and preparing the quill, Charlotte pondered what to write. Should she confess to her feelings of inadequacy, or should she profess happiness so no one would be the wiser?
The less said either way, the better, she decided.
Dearest Lizzie,
I hope you and Papa arrived home from London safely. I know you will be happier at home. Send word when you have a moment. The journey was long, but I’ve safely arrived to my new home. Lyonn Manor is heaven, perfect for me in all ways
. I want you to visit next year. The marriage is splendid, better than I could have dreamed. Send my best to all. I will write again soon, but until then, I am
Your loving sister,
Charlotte Annick
None of what she wrote was a lie, exactly; however, the ever-perceptive Lizbeth might read between the hastily penned lines to see the omissions. Charlotte didn’t want her sister to worry, and, besides, what else could she say about her predicament? That her mother-in-law breathed fire and her husband ignored her? No, she wouldn’t admit defeat yet and have Liz feeling justified in her assessment of Drake. Let Liz think Charlotte had made the perfect choice. Confessing to Lizzie was a last resort, for that would be too humiliating by half.
After lightly dusting sand over the wet ink, she folded the letter and sealed it with the Annick wax stamp. There. Written and done. Setting aside Liz’s letter, she began a similar one to Aunt Hazel.
Quill in hand, Charlotte hesitated. Should she ask for advice? Such personal questions as, “What do I do if I have yet to consummate my marriage?” seemed wholly inappropriate for a letter, as did, “How does one consummate a marriage? A step-by-step instructional guide, if you please, so that I might not embarrass myself with my worldly husband.”
No, that wouldn’t do. As much as she would want the answers, she would never dare write the questions. It did seem a shame not to say something to her aunt when she needed guidance regarding intimacy. She could, perhaps, hint at needing help, but she wasn’t altogether convinced Auntie was as keen as Liz when it came to reading words unspoken.
Chewing her lip, she finally penned a letter to her aunt.
Auntie,
I have arrived safely to Lyonn Manor. I miss you desperately and wish I could ask your guidance. Running an estate and being a dutiful wife are foreign to me. I find myself at a loss. I aim to be the best of both, but I do long for your wise advice and insight. I wish you were here and hope we may visit together soon. By the by, you would love the conservatory. I have in mind to turn it into an aviary for Captain Henry. Imagine his delight! Send my best to Cousin Walter. I will always be
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