The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen
Chapter Three
Where the hell was she?
It had been a week, and Ernest knew nothing of his wife’s whereabouts. She was missing. For all he knew, she had been kidnapped and robbed, and he was waiting in his estate for a woman who would never show up.
Christiana had said she was going to visit her father. But Ernest had assumed her visit would take a few days, not a week. Not that she had told him how long she was going to spend at her father’s. His wife rarely spoke to him, except when she made some tart comment about how he ran his estate or his sister’s marital status. She was not a friendly woman, he knew, and he was getting used to it.
But he was more than a little worried about her.
Presently, Ernest sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. He was in his study, penning a letter to the local constable. He supposed he could tell the constable to take his men and search the area for his wife. The men would probably make fun of him, he knew. His wife had been gone for only a week, and that would not seem a source of concern to most people.
Ernest buried his face in his palms. He hated to admit it, but the week since Christiana had left the estate had been the best week of his marriage so far. It had been so… peaceful. Without his wife being around to scare the servants and annoy his sister, he had found that he listened to less complaints and less outbursts.
Ernest stood up and went to the window. He looked out of it, across the fields of the estate . Some tenants were hard at work in the fields, tending to the grass. He watched them for a while, trying not to think about his marriage.
His marriage. Ernest had not expected much from it. Hell, all he had wanted was a wife to produce an heir for him. But he had not thought his wife would be as cold as Christiana was. The day they wed, she had looked into his eyes and said, “Truth be told, Your Grace, I do not fancy you. I do not want you to ever share my bed.”
Ernest had been taken aback. He had not been searching for love, of course, but he had hoped he would at least become friends with whichever woman who eventually became his wife. Christiana seemed to want the opposite. She only spoke to condemn and criticize. True to her word, she had never invited him to her bed.
He had to admit he was running short of patience. He did not want to bed Christiana if it was the last thing she wanted, but it had been a month already, and they had not consummated their marriage yet. People were beginning to whisper, of that he was sure. He had to produce an heir sooner rather than later, no matter what Christiana wanted.
Ernest turned away from the window and returned to his desk. Perhaps Christiana was taking her time with her father because she enjoyed their marriage as much as he did. Perhaps she wanted time away from him too. Ernest could not imagine why. He had done everything he could to make her feel at home at his estate. He made the servants clean her chambers every morning and cook her favourite meals. However, this made no difference whatsoever to Christiana. She appeared to not care about anything to do with him or her new life.
Was this what he was in for? A lifetime with a woman who did not want him? To have his children grow up in a loveless household? Ernest sighed. It was the last thing he wanted for his children. His parents hadn’t been much better. Ernest hardly saw them speak, and he saw the bruises on his mother’s face, however hard she tried to hide it with rouge. Ernest had vowed to have a better marriage. It had been arranged, yes, but he would try to carve out a lasting friendship with his wife.
But he had only thought this before he met Christiana.
He had tried everything to get her to open up. He visited Christiana daily, coaxing her, talking to her about their futures together. However, Christiana did not seem to care about anything related to her new life. She had not asked about the the tenants she was responsible for, or the welfare of the servants. She had not even taken up her role as the duchess of the estate, preferring to stay in her room and hold court from her bed.
Ernest could not tell what was wrong. He had sent his sister to Christiana, and she had returned fruitless, a victim of Christiana’s waspish tongue. Christiana was not a timid wife, that much was certain. She was not shy or scared, was not hesitant to fill the role she now acted. She was just a cold, calculating woman, and Ernest did not know how to deal with that.
Ernest pushed the letter aside and stood up again. He supposed he had to do something about his wife’s disappearance, but if he was being completely honest, he liked not having her around. Perhaps enjoying a few days away from her was what he needed.
He left his study, walking along the long corridors. Perhaps he could go to the stables and get some riding done. He had not ridden in a while, and he preferred spending time on horses than on the ground. He took long strides, eager to get out of the estate on time, nodding at the servants who curtsied as he passed them.
“Brother,” someone called.
Ernest turned back. It was Rebecca, his sister. Her black hair was done in a plait that swung over her shoulder. She seemed to be embroidering something.
“Sister,” he said. “What are you making?” he asked, nodding at her embroidery.
“A rose,” she said, lifting it up. “Original, I should say. Your wife was rather keen on insulting my designs. I await her return. I am eager to hear her comments on this.”
Ernest sighed. One more thing he hated about his marriage was living in a cold war between his wife and sister. He could not tell why they seemed to hate each other so much. All he knew was that it was most certainly the fault of his wife. His sister, tender-hearted Rebecca, had tried to extend an arm of friendship to Christiana. He did not know exactly what had happened, but he could guess the finer details. Now, all they did was exchange barbed words all day long.
“It looks nice,” Ernest said.
“Thank you, brother,” Rebecca replied. “Pray tell, where is your wife? She should be back already, shouldn’t she?”
Ernest nodded. “I have no idea,” he said truthfully. “But I did not think you were interested in her whereabouts.”
Rebecca smiled. “Your wife is the most unpleasant woman I’ve ever met, that is sure, but I wouldn’t want harm to befall her. She is your wife, after all. She is to be the mother of your children and of my nieces and nephews.”
“You could be a little nicer, Rebecca,” Ernest said.
“Your wife does not appreciate niceness, I’ve found,” Rebecca said. “The first day we met, she made a jape about my marital status. She called me an unwed spinster, a shame to the family.”
Ernest’s brows furrowed. “Christiana said that?”
“And a lot more, brother. Your wife is like a vulture, and tender meat like mine is easy pickings for her.”
With that, Rebecca strolled away.
Ernest let out a grunt. Rebecca was right. Christiana was the most unpleasant woman in the world.
* * *
For Amelia, the past three days had been hell.
The duchess had been coaching her on ladylike behaviour. Although Amelia was a fast learner, behaving like a proper lady after living her whole life in penury was proving to be a Herculean task.
“Today, I’m going to teach you how to curtsy like a noblewoman. When you take my place as the duchess, you will meet people of high calibre, people a commoner like you could only dream about. We can’t afford to have you addressing them like commoners, can we?” Lady Gillingham said with a tinkering laugh that made the hairs on Amelia’s arm stand. Dressed in one of her embroidered gowns and with her “recovered” ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, she looked petite and beautiful. It was difficult to imagine she was capable of something so treacherous.
Amelia sighed. This was going to be a long day.
“First, hold up your head without any stiffness and keep your whole person upright. Let your shoulders fall easily.”
Amelia did as she was instructed.
“No, don’t look down. You’re going to be a lady, not a household servant.” It seemed to Amelia that Lady Gillingham was determined to continuously remind her of her penury.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Amelia replied.
“Next, drop your arms easily and gracefully down to the waist. Keep them straight to your sides, and do not put them backwards or forwards,” she said.
Inwardly, Amelia sighed. Being a noblewoman was harder than it seemed.
“Lay your hands across in front of you and make sure not to raise them too high, nor let them fall too low. Let the hollow of your hands be turned towards your breasts. Then, bend your waist a little,” she continued. As Lady Gillingham placed her hands across her waist, the sun caught the ring on her fourth finger and glistened in the sunlight.
Amelia followed her instructions. She hoped Lady Gillingham would not find fault with her again. Apparently, the duchess was satisfied, as she gave a nod.
“Now, turn graciously towards the person you are to compliment, step a little sideways with either foot, join the other to it and turn your eyes a little downward. Not a problem for a servant girl like you, is it?” she remarked. Amelia fought to keep her face impassive.
“Being thus positioned, bend softly and gradually into a curtsy. Rise gently from it and lift up your eyes as you draw up your head,” she concluded with a smile.
“Let’s see if you can do it properly. Do it again.”
Amelia curtsied, holding her breath. Lady Gillingham gave a curt nod, and Amelia released her breath in one whoosh.
“Now, I am going to teach you how to walk like a proper lady,” Lady Gillingham said.
Amelia sighed again. Was there no end to this torture?
“First, hold up your head without any stiffness and keep your whole person upright. Let your shoulders fall easily.”
Amelia held her head as high as she could, letting her shoulders fall.
“Next, drop your arms easily and gracefully down to the waist. Then place the hands on one another, with the palms turning upward, and a little inward.”
Amelia did as she said.
“Take short steps and do not lift up your feet too high. Let your foot that was up, be brought down slowly, and with an easy motion,” Lady Gillingham concluded with a flourish.
“Now, let’s see if you can do it properly. Do it again and remember to keep your head high.”
Amelia started to walk, her head held high. She felt like one of those mannequins that displayed clothes in one of those upscale London shops that she had seen in old fashion plates they kept for the guests.
“And if you are to curtsy to anyone passing by, join the back foot to the fore one, then sink gently and rise up gradually. Then continue walking as before. Remember to never stare as you walk, and always look down as you curtsy,” she added.
“Noted, Your Grace,” Amelia answered.
“Now, you have to learn how to give or receive anything in a way befitting the duchess,” she said. “First, keep yourself upright. Let your head be held up and easy, and your shoulders should fall easily. Let your left arm hang to your waist, bringing it a very little forward. Bring the hand of the left arm forward to the waist. Let it be kept there, and turn the palm of it inward. Am I clear?” she asked.
“Clear as water, Your Grace,” Amelia responded.
“Now, hold the right hand a little forward, bend it gently at the elbow, and a little at the wrist,” she said, then coughed in her linen handkerchief. Sewn into the handkerchief with gold thread, were the letters C and G. Amelia assumed they represented Lady Gillingham’s initials.
Mary got her a cup of water. “Sorry, Your Grace,” she said.
Drinking from the cup of water, she turned to Amelia. “Step slowly and forward, do not be too far or too near the person. When you come at a proper distance, curtsy.”
“Present the right hand gently, withdraw it a little away, and present it a little forwarder. When you have given or received, withdraw your hand gently in a circular manner. Place your right hand upon the other hand to be in the position of curtsying. Then curtsy.” Amelia did as she was asked.
“Perfect. Next thing is to teach you how to sit like a noble lady. Now, have your seat.”
“Your Grace?” Mary spoke up.
“Yes, Mary, what is it?” Lady Gillingham asked, her nostrils flared. It occurred to Amelia that she did not take kindly to being interrupted.
“May I suggest we put an end to these lessons? Amelia must be tired now, and I think too many lessons at once would be too much for her to learn,” she answered.
“She has to learn how to behave like a lady before she leaves tomorrow. I cannot afford to have any mistakes,” Lady Gillingham retorted. Amelia focused on the intricate pattern of gold and blue which adorned the cup and saucer.
Mary took a step forward. “I will be there to guide her. I have waited on you and your mother before you.”
She turned to Amelia. “I would be glad to instruct you on the ways to become the new Lady Christiana Gillingham. You will learn how to walk and talk like the real Lady Gillingham under my tutelage,” she said.
Lady Gillingham seemed to think for a while.
“That’s true, with you to guide her, she’s sure to make no mistakes.”
She turned to Amelia. “You’re dismissed. I expect to see you tomorrow morning. And we have to do something about your hairstyle,” she said with a wave of her hand.
With a curtsy and a silent prayer of thanks to Mary for putting her out of her misery, albeit temporarily, Amelia hurried out of the room. The next few months were going to be hell.
She sent a silent prayer up to heaven.