The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Do you not ever get tired of that?" the dowager asked Bentley. "I should think that I am now above the category of people that need to be announced.” She proceeded into the room and when she observed Daphne coughing, she turned back to Bentley. “Why are you standing there like a stick? Get the choking girl some water.”
The butler disappeared. Daphne’s choking was not serious and she looked as though she was holding back a laugh. "Daphne, are you well?" Ernest inquired, a slight frown drawing his brows together.
“I am well now,” she replied when she seemed calmer.
The Dowager's eyes narrowed, then her gaze traveled from her grandson to Daphne and back, settling on him with a sly look in her eyes. “I see there is less formality in this house now.”
Bentley returned with some water for Daphne and Ernest raised one brow as he regarded him. “Bentley, you owe me a sandwich. I lost the last piece when you came in to announce my grandmother.”
“Do you mean the sandwich Miss Bexley choked on?” the dowager asked. Jenny could immediately tell the woman was planning something. The impish sparkle in her eyes told her as much.
“Yes, the very one,” Ernest replied.
"Then it is not Bentley that owes you a sandwich,” the dowager said, “but Miss Bexley.” Before anyone could respond, she looked Daphne over. "You, Miss Bexley, appear to have incurred a debt."
Daphne gave Jenny a confused look and she almost felt sorry for her…almost. "Ernest, you shall take her to Gunter’s for some ice. See it as an opportunity to settle your debt, Miss Bexley. You can thank me later."
Daphne gaped while Jenny hid her smile behind her teacup. She had been annoyed when the dowager had come but now she thought it was a fine thing that she was here. “Come now, Your Grace,” Ernest began to dissent but the dowager swiveled round, a broad smile on her face.
"Now would be a good time, Ernest. It is a fine day.” Her tone was very calm and sweet, entreating even.
“What do you say, Daphne? Will you come with me for ice at Gunter’s?” Ernest asked, rising.
Jenny gave Daphne an encouraging smile and she nodded. “Yes, I will be happy to.” She took his arm and they walked out.
"What a way of making them spend time together," Jenny murmured once she was certain they were out of the house. “Tea?”
“No, I will not have cold tea.”
“I shall ring for fresh tea.” Jenny summoned Bentley to order fresh tea for the dowager. She noticed the dowager peering at one of her books on the side table.
“For someone that disapproves of my reading habits, you appear interested in geology.”
The dowager harrumphed. “You are mistaken, girl. Now, where is Nicholas? I came to check on his health."
"He left quite early this morning. And he is well like he never suffered a fever.”
“Where did he go?”
“His offices in the House of Lords. He is taking his role more seriously and I am sure you will be pleased to learn that.”
“Yes, I am pleased but there is another matter that concerns me. Has he resumed his work to beget an heir?”
Jenny ought not to be surprised by the dowager’s question, yet she was. “Everything is going well in that venture.”
"Good." The Dowager suddenly stood.
"Are you leaving so soon?" Jenny asked, hopeful. She did not mind that the dowager had made her order more tea that was yet to arrive.
"No." She rearranged her shawl and gripped her cane tighter. "You shall give me a tour of the portrait gallery,” came her declaration.
Jenny's brows shot up in question. Certainly, the woman was not asking to be shown the portrait gallery because she had never seen it. She had lived in this house. “I have not made any changes to the place,” Jenny said to get the dowager to reveal the reason she wanted to see the place.
“Well, you ought to.” She waved her cane for Jenny to precede her. In the gallery—one of the rooms Jenny hardly visited—the dowager began down the road of the Brighton family history, criticizing Nicholas’s ancestors with every second breath.
“This is the third Duke of Seaton,” she said when they stopped before Nicholas’s great-great-grandfather. “What he lacked in looks, he made up for in the heirs he sired.”
Jenny bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. None of his sons were handsome either but they did well for the title. Handsome men did not come into this family until I married the fifth duke.”
“So, you are saying you saved the family from physical imperfection, among other things,” Jenny said.
“Indeed,” the dowager replied with great pride in her voice. Jenny supposed that pride was not misplaced. The woman had striking features that Nicholas had inherited. He did owe some of his other handsome features to his mother, however.
“The late duchess was very beautiful, too,” Jenny mentioned, in part to challenge the dowager.
“Nicholas looks nothing like her,” she scoffed. “He takes after his father and his father took after me.”
How unfortunate,Jenny thought.
“You talk about some of these people as if you knew them,” Jenny stated. The aim of their visit to the portrait gallery was still unclear to her.
"Oh, one does not have to meet a person to be a good judge of their character. You will find popular opinion to be an unbiased judge."
“What if that popular opinion is false? One might find themselves in a scandal that is not of their own making. Will you use the opinions formed in the advent of the scandal to judge their character?”
“That is not something I am willing to discuss with you today.” Jenny smiled, mentally giving herself a point. There was no logic in the dowager’s statement and she recognized the flaw when Jenny pointed it out. With great patience, she listened to the tales of Seaton the first and hismany descendants.
Jenny’s patience was tried even further when the dowager mentioned that nearly all of Seaton heirs had been produced within the first year of marriage. They must have spent well over an hour in the gallery; Jenny was not counting.
When Jenny could bear it no longer, she spoke, "I do not know you to beat about the bush, Duchess. I understand you have many expectations and the Duke needs an heir but I would like to ask you to give us time. We have not been married three months—”
“If you had conceived on your wedding night, you would be nearly three months along,” the dowager interrupted her sharply.
She clenched her hands at her sides and breathed slowly to tamp down her rising ire. “Perhaps you should have taken more time in choosing his duchess.”
The dowager gaped, looking positively affronted by Jenny’s comment. “You insolent, child!”
“I am a woman, not a child, and you will speak to me with respect.” Jenny straightened her shoulders. “After all, this is a path that must be walked from both ends. You cannot demand respect without giving it.”
“Just so.” There was something akin to admiration in the dowager’s gaze now.
"Besides, Nicholas is recovering from a—”
“A mere fever,” she cut in.
"That almost took his life," Jenny defended.
"I thought you did not believe that," the dowager returned with a smug smile, then waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It has been over two weeks and he does not need an eternity to recover from such. And I recall you telling me everything is well in that regard.”
Before Jenny could come up with a proper response, someone joined them. “Boring my wife with tales of dead men, are you, Grandmother?”
"Oh, wonderful! Just the man I wish to see." The dowager turned with a broad smile. "I was just discussing commissioning a new portrait with your wife." Jenny's eyes narrowed as she considered countering the dowager’s words but thought better of it. The weariness in her husband’s eyes contributed to this decision.
"I am thinking of having it done before my new hair color fades. What do you think?" Her question was directed at Nicholas. She touched her now copper-hued coiffure.
Nicholas's gaze did a slow assessment of his grandmother's hair. "Why would you fancy being remembered with a rusty crown?" he asked, coming into the room to stand beside Jenny.
She immediately felt the heat from his body radiating toward her and wished she had the right to reach for him, the right to have what would be considered hers. She surreptitiously moved away from him, pretending to take an interest in the portrait of a woman dressed baroque-style.
"Rusty crown?" came the dowager’s incredulous response.
"Yes," he replied. "I always thought the new color looked more like rust." He threw Jenny a wink when the dowager was not looking and she grinning in spite of her changed mood.
"Well," the dowager said, "I wouldn't expect you to be a fine judge on such matters as female cosmetics."
The dowager’s new hair color had taken the ton by storm and nearly everyone had something to say about it. Those with negative opinions only spoke in her absence but Jenny had reason to believe the dowager was aware of their opinion. She had ears everywhere, it would seem.
"I shall have the portrait done here at Seaton Mansion.”
"With whose permission?" Nicholas asked, looking at Jenny. “Did you give her leave to have it here?”
"All Seaton portraits have been done here. Why should this one be different?" the dowager said without waiting for Jenny to answer.
"I don't know. Probably because you had several done here already."
"I shall have another one then. And it is time you two commissioned one before the Duchess begins to grow." Her gaze swept over them meaningfully before she added, "I would stay for dinner, but I have somewhere else to be."
"You shouldn't keep them waiting,” Nicholas encouraged.
She sent a glare his way and a knowing look in Jenny’s. “Good day.” And with that, she left them alone in the room.
“She was not talking to you about commissioning a portrait, was she?” Nicholas asked, removing a watch from his waistcoat pocket to examine it.
“I think you already know what she was here for,” Jenny replied, brushing past him to leave the gallery. He followed her.
“Ernest is right. Sending her off to Northumberland will ensure we live the rest of our lives peacefully.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You are not seriously considering it, are you?”
“I am.” He looked like he meant what he had said. They saw Bentley walking down the hall toward them with a small silver tray that contained a white square. He stopped in front of Jenny and bowed.
“A message for you, my lady.” She picked up the note and opened it immediately, not bothering to ask from whom it was. Nicholas’s name on the first line told her it was not meant for her and she passed it to him without reading the rest, respecting his privacy.
“There appears to have been a mistake, Bentley. The message is for the duke.”
Bentley looked apologetic. “Forgive me, Your Grace. The messenger asked me to give it to the duchess.”
She smiled at him before turning to Nicholas. He was frowning. “Something is not right,” he said.
“What is it?”
“It’s from Ernest. He is asking me to meet him at White’s immediately.”
“He was here not long ago. I hope everything is all right.”
“So do I.” He strode down the hall, paper in hand.
