AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“But one which cannot be deferred for long.” Bates rubbed his face. “We shall instruct the pack to keep quiet about their true natures, but Miss Templeton will soon notice that things are not done in the usual way in our little corner of the country. The longer it takes to apprise her, the more difficult it may be for her to accept the knowledge.”
“And yet…” Alfred looked down upon his duchess, sleeping in all innocence and trust against him. How quickly would things turn sour once she awakened? A wave of remorse flowed through him, and O’Mara adjusted the atmosphere, like a harpist playing upon her strings. He raised his free hand to halt her; he would be damned if he would not feel this. “I cannot but think of Phoebe. I would not force Miss Templeton, as my sister was to have been forced. She must choose this of her own free will.”
“You must woo her,” O’Mara said.
“Goddess help us,” Bates moaned.
“I am well able to turn the attentions of a mere human woman, Beta,” Alfred growled, and Bates resumed his position of shut eyes and crossed arms.
“We shall go easily, carefully,” O’Mara said, gently exuding waves of comfort. “Mrs. Birks will attend her personally, with only one maid to prevent their chatter exposing our secrets inadvertently. Mr. Coburn will take charge of the footmen—”
“Holy Venus, all those damned footmen.” Bates tore at his hair, and Alfred lowered his dignity so far as to kick him in the shin.
“We shall find a balance,” O’Mara continued, “one which includes choice, despite the necessity of bowing to society’s dictates and our own, before the moon reaches its fullness, in eleven days time.”
“We shall make haste slowly.” Alfred nodded. “That’s a plan.”
Five
Felicity woke with dawning confusion. She turned over on sheets that were not the threadbare linens that adorned her bed in Templeton House, nor those of her uncle’s town house in Finsbury Square, which managed to be both abrasive and clammy. The mattress she lay upon now was splendidly free of lumps, the pillowcase beneath her cheek was silk, and the quilt she pulled up to her chin was so light, it was surely stuffed with the feathers of angel’s wings, with nary a one prodding her in an uncomfortable place. She sighed and cuddled the pillow close, much as in her dreams, she cuddled a warm, strong, enticingly scented male—
She awakened in full and remembered being abducted from the Livingston Ball, and under those circumstances, ought not to be wallowing in a bed in the duke’s residence. She turned over onto her opposite side and decided to enjoy its luxuriousness, for someone as resourceful as she would be on her way back to London and far, far away from such decadence by nightfall. And decadent it was, the textures against her body so lush, so comprehensive, she couldn’t discern why—
—until she realized she was clad only in her chemise. This momentary shock was followed by a rush of gratitude she hadn’t had to sleep in her gown…followed by a flash of horror it might have been the duke who had divested her of her clothing—followed by a surge of visceral curiosity. What would it be like to have a powerful creature the likes of His Grace acting as her personal maid? To see him kneeling at her feet, unlacing her slippers, fingers dancing around her ankles as the ribbons unwound, his palm under her heel as he eased the shoe free? She could all but feel his hands lifting her dress over her head, his fingers undoing the tapes of her petticoat, unlacing her corset—
Her mind stuttered, unable to furnish the necessary imagery for what would next transpire, and instead, envisioned them at her dressing table: his hands taking down her hair, the pins yielding to his touch, the warmth of That Chest against her back as he leaned over to place the pins on the tabletop, her breathing becoming exquisitely labored, her pulse galloping, her skin quivering with awareness. She saw herself rise and turn to face him as her unruly locks tumbled about her shoulders; the Cravat of Perfection was gone, and she faced an unadorned neck and a glimpse of collarbone—
The curtains were pulled aside, and a very small maid squeaked in surprise.
“Mary Mossett!” a gravelly, countrified voice hissed. “Gently. You’ll wake Her Grace.”
“But—”
“You’ll never rise from the grates and ashes if ye don’t learn subtlety.”
“But Mrs. Birks—”
“I am awake.” Felicity rose and shook off the daydream; the bed hangings were so opaque, she’d slept through the sunrise, something she hadn’t done for ages. “And I am not Your Grace.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Mary, bobbing three curtsies in quick succession. “That’s what he said you’d say—Mr. Bates, that is. Told us you’d be right crotchety about it, he did. Not in so many words, o’ course. Ma’am.” She beamed, her smile revealing two front teeth so generous in size, they nipped her lower lip. Her little face was alight, her tiny eyes bright as buttons and her hair flying away from beneath her mobcap around two large, prominent ears.
“Away with you now and draw Her Grace’s bath.” A lean, rangy woman prowled over to the bed and hustled Mary toward a door, then bustled straight back to bob a curtsy at the side of Felicity’s bed. “I am Mrs. Birks, housekeeper to His Grace and Lowell Hall,” she introduced herself. She looked to be of middling years, yet hearty and fit with it, unlike her numberless colleagues who held similar roles in big houses across the nation. Her light-gray eyes shone bright and sharp, if a trifle close-set over her long nose. “You’ve had a lovely sleep, I must say, didn’t so much as stir when Mary and I tended you upon your arrival.” Felicity could have sworn that the housekeeper tipped her a wink. “Now, we’ve got your gown being sponged and freshened, and until it is ready, our Alph—our Alfred, Alfred, our duke, er, thought this might do.” She held out a man’s dressing gown.
“Well.” Felicity took it, her fingers identifying silk, her nose identifying the duke. “I suppose needs must.” The scent made her think of being held against That Chest, of the sensation of movement, of being laid down with care. Had the duke carried her up the stairs and put her into—into—bed? She slipped on the robe, and despite being the cast-off loungewear of a man, it was the most luxurious thing she’d ever worn. It was heavy with embroidery, with a deep lapel and long sleeves; when she cinched the belt, she was swathed in luxury.
Nevertheless: “I cannot wear this outside this room, and lovely as it is, I cannot stay in this bedchamber for the entirety of the day.”
“Oh, missus.” Mary appeared in the doorway. “These are the staterooms, the best chambers in the whole Hall. Why you haven’t been put into the duchess’s suite, I’m sure I don’t know, but if you was to ask me—”
“Mary,” Mrs. Birks barked. “Bath.” The maid disappeared into a room that had begun to billow with steam. “That’s a bathing chamber, that is, mum, and we’ve never seen the like of it. His Grace has been traveling away onto five years now, and he did bring back this notion from the Far East, if you can credit it.”
“Five years, traveling the world?” Felicity ran a hand down the lapel of the robe, idly tracing the silken embroidery. More silk! Her head would surely be turned. “That is a rarity, for a duke to go gallivanting ’round the globe.”
The housekeeper made a sound akin to a whine. “Wouldn’t be my place to pass comment, Your Grace—missus—uh, ma’am,” she said as she began to whip the bedclothes about in a frenzy. “Finest view in the Hall there,” Mrs. Birks said, nodding to the large windows. “Only the very best for as honored a guest as you, ma’am.”
Felicity did as she was bid and wandered over to the state bedchamber’s wall of windows. Templeton House had not been in possession of such an apartment, but according to her mother, the finest visiting personages were lodged in upper rooms that faced the entryway of the domicile. Neither she nor Mama could imagine why—wouldn’t the back of the house be more peaceful? Her mother thought anyone so high in the instep would wish to be apprised of the comings and goings of all under the visited roof, and they laughed themselves silly imagining a duke—or the Prince of Wales!—lurking about behind window hangings, spying on the houseguests as they jaunted to and fro.
The bedchamber was set on a corner. Felicity first chose the view of the front, to see what a king might, and saw a pristine lawn that rolled away from the front of the house, down to a grove of ancient oaks clustered like dowagers near the foot of the long drive, a drive lined by topiary, ornamentation most commonly found in formal gardens at the rear of the house. Near the front door was the expected circular drive that encompassed a swathe of grass and contained the usual fountain, which did not feature diffident nymphs or cherubs bearing pitchers but a menagerie that appeared to be capering about in the water: small beasts the like of cats and trout coexisted with a horse, several large dogs, and a bear.
