“Shall we get you dressed then, My Lady?” Mary asked, as if reading her mind. “There’s a dress hanging in the armoire, or we can go through your things to see what you might like to wear?”
Selina wasn’t sure she was ready to open the valises and admit that her stay here was permanent.
“The one in the armoire will be fine,” she replied. “No need to make more work for you.”
“As you please, My Lady.”
Behind a wooden privacy screen, Selina changed out of her borrowed nightdress and into a fresh shift. Once that was on, Mary came around to help her with her stays, chattering amiably as she fastened the laces.
“Honestly, we’re all surprised that His Grace has finally chosen a wife. No one has been able to talk about anything else.” Mary tugged the lowest laces, rocking Selina backward. “We thought he’d have his… how should I say this… battlefield approach to women for a few years more.”
“Battlefield approach?”
What on earth was that supposed to mean?
“You know, these soldiers, they don’t know when they might die. They face injuries and worse every day in those awful places; they don’t have much to entertain themselves,” Mary explained, a smirk in her voice. “They don’t exactly… deny themselves. They seize whatever ‘opportunity’ they can. And why not, when they might die tomorrow?”
Selina still didn’t understand, but she didn’t want to seem dense in front of the maid.
Mary tied a knot in the laces. “Then, they return home to abundance and safety, but the attitude doesn’t change. The only thing that does is the number of opportunities.”
“I see,” Selina lied, not seeing at all.
The maid chuckled, evidently sensing her confusion. “It is a surprise that he is getting married, My Lady, because he has not been able to devote himself to one lady at any one time. Not since he got back.”
At last, understanding dawned on Selina. It rushed in quickly, like a slap to the face.
“Oh… oh, Isee.”
She thought of last night by the orangery, the intensity with which he had pressed her against the glass. His uninhibited touch to her waist and cheek, the hunger in his grey eyes. The kiss that she had been certain he was about to press to her lips.
How many others has he?—
“He has enjoyed the company of many women?” she rasped, strangely stricken.
“What gentleman has not?” Mary replied in a gentler tone.
Maybe she had realized that she shouldn’t be saying such things about the Duke to the woman who was to become the Duchess.
“Well, quite,” Selina said tightly, though she had no idea.
She was aware that gentlemen were partial to a mistress or two, but she had assumed those were just the married ones. Did they all really begin their education in… carnal matters so early? Was this some open secret? With whom were they dallying?
It seemed a little unfair that gently bred ladies could not be granted the same liberties. Why were they expected to go into marriage blind, the wedding night a mystery—and probably a shock to many—while the gentlemen were permitted to prepare at their leisure?
So, I should expect to share him?
She contemplated asking the maid, but then lost her nerve.
Disappointment settled like a shroud over her as she went through the motions of getting dressed. She put her arms up when she was supposed to and stayed still as Mary buttoned her into the garment and pinned her hair, but asked no more questions, her thoughts too loud for that.
Instead, she half-listened to the drone of the maid talking without actually hearing what was being said. It was some mischief that had happened in the kitchens, maybe somethingto do with an error in the quantity of beef, but that was all she knew.
“There you go, My Lady,” Mary said at last. “All ready for the day. Shall I pour you some tea now?”
“No, thank you.” Selina stepped out from behind the screen. “My headache is all but gone. Fresh air will see to the rest.”
With one quick glance at the valises and hat boxes, she walked out of the room, her head ringing with the words,I will have to share him. I will just be the wife and the mother of his children.
Once that purpose was fulfilled, what then?
Her heart sank as she thought of her own mother, a silent presence in her own home, just ‘the Duchess’ and never ‘my love’ or ‘my darling’ or even ‘my wife.’
Running now, skirts hiked up, Selina had the most awful feeling that history was doing its best to repeat itself.
