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Chapter Twelve
Patricia hovered in the doorway, staring into the great hall. It looked different at night. All afternoon the servants had been clearing it, cleaning up after the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Clark, the housekeeper, was standing in a corner supervising them as they dismantled the tables. She glanced up, seeing her in the doorway.
“Can I help you, your Grace?” The woman smiled benignly, smoothly efficient.
Patricia jumped slightly. It was going to take a while to get used to being addressed in such a way. Her new title. It seemed so alien, as if she was a different person entirely.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just…curious to see what the room looked like now. That is all.”
The housekeeper nodded, looking a bit mystified. Within a second, she turned away, back to her duties.
Patricia lingered for a moment longer. She truly did not know what she was doing. She only knew that she was delaying the moment when she walked up the grand circular staircase to her new chambers. The moment when she would be undressed for the evening and the Duke would come to her.
His name is Jackson, she reminded herself.He is no longer the Duke. He is your husband!
That seemed strange too. That she was now intimate with him enough that she could address him by his given name. A short service in a church had made them the closest thing on earth to each other, and yet they were virtual strangers.
She took a deep, calming breath. It had been an odd afternoon, after the last of the wedding guests had finally taken their leave. He had filled in the time by taking her on a tour of the house before formally introducing her to the entire staff.
There were far more servants in this house than in her own home; she knew that it would take her an age to remember all their names. The only ones she was sure of so far were Mrs. Clark, the butler named Gordon, and her new lady’s maid, a stern-faced, middle-aged woman named Sally.
Her eyes filled with tears. What she wouldn’t give to have Dulcie by her side now. Her mother had insisted that she could not spare the maid, even though it was common practice for a lady to bring her maid with her to her new home upon marriage.
Her face burnt, as she recalled the moment Jackson had taken her to her new chambers that day. He had hesitated, opening the door, before she had stepped inside.
It was a truly beautiful room, covered in rose silk wallpaper. Light flooded through the two tall windows. She had walked to one of them and gazed out at the Square, trying not to look at the huge four poster mahogany bed in the centre of the room.
“Do you like it?” he had asked. “I made sure it was aired out and the linen changed…”
She slowly turned around to face him, her heart beating fast. “It is beautiful,” she said. “Much more beautiful than both my chambers, in Park Lane and at our country home.” She paused. “Did your own mother use these?”
He nodded. “These have been the chambers of the Duchess for a very long time,” he said slowly. He walked to an adjoining door, opening it. “And through here are my own chambers. I have only just moved into them…following my father’s passing.”
She blushed. Of course she knew that most chambers of married couples were adjoining. Her own parents always had adjoining rooms. But she had simply not thought about it, until now. The fact that he could walk into her room at any given moment…or she could walk into his.
He coughed, into his hand. “Shall we continue on the tour?”
She bit her lip, nodding. She hadn’t wanted to stay another moment in those chambers with him. She knew that she must get used to it, but it was all still so foreign. Despite the obvious beauty of the room, it did not feel like hers yet; even if her gowns and other belongings had already been unpacked and were hanging in the wardrobe.
Her gaze had lingered on the bed for a moment before they had left.
Patricia’s mind drifted back from the memory to now. She took another deep breath. She could not delay it a second longer. Her wedding night was here, and she would look a fool if she dallied any more. With a racing heart, she climbed the staircase towards their chambers. She knew that Jackson would probably be already in his own, getting ready for bed. He had promised her that he would only be in his study for a short while attending to some pressing matters before he joined her.
Sally, her new maid, was waiting for her. Without even a word, the maid efficiently disrobed her and pulled a pretty white embroidered nightdress over her head. She sat down at the dressing table as the maid brushed out her hair, staring at herself in her new dressing table mirror.
She was a married woman.
Her heart started to race harder still. It seemed impossible, that only this morning she had still been Lady Patricia Hunter. Now, she was the Duchess of Merriweather with two grand homes, in London and the country; an exalted position beyond anything that she had ever dreamt of. She should be the happiest woman in the world.
So why did she feel so terribly sad?
Her eyes filled with tears. She well knew the reason. Even the thought of that kiss, and her dream about Jackson, was not enough to shake this all-pervading guilt. She should be wallowing in her victory, breathing a sigh of pure relief that she had succeeded so admirably, but she didn’t feel even a glimmer of it.
“All done, your Grace.” The maid’s voice was clipped. She put down the hairbrush and bobbed a curtsey. “Is there anything else you need this evening?”
“No, thank you, Sally,” she said, attempting a smile at the woman. “You may retire.”
The maid nodded, leaving the room. Patricia watched her exit, struggling with a sudden impulse to call her back, on some flimsy pretext or other. Anything to delay the moment that was to come.
