Page 30 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

She was led to a long gallery with a very tall ceiling and impressive arched windows at the top that let the light in. There, Marigold was presented with ample proof that she had married someone whom she didn’t even know. One after the other, there were portraits of the Duke’s ancestors. And there she was, the new Duchess, wondering about her own husband’s parents or siblings.

One after the other, she was presented to most of the main rooms of the house: the drawing room in gold brocade, the dining room with the table that seated thirty people with silver candelabras and a fireplace large enough for her to stand in. Mrs. Hodgins even took her to the library with floor-to-ceiling books and leather chairs.

“His Grace rarely uses most of the rooms,” Mrs. Hodgins said once she noticed Marigold lingering at the library.

“For some reason,” Marigold smiled, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

A smile bloomed across Mrs. Hodgins’s face, the little woman and her sharing an understanding.

“Then allow me to present to you a very impressive music room,” Mrs. Hodgins teased.

“Let me guess,” Marigold looked around the well-advertised room with a piano, pianoforte, and many other instruments that she didn’t know anything about. “His Grace doesn’t play.”

Mrs. Hodgins smiled and nodded. And yet the tour was not over. She still had to see the ballroom, the beautiful morning room, and of course, last but not least, the green drawing room which was the one she had met the Duke in that first night.

In each and every room, she could sense the opulence of the place, from the weight of the silk curtains to the smell of lemon polish and of her own footsteps on marble. She was married into a wealthy and powerful house, and she was asked to act like the lady of it.

“You must be very tired.” Mrs. Hodgins must have sensed her inner panic. “Allow me to show you to your rooms.”

Marigold nodded though the plural of the word “rooms” did not escape her. She was led to the wing of the ducal bedrooms, one next to the other. Mrs. Hodgins opened the door to one and let her in.

The main room was enormous. A four-poster bed draped in cream and gold dominated the room. It was also lavished with a silver mirror, a small table with an armchair, luscious red carpets, and fresh flowers on the mantel of the big fireplace.

“Through here is your private room,” Mrs. Hodgins showed her a small drawing room with a desk and a bookcase. “The other door leads to the joint bathroom.”

Marigold looked at the door on the far wall. Joint was the word that caught her attention. It meant she and the Duke would be using that specific facility.

“Is there anything else that you would like, Your Grace?” Mrs. Hodgins offered.

Marigold realized she was hungry. Her nerves didn’t allow her to have a proper breakfast. But after such a long time of making her own meals, it still felt weird to be asking someone else to prepare one for her. Still, she was now a duchess, and she would have to act like it.

“I would like some tea and a light breakfast. I will have them in my own drawing room, please.”

Mrs. Hodgins seemed to be surprised by the soft command. Marigold didn’t even have to guess that the Duke may never be cruel, but he was not an easy lord to serve.

“It will be brought to you promptly, Your Grace.”

And just like that, Marigold was left alone in the middle of a vast room that she now had to consider hers in a house so weird and yet one that would host the rest of her life.

She lay down on the bed, letting out a soft moan at the thickness of the mattress and the cool counterpane beneath her cheek. Someone must have stuffed the pillows with lavender. She lay on her back, staring at the canopy above her, letting the reality settle.

“Marigold,” she resorted to her favorite habit of talking to herself since she had always been alone, “a quick rundown of the current situation in a coherent list. You are married. You live in this house. This house is now yours to manage. Please keep in mind you are not a penniless spinster anymore. You are the Duchess of Voss.”

And yet these words seemed like someone else was uttering them. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She had survived far worse than a beautiful house and loving staff. And yet it seemed like an out-of-body experience. Just this morning she was in her plain, bare room, and now… here. Marigold couldn’t help but sigh into the stillness of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise outside. She frowned since she didn’t hear anyone ask to speak to her and ask for permission to enter. Before she had time to process that, the door burst open, and Duck pounded into the room.

Marigold had no time to prepare herself as the massive English Mastiff launched herself onto the bed. Marigold yelped as one hundred and fifty lbs of enthusiastic dog landed on her.

“Duck!”

It was exactly the thing Marigold needed. How could she have forgotten the one member in this house who knew and liked her?

“Where is my good girl?” she petted the dog.

Duck responded enthusiastically. She flopped down on the carpet, exposing her belly, asking shamelessly for a rub. Marigold, without hesitating, sat down on the carpet, petting and scratching the dog behind her ears while her other hand rubbed her belly.

She was so devoted to the task that she hadn’t realized the maid was standing at the door, mouth gaping, holding a tray.