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“She is not a prospect, mother, she is a person. And it makes no matter now if she is a prince’s daughter or a commoner’s—I wed her. She is my wife. She is charming and intelligent in conversation. I find her beautiful and kind of heart.”
“Beautiful! Kind of heart!” His mother spat the words as if they were condemnations. “My son, are you so besotted you cannot see? What you feel for her is infatuation. Inappropriate fascination which shall fade and leave you with a very unsuitable partner for the rest of your life.”
Court wanted to argue, to set her down with a few choice words, but some part of him feared his mother was right. The intensity of lust and desire for his wife was not the stuff of steady marriages, but rather the way a man might go on with a torrid affaire de coeur. He tried to picture Harmony at state dinners, at society gatherings where sharp eyes and ears watched for every gossip-worthy shortcoming. He pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hands down his face.
“She is my wife, mother.” He kept repeating it, because it was the only thing with which she couldn’t argue.
“I am aware she is your wife. There has been enough mockery and laughter to remind me of that.”
“What matter if people mock and laugh?” he said, straightening up again. “She is a duchess, and must therefore be shown respect.”
“Society will show her respect as far as they must, but she will never win their true consideration. I promise you she won’t.”
“I promise you she will,” he countered stubbornly. “In time.”
“Bah. There is no time. She must be brought up to standard by spring, or I swear we will not host the ball. I shall not blush and apologize all evening for her antics. I will not subject the Courtland name to the derision of the ton just as the season gets under way.”
“We shall open the house as we do every year,” Court said, standing with temper. “And Harmony will play the part of my duchess perfectly. She shall be transformed into the picture of civility. Even you will be obliged to say so.”
“Hmph.”
“And you will apologize to me then, mother, for speaking of her so unkindly, and to Harmony too.”
“Hmph,” she said again. “You have less than five months to enact this transformation.”
Court shrugged. “She will take but a month or two to learn the way of things. She is exceptionally bright. And she loves me,” he added a bit childishly. “She will wish to please me.”
“Love,” his mother muttered.
He bowed to her. “Good evening. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.”
An unmannerly exit, but it was better than staying to argue with her. From the dining room, he strode to his wife’s room. Her lady’s maid answered his knock, curtsied and let him in. He looked about for Harmony and found her settled in a chair in the corner with a book.
“Leave us,” he said to the servant, his gaze fixed on his wife.
The woman mumbled some niceties and took herself off. At the sound of his voice, his wife sat up straighter and closed the book in her lap. It was a large volume, some historical tome, no doubt, but it hadn’t yet worked its necessary magic and erased the tight expression from her face. Her dinner finery was gone, replaced by a pale yellow velvet dressing gown. Her hair was loose, a halo of flaxen locks around her head. She stood to face him with the book clasped against her front.
“I apologize for giving up,” she said. “Was the duchess put out that I left?”
He crossed to her with a sigh. “You are the duchess now. You mustn’t worry what she thinks.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, you should worry what she thinks in some matters, but there is no cause to come undone and storm away over mismanaging your dinner spoons.”
“It isn’t only the spoons,” she said. “It’s everything I do, every day. Wearing the wrong dress for luncheon or bringing up the wrong topics of conversation, or speaking out of turn to Lord Galvin in the park.”
“Lord Galvin will recover,” Court said with a frown. “In my opinion, he is far too tightly wound.”
“But don’t you see? It’s always something. Can I not just hide away from everyone? Then we could all be content.” She reached to stroke his starched cravat. “Can I not just stay here in your home and make you happy?”
Oh, the images that brought to mind. He arrested her softly tracing finger before he lost his ability to think. “You know you cannot. It would be enough for me…God help me…but…” He gritted his teeth against the longing in her gaze. “I should like nothing better, but I am a public figure and you are my duchess. You cannot hide.”
“But I’m not what they want,” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “I never will be.”
“Who says so?” He drew her hands away and forced her gaze to his. “You are too stubborn to be intimidated. You must not say ‘I cannot.’ You must try. You know, there was a time I believed I would make you the world’s worst husband, but I married you anyway.”
“Because of my muddling,” she interjected morosely.
He silenced her with a finger to her lips. “The matter of ‘why’ no longer signifies. I had to become your husband, and I decided to try very hard to make you a good husband, to provide security and comfort to you. I didn’t wish you to be disappointed in me.”
“Oh, Court,” she said, her mood softening. “I don’t want to disappoint you either.”
“Then you must set yourself to the task of this marriage and do your very best. Certainly you will have a lot to learn to be a proper duchess, but I daresay you will come to be quite excellent at it. You shall be so lofty and shining I’ll be a mere shadow at your side. ‘Where is the duke?’ everyone will ask. ‘He seems to have disappeared completely.’”
She laughed at his animated portrayal of the scene. “You could never be in my shadow,” she said. “Even if I were the best duchess ever. You are too grand and tall, anyway.” As she said this, she clambered up on her reading chair and placed her arms on his shoulders. He ought to chide her and tell her to get down. The chair was a fine Welsh piece, one of his mother’s favorites. But he did not tell her to get down. She moved her hands up his shoulders and back down to his upper arms, boldly taking his measure. Her eyes grew warm and languid, as if she found his measure pleasing indeed.
“Grand and tall, am I?” he said, his fingers teasing at the curve of her waist.
“You know very well that you are. You make such a fine figure when you are all dressed for dinner in your handsome coat and neckcloth.” Her hands traced up again to rest on either side of his collar. She studied his neckwear, her forehead crinkling with those familiar lines. “Is it you who ties them so beautifully, and puts in these little pins?”
“No, it is my man,” he said, his voice gone slightly raspy. “My valet.”
“Would he teach me how? I should like to be able to do such a thing, to arrange your collars and cravats.” She leaned to brush her cheek against his neck and almos
t lost her balance. His arm came around her waist to steady her, though he himself was quickly losing grasp of his control. The savage was awakening, beckoned by her slightly parted lips, the possessive approval in her gaze.
“You are not to fraternize with my valet,” he managed to say. “Duchesses do not need to learn how to tie cravats.”
She frowned. “Even yours?”
“Stay away from my valet. You are far too curious. Next you would be asking how to shave me and how to polish my boots.”
She scratched her fingertips through his evening stubble. “I should love to shave you, Court. I really should.”
“I’m afraid that is an absolute no.” He kissed her on her pout, tightening his arm around her waist.
“But I love this part of you. Your rough, strong jaw and your neck.” Her fingers traced down to the sides of his collar, just below his ears, then up to linger beneath his chin. He had never imagined marriage like this, with teasing talk and affectionate touches. “I remember the first time I saw you in your formal clothes,” she said, staring into his eyes. “You walked into the Darlingtons’ drawing room and stood and looked around, and you appeared so steadfast and haughty.”
“Haughty, Harmony?” He struggled to swallow. “I am not haughty.”
“Sometimes you are. That night, you were haughty and dark and tall, and so very handsome, and very forbidding. All the ladies noted it. When you dress for dinner I always think of that night. When I see you like this…” Her hands were back to teasing at the folds of his cravat. “I…I do not know what comes over me. I have the most…unladylike…thoughts.”
Court came to a slow and bemused realization. His wife was trying to seduce him—whether intentionally or innocently, he did not know. He did not care.
“Untie it,” he said in a low voice.
Her steady gaze flickered for a moment. Innocently, then. It did not change his response. She paused, then he felt her fingers working at the linen. “I hate to disturb it, it looks so lovely,” she said as she placed the sapphire-tipped pin in his palm.
