The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Seven

The first-floor drawing room was the most beautiful room Amelia had ever seen.

With large floor-to-ceiling windows displaying a view of the grounds, the brown wallpaper and the exquisite furnishings, it seemed to Amelia like a room fit for a king. The floors were covered in woven carpets, so soft-looking that Amelia ached to press her fingers against them. She had never been in a room like this before, and she looked around the room, at the expensive-looking musical instruments and the silk curtains, intent on taking them all in at once.

“Your Grace,” a passing maid said, curtsying.

Amelia nodded at the maid. It had only been a day, and she had yet to adjust to the barrage of servants that existed in the manor, all of whom treated her with the utmost respect. When Amelia saw them hard at work, dusting a piece of furniture or carrying a meal tray, it was all she could do not to assist them at their work. She was much better suited to play a maid than to play at being a duchess, much less a scheming, rude one.

“Your Grace,” said a calm, mocking tone. “Shall I bow or will a curtsy suit you just fine?”

Amelia turned around. Rebecca was seated at the far end of the room. The room was so large and expansive, Amelia had not noticed her before. Rebecca was dressed in a silk dress, worn close up to the throat, and the sleeves were loose and large. Underneath them, sleeves trimmed with lace were fastened around her wrist with a bracelet. Amelia moved closer. She saw Rebecca was embroidering a series of intricate patterns on a piece of muslin.

“Good morning, Rebecca,” Amelia said. She still remembered the events of last night, the vegetable soup drenching her neck, but Amelia was determined to be nice to Rebecca. Even if Lady Gillingham had made it her life’s ambition to ridicule Rebecca, Amelia knew she wanted to be better than that. She did not care if she gave away her cover by treating Rebecca like a decent person. Rebecca seemed like someone who was lacking a lot of kindness in her life.

Rebecca looked up at her, her eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Your Grace? Shall I give up this seat for you, as your tender legs are not made for standing so long?”

Amelia sighed. This was going to be a difficult task. “What are you embroidering?” she asked.

“Pray tell, is my embroidery a concern to you? Does it disturb you?”

“I only meant to say you seem to know what you’re doing. That is fine work.”

Rebecca shot her a suspicious glance. “Of course it is, Your Grace. I know your talents for embroidery are as rare as they come, but surely you remember I do better embroidery than anyone in this manor.”

Amelia’s heart missed a beat. Rebecca did not seem too suspicious, but Amelia knew she had made a mistake in assuming Lady Gillingham knew nothing of Rebecca’s designs. She cursed internally. A few more mistakes like this and she would be found out.

“I don’t remember ever complimenting you,” Amelia said, her heart in her throat. Had Lady Gillingham done that before?

Thankfully, Rebecca’s expression cleared. “No, you haven’t, Your Grace. I remember vividly you telling me on one occasion that embroidery is a useless art, meant only for spinsters or older women.”

Why was Lady Gillingham so cruel? Kindness required less efforts than being rude and condescending, and yet Lady Gillingham seemed to have no issues with being a pain in the behind.

“Rebecca,” Amelia started.

“What do you really want, Your Grace?” Rebecca said, looking up. “I am very busy and would rather not listen to you insult me in my own home.”

Amelia sighed. She knew what she was about to do would displease Lady Gillingham greatly, but she also knew she wanted to do it. Even though she had promised Lady Gillingham to do her best to behave like her, Amelia knew that she would succeed much better at this if she didn’t pretend to be like anyone else.

With that in mind, she said, “I would like to apologise to you for my previous behaviour. It was cruel and wicked to talk to you in that manner. I know now what a terrible person I must have seemed to you. Please, accept my apology.” It felt strange to apologise for something she had no hand in, but Amelia knew an apology was past due.

Rebecca looked stunned. “What?” she said.

“I’m sorry for everything I put you through, Rebecca. You’re right. This is your house, and I have no right to float in and make you feel like you do not belong here.”

Rebecca burst out laughing. Amelia stared at her, confused. What had she said that was worthy of mirth?

“Is this a jape, Lady Gillingham? Do you fancy me stupid?” Rebecca asked.

Amelia was still staring. Apparently, Rebecca thought she was pulling some kind of prank. “I’m not japing, Rebecca. I truly am sorry.”

Rebecca’s mouth dropped open. Amelia almost smiled. This was the first time she had seen Rebecca speechless.

“Your apology is sincere?” Rebecca asked.

Amelia nodded. Rebecca looked up at her, and their eyes met. She thought she could see in Rebecca’s eyes the deflation of the suit of thorns she seemed to always wear in Lady Gillingham’s eyes. Rebecca was this way because of Lady Gillingham, Amelia knew. If Lady Gillingham extended even the slightest bit of courtesy towards Rebecca, the woman would respond with love.

Suddenly, the look in Rebecca’s eyes vanished, only to be replaced by scorn.

“I have no need for your apologies,” Rebecca said, turning her attention back to her embroidery.

Amelia felt as if she had been slapped.

“Rebecca, I—” she started, but Rebecca raised a hand up.

“If that is all, Your Grace,” Rebecca said. “I would rather listen to thirty stable boys bicker about a horse than swallow the bilge you have poured out for me.”

Amelia took a step forward. “I am not playing games with you, Rebecca. I mean every word.”

“I would be even more stupid than you think I am if I deigned to believe you,” Rebecca said. She stood up, snatched up her embroidery, and stalked away.

Amelia sighed. That did not go the way she thought it would. She had to keep trying, she knew. When she left the estate, she wanted herself and Rebecca to be on the best of terms.

* * *

It seemed as if Lady Gillingham was changing in new and unexpected ways.

Ernest had watched from outside the drawing room as his wife and his sister made conversation. He had heard his wife apologise. He had been even more shocked than Rebecca looked, and had almost thrust his finger into his ear to clear the wax that was no doubt building up in his ear cavities.

Christiana had apologised to Rebecca.

It seemed impossible. Ernest did not know much about his wife, but she did not seem like the kind of woman who apologised for any reason whatsoever. She was adamant, intractable, and rude. She would jump through hoops rather than admit a mistake.

What was wrong with his wife? Why had she changed so suddenly? Had the bandits exerted such an effect on her that she had now decided to be a kinder, more humane person? This was the first conversation she’d had with Rebecca that had not involved rude comments sliding back and forth. And, yesterday at the stables, even Rebecca admitted that there was something different about Christiana. Hadn’t she said something about Christiana’s tongue losing its edge?

Ernest turned and walked away from the drawing room, down the carpeted hallway. He was heading for his chambers, his head still immersed in thoughts of Christiana. If Ernest knew the bandits would have such an effect on his wife, perhaps he would have planned to get her ambushed earlier on. In the last month since they wed, Ernest had realised how difficult it would be, living with a wife like that. He had assumed it was his cross to bear.

Perhaps he didn’t have to bear that cross after all.

He changed his direction halfway to his chambers, heading instead for Christiana’s quarters. If Christiana really was a new person, he had to try to get to know this person, for however long she was going to stay. Perhaps she was still suffering from the after-effects of the attack, and she was going to be the tart Lady Gillingham in a couple of days. He supposed he had to enjoy this new version of his wife sooner rather than later.

At Christiana’s door, he hesitated before knocking. He cursed internally. Why was he suddenly acting like a lovestruck toddler? This was his wife, for God’s sake. Even if she had completely changed from the wife he’d always known, there was no reason to act the fool around her.

With that in mind, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said his wife’s voice.

Ernest took in a deep breath as he pushed the door open. His wife was seated at the dressing table, her hand in her hair. She rose to her feet when she saw him.

“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying.

Even her curtsy was different. What had happened to his wife?

“My lady,” he said with a short bow. His gaze raked over her dress. She was in the same dress she had been in that morning, a pink silk dress with a high neckline and low puffy sleeves. Her hair was done up in a high style, with loose tendrils trailing down her face and neck. Ernest had hardly let himself notice it in the past, but he saw now what he’d closed his eyes to in the past.

He had himself a beautiful wife.

“I hope you are well,” he said. “I just thought to check on you again.” In truth, the only reason he was currently standing in her room was he wanted to behold her with his eyes, this new, changed woman he was now wed to.

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Christiana said smoothly. He could detect no trace of sarcasm in her voice, a rare thing for Christiana.

“I hope you are alright as well,” she added, and Ernest narrowed his eyes. Never—never—had his wife asked about his wellbeing before. It just wasn’t in her nature.

“I’m well, my lady,” he said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

She looked suddenly uncomfortable—had she noticed his surprise? He sought to relieve her discomfort, and so he said, “I saw what happened.”

“What?” she asked, a little too quickly.

Was it his imagination, or did she seem jumpy? Ernest watched his wife. She looked outwardly calm, but he could swear she was clutching the dressing chair a little bit too tightly. Had he done something to upset her, or was she simply nervous after what he had told her the night before?

Ernest nodded to himself. That had to be it. His wife was nervous at the thought of producing heirs for him. He supposed he could have found a more tactful way to say what needed to be said, but he knew she had to know. He knew the maids had to be whispering about the fact that they slept in different chambers every night even a month after their marriage, and that they had never really consummated their wedding night.

They were not in love, that he knew, and he also knew the last thing Christiana wanted was him in her bed. Thus, he had tried to give her space over the past few weeks. But, it had been a month now, and there was no putting it off any longer. They had to lie together to produce an heir, however little they both wanted it. It was their duty. There was nothing else to do about it.

“Your Grace?” Christiana said.

Ernest started. For a moment, he had quite forgotten where he was. “What, my lady?” he asked.

“You told me you saw what happened,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, recalling the conversation. “I saw you try to apologise to my sister. I have to apologise for her behaviour once more. An apology was the last thing she would have expected from you. It’s the last thing anyone would have expected, to tell you the truth.”

There was a wan smile playing at the corner of Christiana’s lips when she asked, “And why is that?”

“You—” he started, unsure of how to continue. How could he tell his wife she was the most difficult woman he had ever encountered? She was condescending to maids and stable boys, rude to his sister, and simply abominable towards her personal maid, Mary. He had given up trying to understand why she was the way that she was.

“You are not the apologetic type,” he said, finally deciding on an answer that didn’t sound too mean.

He half-expected her to fly into a rage, and was surprised when she simply nodded. “I know that,” she said. “I also know that I have been a terrible sister-in-law and a terrible wife, and I hope that in time, you will all come to see how much I have changed.”

Ernest felt waves of surprise flooding through him. Once again, he wondered how an ambush could have changed his wife so completely.

“You look surprised, Your Grace,” she said.

Ernest shook his head. “Why, I almost didn’t believe you meant your apology,” he said.

“I have a lot to be sorry for,” Christiana said simply. “My behaviour was simply abhorrent. I know that now.”

Ernest stared at her. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered.

“What, Your Grace?” she asked.

“How different you are,” he said. He took a step closer, unable to help himself. He wanted to bask in this new Christiana for as long as it was possible. He held her frail hand in his, squeezing gently. She was wearing a pair of white gloves, and he wanted to yank the glove off so they could have skin-to-skin contact.

“Perhaps I’m growing up,” Christiana said. She suddenly sounded breathless as she looked up at him.

“Well, it is a welcome change. That I can assure you,” he said.

“I was unbearable for most of the month I spent here. It was just hard acclimating to a new environment. Now that I have become more familiar with my surroundings, I assure you I will be more tolerable, especially to your sister.” She still sounded breathless, and Ernest discovered he liked the way her voice sounded when she seemed nervous.

“Are you saying your change has nothing to do with your accident?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before she said, “Perhaps, Your Grace. It was such a frightful time for me. Perhaps it made me confront what sort of trouble I’d been causing for you and your family.”

Ernest nodded. “I like you better like this,” he said. He did not realise how much he meant that until he said it. Although it had only been two days, he knew he wanted his wife to stay like this forever.

“Really?” she whispered.

“You’re doing things I never thought you would,” he said.

“There is still one thing I haven’t done,” she replied, her gaze on his lips.

“What’s that, my lady?” Ernest asked, sounding a little breathless himself.

Ernest watched as she took in a deep breath. And then, standing on tiptoe and leaning into him, she brushed her lips across his.