Duchess by Mistake (11 page)

Though she certainly held Philip's affection now, she knew he was not in love with her. Fortunately, she had a lifetime in which to do everything in her power to secure his love.

 If only she could. If only she were a more patient person. Or a more beautiful woman.

She had thought her wantonness that first night in his arms was due to the Madeira she was unaccustomed to drinking. But under the light of day whilst cold sober, she longed to feel his arms around her, to feel him stroking her intimately, to feel herself writhing beneath her husband's glorious body.

During those blissful days she could forget there was a world outside the boundaries of Glenmont. It was only she and the man she loved. During those days they had seldom spent a moment apart.

All of that would end when they returned to London. Duty, friends, perhaps even other women (she thought, a rent to her heart) would claim him. Was there anything she could do to prevent that from happening?

She would be an exemplary wife. His needs, his interests would always come first. It would be difficult not to cling to him, but she knew that clinging vines destroyed their sustenance.

During the carriage ride back to London, he ignored her as he read through the thick pages of the tax bill. She must not be jealous of his duty. He had set it all aside during their honeymoon to shower her with attention.

Such attentions were sure to stop now that they were returning to the capital.

Once the foul skies of London came into view, she interrupted his reading. "Pray, my dearest, before we arrive at Aldridge House you must tell me about the servants there."

He put the bill aside. "You only need to concern yourself with Barrow, who must be in his eighties. I am the third Duke of Aldridge he has served."

"Surely you're wealthy enough to pension him off."

He shook his head as if in exasperation. "I tried. The Aldridges are like his own family. He wouldn't have anything to live for were he not to serve us. He told me as long as he could walk, he wanted to keep serving."

"If I recall correctly, he can only barely walk," she said with levity.

"Right you are! He's quite elderly."

"And his hearing?"

"I think perhaps it is not very good--nor is his sight, but you understand I've been from England for five years."

She nodded. "So you haven't been able to observe."

"I know, kind soul that you are, you will be patient with him."

"Of course."

He puckered his lips in thought. "Our housekeeper in town is quite a bit older than Mrs. Plumley. Her name is Mrs. Harrigan, and I'm her second Duke of Aldridge."

She peered from the carriage window and recognized that they were on Piccadilly. "I shall be making their acquaintances momentarily."

There was no greeting party to welcome the new duchess. It had been understood that the newly wedded couple would be returning the following day. Therefore, Margaret and Caroline were paying morning calls, and Mrs. Harrigan must be below stairs. Only white-haired Barrow met them as they came into the wide entry corridor that was lined with priceless portraits of Ponsby family members over the last two centuries.

"My dearest duchess," Philip said, "allow me to present Barrow to you. He is treasured by every member of the Ponsby family."

"I am delighted," she said as the servant executed a shaky bow. She sincerely hoped he did not remember her from that
other day
(which she now thought the luckiest day of her life).

"Certainly, your grace," Barrow said to her, then he proceeded to turn his back on them and shuffle along the corridor.

Her gaze met Philip's, her brows lowered.

"Daresay," he whispered, "he
is
hard of hearing. Must have thought you requested the candles be lighted."

Her husband was right. Seconds later, Barrow and a strapping young footman came to stand in front of the towering mirror, and the footman began to light the sconces which flanked it--even though it was but two in the afternoon, and the soaring ceiling of domed glass filled the entry chamber with daylight.

She gave her husband a querying look, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Come, my darling, allow me to show you the duchess's chambers."

While Elizabeth was unfamiliar with Aldridge House, she had spent some time in other palatial ducal residences. Her aunt had been the Duchess of Steffington, and her maternal grandfather was the Duke of Fane. But since Elizabeth had neither fortune nor great beauty, she had not (at least not since she had come from the school room) thought it possible she would ever be mistress of anything so grand as Glenmont Hall. Or even Aldridge House. Only one house in all of London could rival its grandeur: the Regent's own Carlton House.

As they mounted the broad marble staircase side by side, she concentrated on acting duchessy. This necessitated that she refrain from gushing. Everywhere she looked, everything she saw from the gilt banister to the massive crystal chandeliers was gush-worthy. But she could not underscore to Philip how unworthy she was to be his duchess.

She had not felt so inadequate at Glenmont. There, it had just been the two of them, and he had been ever so solicitous of her. But here in London she would be held up to scrutiny from every lady who had ever hoped to snare the Duke of Aldridge for herself. The servants too might resent a new mistress. Even his sisters of whom she had always been excessively fond might think her an intruder in a domain they had ruled during his long absence from England.

And what would happen when he invited friends from Parliament? Would they think her stupid? She would have to offset the disadvantage of her youth by educating herself about government.

Perhaps Richie could be helpful in that.

There was nothing she would not do to try to earn Philip's love.

When they reached the third level where the bedchambers were located, he said, "You will not only find my mother's former chambers outdated, you will also find they're not at all to your taste. I beg that you seek a clever person to redo them for you. A pity I didn't think of it before we left London. I daresay they might have been redecorated by now."

"But I daresay the chambers would be permeated by those noxious paint odors which aggravate my stomach so terribly." She moved closer to him, slipping her arm into his. "I should have to move into your chambers."

A slow smile eased across his dark face, and he spoke huskily. "I'll summon the painters today." He winked.

At least in the bedchamber activities, she must please him. Now she must set about to become the perfect wife.

They walked past the door to his bedchamber--that place where she had first seen her husband undressed. To her dying day she would be able to visualize him standing there with the fire framing his glistening, beautifully sculpted body.

"The next door will be to the duchess's bedchamber," he said.

It proved to be in exactly the same ornately formal mode as the duchess's chambers at Glenmont Hall, but here the bed was exquisite. She did not think she could change a thing about it. The full tester which stood high above the bed was done totally in gilt that had been shaped like a crown. From it flowed ivory silken draperies embroidered with silken threads in the same shade of turquoise of the velvet draperies that gathered beneath the ivory. How comforting was the image of closing those velvet draperies around the bed--around her husband and her--on a cold winter night.

She forgot all about acting duchessy and let her inner
bourgeois
self be revealed. "Oh, my goodness, it looks like a magnificent state bed!"

His eyes flashed with pleasure. His pride over this bed must be greater than any scorn he could hold toward a
hausfrau
wife. "It is an exact copy of a state bed that my maternal great grandfather, the Duke of Baley, had made for Charles II. My grandmother loved it so much, he had it copied as a wedding gift for her."

"I shall feel like a queen sleeping there!" Her sparkling eyes met his, and her breath hitched when she saw the way he stared at her. Hunger heated his dark, smoldering eyes.

She moved into his arms as his crushing kisses ignited her searing passions. As they always did.

* * *

That night at dinner they were joined by Margaret and Caroline. The sisters were separated by the same age difference as she and Kate but were so much closer than she and Kate. (It was some consolation that no one--not even the man she had married the previous year--was close to exasperating Kate.) Seeing how affectionate these sisters were with each other made Elizabeth lament that Charlotte, her youngest sister and the one to whom she was closest in temperament, had married.

She and Charlotte would always be close, but their relationship had changed almost as dramatically as had Charlotte's station when she chose to marry a Methodist clergyman of modest means. The two stayed so busy with their ministry in the East End that Elizabeth seldom saw Charlotte, and when they were together, Elizabeth had come to understand that Charlotte's husband had supplanted her as the one with whom Charlotte now shared all her confidences, all her innermost thoughts.

Would Elizabeth and Philip ever be that close? She could wish away all his riches in order to toil alongside him day in and day out as did Charlotte and her Mr. Hogart.

How Elizabeth hoped that these new sisters would take her into their family circle in the same way she and her sisters had welcomed Anna.

"When does Clair return from Aunt Hopkins-Feversham's?" Philip queried his sisters as he poured Bordeaux into his wife's glass.

Caro, the youngest, rolled her eyes. "I daresay he's using aunt's proper name for your benefit, Elizabeth. We've always just called her Auntie Hop-Sham."

"Owing to the fact that as young children Hopkins-Feversham was far too difficult for us to pronounce," Margaret explained in her soft voice.

"But to answer your question, Aldridge," Caro said, setting down her fork and regarding him in much the same manner as an authoritative governess, "Clair said she hoped to return around the same time as you and your bride. She was utterly vexed that you had the wedding conducted before her return."

Margaret favored Elizabeth with a smile. "She was, of course, delighted with Aldridge's selection of a bride."

"Indeed," Caro continued, "She said you were always her favorite of Haverstock's sisters . . . well, except for Lady Lydia."

"I believe she phrased it that you were her favorite among Haverstock's
pretty sisters
because while everyone adores Lady Lydia, everyone knows she is not in possession of beauty," Margaret clarified.

Elizabeth was grateful her new sisters felt comfortable enough with her to speak with perfect honesty. "Fortunately, Lydia is everyone's favorite of Haverstock's sisters. Being in possession of others’ good opinion is far better than being in possession of a loveliness that will fade. Do you not agree?"

"My wife is quite the philosopher."

"I think she phrased that beautifully," Margaret said.

Caro nodded. "Speaking of dear Lady Lydia, we must have the Morgans to dinner."

It struck Elizabeth that though Lady Caroline was the youngest in the family, she had taken on rather an matriarchal role, almost as if she were a firstborn.

"And the marquess too," Margaret added.

The duke nodded readily. "A very good plan." Then his expression became pensive, and he hesitated before he directed his next comment to his duchess. "Um, do you think Lady Lydia can get away long enough for dinner?" He then averted his gaze and began to push his peas around the crested porcelain plate.

Both sisters' brows shot up. "What could possibly prevent Lady Lydia from getting away?" Caro demanded.

Philip swallowed. He appeared reluctant to answer his sister's question. Then he cleared his throat and finally spoke. "She has not obtained . . . ahem, certain services for her infant son."

It was all Elizabeth could do not to burst out laughing. Her husband was embarrassed to mention suckling--or even the words
wet nurse
--in front of his sisters! How could so virile a man be so modest?

Both sisters looked puzzled.

Elizabeth cleared up the mystery. "My sister has no wet nurse."

"Do you mean to say she does not leave her house?" an incredulous Caro asked.

Elizabeth answered. "I will own, my sister dislikes leaving her little angel, but since this is so close I believe he could manage without her for a few hours."

The sisters went suddenly, glaringly silent. They, too, were embarrassed to speak of such a matter. At least in front of their brother. Margaret made a great fuss about cutting up her veal whilst Caroline gulped down her wine.

"It would be delightful to have your family members. Will you invite them?" Margaret finally managed. Gentle Margaret had always been the family's peacekeeper. It was she who had the ability to speak graciously to everyone, she who could smooth the wrinkles from the messiest situations.

Elizabeth's glance flicked to the duke. "Is that agreeable to you, dearest?"

"It would make me very happy. But not tomorrow night. We will go to the theatre then for new staging of
School for Scandal.
"

"We're greatly looking forward to it," Caro said.

"And, my love, since I'm going to be a fixture in politics, I thought we'd start dining with Lord and Lady Holland."

Finally, a topic of which she knew something. Though Whigs, the Hollands' dinners were legendary for attracting a lively assortment of interesting people. She had met his lordship, but never his lady, owing to the fact that as a divorced woman, she was not welcome in houses of the
ton
and never around unmarried ladies. Now that Elizabeth herself was a married lady, there was no longer an impediment to their meeting. "I should enjoy that excessively--and I shall sit there like a mute sponge."

He smiled at her, then put down his napkin and rose. "I am sure you ladies can amuse yourselves while I run along to my club."