by Devon, Eva
Her eyes sparked with a decided calculation, and she leaned forward and whispered, “Let me tell you a secret, dear gel. I’m rather glad this happened.”
“Are you?” Georgiana breathed.
A snort of disdain filled the room as Lady Strathmore rolled her eyes. “If not for you, I think Thornfield would have married some titled milk sop. Suitable to be sure. But a chit like that would drive him mad. You, on the other hand? You’re not some sparkling fool; you simply require a bit of polish. And once we’ve polished you, you should make an excellent duchess. Let me take you in hand and all shall be well.”
“I know you’re discussing me over there,” the duke called over his shoulder.
“Then don’t go wandering off, my boy,” his aunt replied.
Georgiana felt slightly dazed. She didn’t feel that all should be well, at all.
As a matter of fact, she felt dread pooling in her belly, but as she herself had so boldly declared, there was no going back.
Only forward for her now, into the unknown.
Chapter Seven
The first few days of lessons were nothing but learning names, the names of every servant, their purpose, what they did in the house, and the title they held.
Georgiana was positively in awe of it all. She spent every spare moment that she had studying the lists of names and how she would one day instruct the owners of them.
Once she had finished that, she was shocked to find the duke had a whole room waiting for her. Or so he claimed.
Thornfield stood at the doorway and said, “Enter your schoolroom.”
It was an odd thing to say. She had been out of the schoolroom for years. Well, if she was honest, she had never been in one. They had not had a governess. She had simply been lucky in the fact that her mother was very educated and had spent a great deal of time teaching her daughters.
Georgiana had also had the opportunity to read a great deal of literature.
She crossed through the door and gasped.
The vast library was full of books. Shelf after shelf stretched out before her, baring hundreds upon hundreds of leather-bound books. The beautiful ceiling was painted with gold filigree. Mirrors hung from every free surface, reflecting the sun so that one might be able to read by natural light.
It did not look like a mere schoolroom.
It looked like heaven.
The duke strode into the room and immediately went to a series of long tables in the center of the space. Stacks of books, cards, a wooden box, and sheets of paper awaited.
“Come,” he urged. “I wish to show you these.”
She could not tear her gaze away from the books, the ceiling…all of it. Lead-pane windows overlooked vast gardens that were as beautiful as any wild moor.
She’d grown up admiring wild things, for Yorkshire was a place of great beauty. But she admitted that the sculpted gardens of the duke’s castle were remarkable.
“Miss Bly,” he called, slightly more insistent this time.
She turned away from the windows at last and crossed to the table.
“These,” he said, “are the great families of England.” He pushed a stack of cards to her. “You will learn their titles and their histories so you might understand how they essentially rule England.”
Then he took a large stack of books and pushed them forward. “One of these is my family history. The others are books of etiquette and precedence. They will tell you whom you are to curtsy to and whom you are not to curtsy to. There are a vast many rules as to where people sit at dinner, whom one speaks to, and the like. You will learn it all.”
She nodded, determined not to be overwhelmed.
Georgiana knew about rules of precedence, but as a minor person of a barely genteel family, she’d never had to give much attention to rules before. For the highest person of rank she had ever met until Thornfield’s ball had been a mere knight.
Before she could reply, he unfurled a series of drawings. Pointing to the one at the top, he said, “This is the castle. You will learn every room in it and identify where the servants go and what their work is just as you memorized their names.” He set that piece of paper aside and focused on the next. “This is our London town house. Get acquainted with it so that when you arrive there, you will manage it adeptly.”
She smiled tightly at him, tempted to scowl. Botheration. Could he not see how terse he was being, how manufactured all of this was? How was she to bear a lifetime of this?
His reputation was not false but accurate. He was so chilly she nearly shuddered.
Georgiana swallowed, willing him to show a bit of the passion she’d seen at the ball. He seemed to not care about her as a person. He was treating her as if she was someone who had little feeling at all and certainly not someone that he was going to marry. Had he forgotten that they had kissed? Had he forgotten their fiery conversation upon the dance floor?
It seemed so.
Perhaps it was too much to ask for a bit of encouragement and support, given the fact that he had not wished for this marriage.
“This…” he said, picking up and extending a small notebook. He gave her a pointed look, as if this was particularly significant. “…is a list of phrases you can use. They’re all rather boring and pedantic, but you will often have to stand with me, greeting guests for a very long time. Sometimes we have hundreds, and you must not say the exact same thing to every single one of them. You must have a variety of things to say.”
The image of hundreds of aristocrats parading before her flashed through her head.
She gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”
The duke sighed. “You did not know?”
“I never really thought about it before,” she confessed, feeling completely off foot. “I never realized I would need to rehearse my conversations.”
He stared at her as if she had not a sensible bone in her body.
The Duke of Thornfield cocked his beautiful head to the side and folded his strong hands, apparently about to give a lecture. “Miss Bly, hundreds will come into the house and you will shake their hand or allow them to curtsy to you. You must say something and you’re not going to say ‘good evening’ to every single one of them and nothing else. You must recognize them and ask them about their families. Or you must ask them about their racehorse or their house, or say how glad you are of their company or that they are most welcome. It is a great deal to remember, but you must.”
The sheer volume of it all made her light-headed.
He narrowed his gaze. “Breathe, Miss Bly.”
At his words, she realized she had not taken breath for several moments and her entire body was as tense as a chord within a pianoforte. She gasped.
Something shifted in his gaze, then, and his voice softened. “Don’t overly concern yourself. We will give you time to memorize it all.”
She nodded and let out a breathy laugh.
“What is amusing?”
“I always told Mama that memorizing all of Mr. Shakespeare’s sonnets was not necessary.” Georgiana shrugged. “Mama insisted. It turns out she had incredible foresight teaching me such a vital skill.”
His brow furrowed. “All of them?”
“All.”
“Sonnet 18?”
She laughed again. “Far too easy. Are you mocking me?”
“Indulge me.”
Indulge him? He did not seem to enjoy indulgence of any kind.
At her pause, he said, “You don’t know it, then.”
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate…” She frowned. “I say, why that one? It’s rather overdone.”
“For a reason.” He unfolded his hands, his gaze studying her face. “You don’t care for it?”
“It’s an ode to beauty and good-tempered people,” she replied factually. �
��I am neither beautiful nor placid.”
A booming laugh rolled from him. It filled the library, reverberating off the ceiling and surrounding her like a rich embrace. But then his gaze locked with hers and something positively electric shone in them. “What you have is better than beauty, Miss Bly.”
“And what is that?” she asked, folding her arms just beneath her breasts.
His gaze was drawn to the small movement, but then he immediately returned his attention to her face. Slowly, his voice a rough growl of a sound, he began, “In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise.”
“Are you saying you love me?” she asked, astonished.
“I barely know you,” he stated without sentimentality. “But what I do know? For all the errors I see, my instincts know you are strong, determined, and not to be intimidated. Beauty has nothing on those three things, Miss Bly.”
The room hummed with his summation of her character. She fairly glowed with it. Just as she was about to reply, he yanked his gaze away from hers and strode toward her.
“Now,” he stated, as if he had not just spun magic with his words. “We must do something about your posture.”
Her shoulders jerked. “What’s wrong with my posture?”
“Quite a good deal,” he replied evenly, stopping but a few inches before her.
He was so dratted tall she had to tilt her head back to look upon his face. “I quite like the way I stand,” she said.
“Do you?”
“Of course I do,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit warm. He was rather near, after all, even if he was being his rude self again. Whilst she couldn’t agree that he was superior to her, as he seemed to think, she couldn’t deny he was a physical specimen which inspired a good deal of admiration.
“You shouldn’t.”
“I beg your pardon?” she returned, her voice much higher than she’d intended.
“You don’t have the bearing of a duchess.”
She was tempted to do something that might affect his presently perfect posture. But she wasn’t about to let him get the better of her.
“I wasn’t born to be a duchess,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why on earth would I have the bearing of one?”
“Because you are actually quite a confident young woman.”
Oh… Did he truly think so? “How can you say such a thing when I was hiding away in your library?”
He inclined his head ever so slightly. “The way you spoke to me was quite self-possessed.”
She cleared her throat, recalling her behavior. “That’s only because I didn’t know who you were.”
He was silent for a moment, then took her chin gently with thumb and forefinger. It was the softest, most caring touch. “You’re telling me you would have been quite shy and reticent if you had known I was a duke?”
She considered him for a moment. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t. I am rather forceful.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I think that’s what has given you trouble over the years. Being blunt. When you are a miss from nowhere, you cannot be blunt.”
Thornfield tilted her head back ever so slightly as he let his gaze wander over her face. “But Miss Bly,” he continued in that intoxicating voice. “This may run in your favor. A duchess can be as blunt as she chooses. It will be more difficult for you because you’re not from a great family, of course, but no one will be able to gain say you.”
The promise of that was strangely heartening. It was the first piece of good news that she’d heard.
“Now, draw your shoulders back,” he instructed.
She did.
“No, no, not like that.”
“How on earth is one supposed to draw their shoulders back?” she exclaimed, feeling most confused by him. Was he always so mercurial?
He shook his head, his dark hair brushing his cheekbones. “You’re tense. Thus your shoulders are halfway up to your ears. Now draw in a deep breath through your nose and then release the air slowly out your mouth. Allow your shoulders to fall in place. Allow your ribs to float above your hips.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, a phrase she was using far too often with him. But he did seem to provoke confusion. Her surprise was natural. After all, she’d never heard the word “hips” from a man before.
“You must allow your ribs to float pleasantly above your hips,” he explained, his comments seemingly obvious to him. “It will give you an immense air of confidence.”
Though she felt foolish, she did as he asked. And as her breath easily flowed past her lips and her shoulders eased, she beamed.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Wonderful.”
He gave her a single, slow smile. A smile which did the most shockingly inviting thing to his handsome face.
For the briefest instant, that look transformed him.
But then, he cleared his throat. “Well, then it’s a beginning. I shall leave you to get started studying.”
“You’re going?” she asked, feeling rather like the victim of unpredictable weather.
“I must,” he told her. “I have a great deal to do, but don’t worry, I shall check on you in an hour to see what you’ve learned. And if you need anything, ring the bell by the fire.”
He strode to the door then stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, “Miss Bly, the box is for you. Feel free to open it.”
With that he left the room. She remained unmoving for several moments. Still reeling from their lesson, she eyed the box. What lesson waited for her? Some treatise on the behavior of a superior duchess? A device to ensure she did not trip?
Georgiana crossed the room and reached out to the walnut box. Her fingers lingered over the surface. Goodness. It wasn’t going to bite her. Girding her proverbial loins, she whipped the lid open.
A coronet of diamonds rested upon a blue velvet panel. Her mouth fell open in the most cliché of fashion. It was a crown. And it was hers.
She swung her gaze from the glittering jewels to the door. He’d wanted her to have it. She trembled as she took the shockingly heavy piece into her hands.
It should have felt wrong. It did not. And then, oh so slowly, Georgiana lifted it and placed it atop her head. Despite its weight, she suddenly felt the excitement of possibility.
Perhaps she could do this, after all.
Chapter Eight
Georgiana sat in blessed silence, tucked into the window seat that overlooked the elaborately landscaped garden. There were sprawling trees of many varieties and steps of artfully displayed stones, which led down a tiered embankment to a small lake. Fountains of water sprayed up into the air from Trident’s fork, pouring over his stallions that seemed to be pawing at the surface.
This small nook in the library, larger than most people’s entire homes, was a place she could get away from her blasted lessons and her dos and don’ts of being a duchess.
She’d found the nook after a particularly long session with Thornfield’s graphs. Graphs which explained important subjects from political commentary to the right phrases to use when a fight appeared imminent between guests.
Her current lesson, a stack of the most prestigious peers in the land, awaited her on the long mahogany table in the center of the library. She would resume their study soon, but even Thornfield had accepted she needed to have a few moments’ rest.
Or more likely, she had these few minutes after Lady Strathmore’s daily deportment lesson, because Thornfield had gone out to inspect his drainage works before Georgiana had even arrived for the day’s tutorials.
With a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s comedies, she did her best to not think of the myriad facts and rules she’d been cramming into her head for several days now. Opportunities to be alone were rare and few.
Georgiana tucked her skirts about her, allowing the soft light of a northern summer to beam through the paned glass and fall upon her. Happily, she turned the pages, covered from top to bottom in inky black typeface.
She easily read through the dialogue of act one of Much Ado About Nothing. She adored Benedick and Beatrice, their merciless witticisms, and clear love for each other. She was glad a couple who was clearly so deeply in love with each other found true love in the end, even if there were some truly harrowing moments along the way.
She tried not to think about the fact that it would not come to pass for her. She told herself true love was something found only in novels and plays.
Her life was not a play. Her life was, well, rather mundane.
So, she was most aware that she would have to find contentment within the pages of her books if she longed for love. After all, it would be deeply disingenuous to not realize the extent of her good fortune compared to so many.
Even so, she continued to stare at the first few pages, which took place in Spain. She could only imagine Spain from the history, geography, and travel memoir books she had all but devoured over the years. And thank goodness for Mr. Shakespeare, who could take her there on a rather chilly afternoon in the North of Yorkshire.
Soon, she would leave for London, where her wedding was to take place. She winced at her wandering thoughts. Mr. Shakespeare was such a dear friend to her that it was a shocking thing she was having such trouble giving him the attention he was due.
But there it was.
Footsteps echoed on the opposite side of the library. His footsteps. She could tell by their confident, familiar rhythm. Her entire body seemed to reverberate at the promise of his presence. How the blazes did he do that to her?
Clearing her throat, Georgiana pored over the familiar pages with zeal, even though every bit of her felt completely alert to the fact that she was going to be alone with him. Her future husband.
Bootsteps echoed down the library, solid, strong steps. They stopped on the carpet several feet before her, at the other side of table between them.
