“Welcome, Your Grace,” the butler said, respectful and solemn.
It was at that moment that she fully grasped the reality of her new situation. She was now a duchess.
“Mrs. Fletcher will be seeing to the Duchess’s comfort,” the Duke declared. “Someone must see that the baggage is brought up and the horses tended.”
Daphne noticed how his voice never rose, but every servant knew their tasks. Some quickly went about their duties without being told twice.
“You will find Wolfcrest efficient,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Meanwhile, I must attend to some business. Mrs. Fletcher will help you settle in by guiding you to your chambers.”
He was quickly gone, surprising her. In the carriage she thought that he was somehow interested in her as a wife, but she could have read the situation inaccurately. Sometimes, she wondered if she was, indeed, too naive for this world.
“This way, Your Grace, if you please,” Mrs. Fletcher said with a soft smile. She was, perhaps, only a little younger than Daphne’s mother, but with kind eyes that were nothing like those the Dowager possessed.
Daphne followed Mrs. Fletcher through a maze of halls with portraits and intricately designed sconces. Doorways were opened for her benefit so that she could catch glimpses of cozy fireplaces, even in rooms that were perhaps barely used.
They ascended the grand staircase at a steady pace, the marble cool and firm under her feet.
“His Grace has requested that you settle in the rooms that adjoin his own for convenience,” Mrs. Fletcher declared matter-of-factly.
Daphne could not help but blush at the word “convenience,” but she was not afraid of her new husband. Not in that way. He had confidently said that he would not lie with her until she was ready to consummate their marriage.
But will I ever feel entirely prepared?
Daphne knew not how to process this quandary. She thought the Duke was exceedingly handsome and even saw the pragmatism in providing him with an heir. But—if it were left up to her, she would keep the door locked between their adjoining rooms until she better understood him.
Her new chambers were beautiful, taking her breath away. A canopy bed took centerpiece. It was covered in ivory and gold damask. While outside the air was chilly, it was warm and cozy inside with a fire blazing heartily. Tall windows provided her with a generous view of the estate. Daphne walked toward one of the windows and perched there for a moment.
Before Daphne could lose herself completely in scouting the terrain, Mrs. Fletcher cleared her throat and Daphne swung around to see her. A young maid joined them, curtsying before she introduced herself. “Your Grace. My name is Clara, your personal maid.”
Her lady’s maid was about her age, young and soft-cheeked.
“Thank you, Clara,” Daphne said, truly grateful even as she tried to be calm about the details of her new life.
“Hot water will soon be carried upstairs,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Should you need anything else?—”
“I shall send word,” Daphne finished.
Mrs. Fletcher bowed and left the room, while Clara was left behind to help the new Duchess undress. The maid unbuttoned the gown with deft fingers and soon the silk and lace slid from Daphne’s body.
“Wolfcrest is grand, Your Grace,” Clara said enthusiastically, even as she folded the gown neatly. “Everything here runs like clockwork.”
“Oh.”
Daphne did not know quite what to make of this statement. She had expected nothing less from her new husband and yet,hearing the lady’s maid report as much made her wonder why the comment was necessary.
After the hot water arrived, Clara poured it into Daphne’s tub. The bride stepped into its warmth, thankful for the way the water soothed her aches.
But her mind still could not rest.
She thought of the Duke’s contradictory actions. In one instance, he was jovial and almost light-hearted. In the next, he was intimidating and authoritative. She wondered what business had preoccupied him on his wedding night. It could not be ledgers. Those could wait. It must be something darker and more urgent, and the subject of Briarwood’s fears.
“Clara, what sort of man is your master?”
The girl seemed to hesitate or perhaps she was just focused on wringing the wet cloth in her hands.
“His Grace is a fair man, Your Grace. He is strict but kind to those who earn his trust.”
“But what if one does not?”
