Captivated by his conven.., p.7
Captivated by His Convenient Duchess, page 7
‘Thank you, but I can manage on my own,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you have things you need to do, so I’ll say goodnight.’
He was sure she could manage on her own—from what he understood she’d been doing so for twenty years—but that didn’t ease his concern that she might slip and fall on the stairs. Yet he had been the one to say he didn’t want a wife who needed constant attention, and he was certain that she was remembering that right now, too. ‘Very well, I will have Charles send your maid up.’
‘Actually, if it’s permitted, I’d like to enquire about Claire becoming my maid.’
More than willing to grant her any wishes, he replied, ‘Of course, it’s permitted, and granted. I’ll have them both sent up to your room.’
‘Thank you, and goodnight again.’
He stepped into the corridor, giving her full access to leave the room. ‘Goodnight, Anita.’
She nodded slightly as she stepped past him, and he watched as she proceeded along the corridor. Her gait was slow and her limp noticeable, but neither took away from her overall grace. She may not have had the upbringing she felt necessary for a duchess, but the way she carried herself said differently. Her shoulders were square, her head held high, displaying her pride and determination despite the odds that had been cast against her for years.
He shook his head to himself. He hadn’t even known her for a full day yet felt as if he had for much longer. Perhaps because of how he’d investigated her beforehand. Either way, he liked her and felt there could be a very agreeable future between the two of them.
* * *
As she walked along the corridor, fully conscious of the slickness of the velvet slippers against the wood, Anita wondered which was worse, having people who ignored her infliction or having someone overly concerned about it. She wasn’t sure how to accept having someone being concerned about it. That was new to her. Besides name-calling, which had mainly been Uncle Jerome, and her cousins when they thought it would benefit them in some way, everyone at Brunswick had ignored her leg.
As had others. They had whispered about it, given her sympathetic looks—which she hated as much as the name-calling because she didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her—when she’d gone to town for supplies or attended church. That had irritated her family, so she’d accepted absenting herself from such things, other than driving the wagon when needed, where she had remained in the driver’s seat while others had completed the shopping.
No one had ever shown genuine concern. Not like Myles. She couldn’t find fault or blame in that. Or in him calling in the cobbler. She believed he was merely being kind, but that kindness increased her fears of embarrassing him by tripping or falling, especially during the wedding tomorrow. Her boots were so ugly and couldn’t be worn at the wedding, so she was grateful for the cobbler’s visit, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up that new shoes would help.
She was doing her best to keep her hopes contained, and would continue to, but it was already becoming increasingly harder. Ever since her uncle had informed her of the arrangement he’d made, she’d envisioned Myles to be a cruel, hard-headed and cold-hearted man. Why else would two women have called off their weddings to him?
Yet he was none of that. Nor had the women called off the weddings. He had but had allowed them to claim differently so their reputations wouldn’t be tarnished. Those weren’t the actions of a cold-hearted man.
It was understandable why he needed a wife, why he needed children and why he’d expect trust in their relationship. What had slowly crept into her mind during the dinner hour, with all the talk about the wedding, was Could he be doing all of this, things he needed, because he already had a woman he wanted? One who he couldn’t marry because she was already married to someone else? Affairs such as that were not uncommon, and it would explain why his two other engagements hadn’t translated into marriage. Perhaps those women hadn’t been willing to marry a man who was in love with someone else.
It appeared as if he’d gone through a great deal of work to discover all about her prior to offering for her hand. Was that why? Because he’d needed to find someone content to stay home, to bear his children and oversee his household, giving him time to not only complete his duties but continue a relationship with a woman he loved? That didn’t seem quite possible. Didn’t seem like him, but what else could it be?
Anita had no idea, or reasons why she was questioning such things, other than all he was offering her seemed too good to be true. He seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch. Didn’t there?
At the staircase, she grasped the banister to make the slow climb upwards. It was hard to believe there wasn’t a catch. So hard to trust. After years of lying in bed, deep in the middle of the night, telling herself that it didn’t matter what people said, that it didn’t matter that no one, shy a few servants, cared if she’d been alive or dead. It was hard to now experience kind words and actions and not question them. At the same time, it was hard to believe that anyone at Redford was anything except trustworthy, especially Myles, and it made her feel bad to think otherwise, so why was she letting her mind do it?
He’d been honest about everything, even in the fact that he’d said he needed, not wanted, a wife.
The only thing that had changed was her will, her determination to become a wife when she’d previously concluded that she never would marry, never have children.
If it was her lot in life to be married to a man in love with someone else, she would learn to live with it just as she had many other things. There was more at stake this time than before. Her uncle’s ways had tarnished their family’s name, but even with the cancelled weddings, Myles’s family’s name had maintained its good standing, and from the conversations she’d heard since arriving, the Redford stables and their thoroughbred horses were renowned. She couldn’t let being his wife destroy any of that.
More people had seen her foot in this one single day than she could remember in her life, and though none of them had reacted negatively, they had to have found its appearance confronting, hadn’t they? She’d been a coward in leaving the library so swiftly upon the cobbler’s departure but hadn’t wanted to face Myles, knowing he’d seen her foot.
It had been as if all the name-calling, whispering and pointing of the past had exploded in her mind, making her feel so vulnerable, so ashamed, that she’d had to leave. She didn’t want to believe she’d made the wrong choice, but what if she had? What if she didn’t have the will and determination to be his wife?
Olive and Claire were in her bedroom when she arrived at the open doorway, and she was instantly grateful to have something else to put her mind to. She approached Olive first, with a sincere smile. ‘I know being assigned as my maid was unfamiliar for you, and I want you to know that I think you did an outstanding job with the tasks. I would have had to sleep in that blue dress if not for you.’
Olive giggled, ‘You almost had to, my lady.’
Recalling how hard they had laughed trying to get her out of that gown until Olive had discovered a second row of buttons on the underdress, Anita giggled herself. ‘That is true.’ She sighed and gave the maid a gentle hug. ‘I do hope that you and Joshua are considering the Duke’s offer of remaining here at Redford.’
Olive returned the hug, and as they parted, said, ‘We both are, my lady, and look forward to the opportunity to discuss a job here with the Duke in the morning. The cook says she could use the extra help in the kitchen.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Anita replied, truly happy for Olive.
‘Perhaps you could put in a good word for me?’ Olive asked.
Anita smiled. ‘Of course, I will, but considering His Grace has already offered for you to stay, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. He’s an honourable man.’
‘Yes, my lady, he is,’ Olive replied. ‘Everyone here is so very kind.’
‘I agree,’ Anita said with a nod before she turned her attention to Claire. ‘I’ve requested that you become my lady’s maid, and the request has been granted, if that is still a desire of yours.’
‘It is, my lady,’ Claire replied with a bow. ‘Thank you so very much.’
‘You’re welcome, and now, if you don’t mind, I would like to prepare for bed, it’s been a long day.’
Prior to leaving Brunswick, she’d always seen to the tasks herself, but like other things, having assistance with such tasks was something she would need to get used to. Between Olive and Claire, in no time Anita was wearing her nightgown, which, like all of her possessions, had seen better days; her hair had been unpinned, brushed and braided; and other necessities taken care of so she could climb into the big bed with its ornately carved head-and footboards attached to the high posts at all four sides.
She knew from before, when Myles had carried her into this room and set her on the bed, that the mattress was soft and that it was wide enough for at least three people to sleep on, side by side, without bumping into one another.
Olive had already left the room, and Claire was banking the fire in the large fireplace when the door that Myles had entered earlier once again caught Anita’s attention.
‘Where does that door lead?’ she asked.
‘To His Grace’s chambers, my lady,’ Claire replied.
‘Oh,’ was all Anita could think to say.
‘Would you like me to turn out the lamp beside the bed?’ Claire asked.
‘And expect you to find the door in the darkness?’ Anita shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I can do it myself. Thank you.’
‘Goodnight, my lady,’ Claire said, with a slight bow.
‘Goodnight, Claire.’
Anita waited until the dark-haired girl was gone from the room before she let out a long sigh and let her body sink deep into the mattress. She wasn’t ready to turn out the light, because she wasn’t ready to be alone in the darkness. Perhaps because once the light was out, she might wake up and this would all have been a dream.
Or perhaps because of the exact opposite. She covered her mouth with both hands, hiding the smile that formed from no one but herself. It wasn’t a real love marriage, but...
She sighed as her attention was drawn to the door that led to Myles’s chamber.
He could enter her room anytime he pleased, which would be his right once they were married. There was no denying she’d thought about what that meant numerous times since being informed of her upcoming marriage. More times again once she’d set eyes on Myles. He was quite unbearably handsome, and she’d never imagined feeling so attracted to someone. Though she’d had no one explain to her exactly what took place in the marital bed, she knew the actions that a man and woman must take in order to conceive a child but had never truly felt a sense of curiosity or excitement over it. Until now.
She may not have had the formal education that her cousins had acquired, but she had read every book their tutors had assigned to them, as well as many, many others. The books in the library of Brunswick hadn’t been of interest to her uncle because he’d felt they’d held no value—monetarily—therefore a vast array of volumes had been at her disposal, and it was how she’d spent her free time for years. Locked inside a novel, she’d become someone else, travelled places, learned things.
More than one of those books had in some fashion or another discussed procreation. The women in the stories often blushed and giggled and swooned with anticipation, and she wondered if that was merely storytelling or if it was more pleasurable than she’d imagined.
Suddenly, wondering if Myles might see the light on beneath the door, she sat up and quickly blew out the lamp, then pulled the covers up to her chin, and lay in the dark listening to her own heart pound in her ears.
After several moments, or perhaps much longer, she concluded that Myles would not be entering her room tonight. That wouldn’t happen until they were married, which would take place tomorrow.
Knowing if she started thinking about that she’d never fall to sleep, she did what she’d done for years. Told herself not to think about what could have been, or might be, and to go to sleep.
That didn’t work as well as it normally did, even when she tried telling herself that there was work to be done in the morning. It wasn’t until she saw the faint glow of light under the door to Myles’s chamber, and heard quiet sounds that stopped moments before the light disappeared, that a peacefulness washed over her. It was comforting to know he was next door. A comfort that she’d truly never known, but sleepiness consumed her before she could contemplate why.
* * *
No one had awoken her in years, so when someone said her name and touched her shoulder, she jolted upright so quickly, she nearly bumped heads with Claire.
It took a moment for her to recognise the girl and remember where she was. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Claire,’ she apologised. ‘So sorry. I must have overslept.’
‘You didn’t, my lady,’ Claire said quietly. ‘It’s well before breakfast, but the cobbler has arrived, and His Grace would like you to meet him in his private sitting room.’
‘Oh.’ Shaking the sleepiness from her head, Anita threw back the covers and flopped her legs over the edge of the bed. It always took her a moment to stretch the stiffness from her leg before it would work properly, and she tried going through the motions of twisting it in each direction as quickly as possible.
‘I’ve laid out a gown,’ Claire said. ‘I hope you like it.’
Considering there wasn’t much to choose from in her wardrobe, Anita assured, ‘It’ll be fine, I’m—’ Her words stopped as she noticed the gown that Claire held up for view.
Made of satin, the gown of white and raspberry-coloured stripes was one of the loveliest she’d ever laid eyes on. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘The Dowager,’ Claire said. ‘She has chests full of gowns that she’s never worn. She claims to have a penchant for ordering gowns only to have them arrive and discover that she’s too old to wear them, and her daughters are too young. I can find another if this one isn’t to your liking.’
‘No.’ Anita shook her head as she stood, testing her leg. ‘I like it. Very much. It’s beautiful.’ Her leg didn’t buckle, and she slowly stood, giving her ankle and foot time to adjust.
‘I have some matching ribbon to weave into your hair.’
Anita let out a sigh. As soon as a brush hit her hair, it would become a fuzzy mess. ‘We’ll need to hurry. I don’t want to keep the cobbler waiting.’
The gown fit perfectly, and the ribbon was woven into two long braids that Claire expertly and quickly wound into a bun at the nap of her neck. There were wayward curls framing her face again, but they were curls, not fuzz.
‘I truly don’t know how you do it, Claire,’ she said, glancing in the mirror. ‘My hair has never behaved.’
‘My mother taught me how to work with the curls, not against them,’ she said. ‘The Dowager has curly hair, too.’
Anita would never have known that. Mary’s pinned up brown hair had looked as smooth as silk yesterday.
‘I don’t see my boots,’ Anita said twisting away from the mirror. After being so wet yesterday, the boots were sure to be stiff but would eventually soften. She’d much prefer that over worrying about slipping every step in the velvet slippers again.
‘I put them in the wardrobe, but His Grace said you needn’t wear socks or shoes.’ Claire pointed towards the door to Myles’s chamber. ‘He said you were to pass through his bedroom, it’s shorter that way.’
The shorter route she was grateful for; however, walking through his bedroom made Anita nervous. Pressing a hand to the knot forming in her stomach, she rose from the chair. ‘Very well.’
A moment later, when Myles appeared in the doorway that led from his bedroom to his sitting room, her heart jolted hard enough that she questioned if it was a warning. She wasn’t sure if it was about not getting her hopes up over the shoes or over him. He’d said he wanted to be friends, and she needed to remember that. Abide by that.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted, taking a hold of her hand. ‘I trust you slept well.’
‘Very,’ she answered, feeling the warmth from his hand running all the way up her arm. ‘I apologise for keeping you waiting.’
‘I apologise for rousing you so early, but I wanted you to try on the slippers, so if Mr Wainwright needs to make any adjustments, he has time before this afternoon.’
‘Of course.’ She turned her smile across the room. ‘Good morning, Mr Wainwright. Thank you for returning so promptly.’
‘My pleasure, Miss Crawford,’ he replied. ‘I’m anxious for you to see what I brought.’
‘I, too, am anxious,’ she admitted as Myles escorted her to the armed chair with a foot stool sitting before it.
Once she was seated, Myles moved to stand behind her, with one hand gently resting on her shoulder. His touch was as comforting as knowing he’d been in the room next door last night, and she smiled up at him before turning her attention to the cobbler.
Mr Wainwright settled himself on the floor in front of the stool and held up the stockings for her to see. ‘We’ll start with these. My wife knit them for you last night.’
‘Goodness, she must have been up all night,’ Anita replied, taking a stocking he held out for her to inspect.
‘No, she’s quick with her needles, and she knows the pattern by heart. If they work for you, as I’m sure they will, she’ll make you as many pairs as you need.’
‘They are very soft,’ Anita said, rubbing the stocking with her palm. They were also thicker than either the silk ones or her normal ones, and she could imagine wearing one would be like walking on a carpet.
‘And one looks quite different from the other.’ Wainwright handed her the second stocking, which was shaped differently. ‘You see, our daughter was born with a club foot, it looked somewhat like yours, and though the doctors tried to straighten it several times, nothing worked. My wife fashioned these stockings and put the little leather pads you see on the bottoms to keep Rosie’s stockings from slipping inside her shoes. And I fashioned shoes for her. Several pairs over the years.’
