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Jenny bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. None of his sons were handsome either but they did well for the title. Handsome men did not come into this family until I married the fifth duke.”
“So, you are saying you saved the family from physical imperfection, among other things,” Jenny said.
“Indeed,” the dowager replied with great pride in her voice. Jenny supposed that pride was not misplaced. The woman had striking features that Nicholas had inherited. He did owe some of his other handsome features to his mother, however.
“The late duchess was very beautiful, too,” Jenny mentioned, in part to challenge the dowager.
“Nicholas looks nothing like her,” she scoffed. “He takes after his father and his father took after me.”
How unfortunate,Jenny thought.
“You talk about some of these people as if you knew them,” Jenny stated. The aim of their visit to the portrait gallery was still unclear to her.
"Oh, one does not have to meet a person to be a good judge of their character. You will find popular opinion to be an unbiased judge."
“What if that popular opinion is false? One might find themselves in a scandal that is not of their own making. Will you use the opinions formed in the advent of the scandal to judge their character?”
“That is not something I am willing to discuss with you today.” Jenny smiled, mentally giving herself a point. There was no logic in the dowager’s statement and she recognized the flaw when Jenny pointed it out. With great patience, she listened to the tales of Seaton the first and hismanydescendants.
Jenny’s patience was tried even further when the dowager mentioned that nearly all of Seaton heirs had been produced within the first year of marriage. They must have spent well over an hour in the gallery; Jenny was not counting.
When Jenny could bear it no longer, she spoke, "I do not know you to beat about the bush, Duchess. I understand you have many expectations and the Duke needs an heir but I would like to ask you to give us time. We have not been married three months—”
“If you had conceived on your wedding night, you would be nearly three months along,” the dowager interrupted her sharply.
She clenched her hands at her sides and breathed slowly to tamp down her rising ire. “Perhaps you should have taken more time in choosing his duchess.”
The dowager gaped, looking positively affronted by Jenny’s comment. “You insolent, child!”
“I am a woman, not a child, and you will speak to me with respect.” Jenny straightened her shoulders. “After all, this is a path that must be walked from both ends. You cannot demand respect without giving it.”
“Just so.” There was something akin to admiration in the dowager’s gaze now.
"Besides, Nicholas is recovering from a—”
“A mere fever,” she cut in.
"Thatalmosttook his life," Jenny defended.
"I thought you did not believe that," the dowager returned with a smug smile, then waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It has been over two weeks and he does not need an eternity to recover from such. And I recall you telling me everything is well in that regard.”
Before Jenny could come up with a proper response, someone joined them. “Boring my wife with tales of dead men, are you, Grandmother?”
"Oh, wonderful! Just the man I wish to see." The dowager turned with a broad smile. "I was just discussing commissioning a new portrait with your wife." Jenny's eyes narrowed as she considered countering the dowager’s words but thought better of it. The weariness in her husband’s eyes contributed to this decision.
"I am thinking of having it done before my new hair color fades. What do you think?" Her question was directed at Nicholas. She touched her now copper-hued coiffure.
Nicholas's gaze did a slow assessment of his grandmother's hair. "Why would you fancy being remembered with a rusty crown?" he asked, coming into the room to stand beside Jenny.
She immediately felt the heat from his body radiating toward her and wished she had the right to reach for him, the right to have what would be considered hers. She surreptitiously moved away from him, pretending to take an interest in the portrait of a woman dressed baroque-style.
"Rusty crown?" came the dowager’s incredulous response.
"Yes," he replied. "I always thought the new color looked more like rust." He threw Jenny a wink when the dowager was not looking and she grinning in spite of her changed mood.
"Well," the dowager said, "I wouldn't expect you to be a fine judge on such matters as female cosmetics."
