“Is Miss Woddell a pretty girl?”
“I think she’s very pretty, sir.”
“I’m glad. I should hate to see you forced to do your duty to me by paying your attentions to a plain girl.”
“I shouldn’t raise much objection to that either, sir.”
Rhys laughed. “You’re the answer to a maidservant’s prayers, Fane.”
The valet looked rather alarmed. “Only if I actually had to marry one, sir.”
Chapter 12
The marriage of the Duke of St. Cyres to Miss Prudence Abernathy shall take place June 17. This date is one fortnight before peers all over Britain must make their quarterly interest payments. What fortuitous timing.
—The Social Gazette, 1894
Dinner that evening went far better than Prudence had expected. Aunt Edith had been told the news by her husband before Prudence returned from Little Russell Street, and she was uncharacteristically silent throughout the meal—for Prudence, a welcome change. Uncle Stephen, on the other hand, was quite jovial, emphasizing at repeated intervals how pleased he was to have the Duke of St. Cyres as part of the family. Millicent and Robert were absent altogether, Millicent pleading a sick headache and Robert choosing to remain by his mother’s side at home. Rhys was as charming as ever to her aunt and uncle, smoothing over any awkward moments with such ease that despite Edith’s resentful silence, the meal proceeded without incident, much to Prudence’s relief.
Within two days the papers were filled with news of the engagement, but Prudence chose to ignore them, for she found the snide insinuations made by the journalists insulting. Not only did they put the worst possible connotation on Rhys’s motives, they did the same to her, accusing her of being a common social climber trying to buy her way into the aristocracy. Faced with such drivel in every publication she saw, she stopped reading the newspapers.
During those two days, the marriage settlements were negotiated, and though her uncle’s portion was generous, twenty thousand pounds per year did not seem to satisfy Edith, for dear, dear Robert received only five thousand, an amount she deemed a pittance. Her manner toward the duke remained icy, though out of necessity, she was forced to be scrupulously polite to his relations and acquaintances when they began calling at the Savoy to congratulate the bride-to-be. Much social damage could result from snubbing the relations of a duke, and though Edith disapproved of the match, it did not stop her from taking advantage of the opportunities afforded by the connection. Though Rhys’s mother was not in London, other members of his family and many of his friends showered them with invitations to dinner parties, afternoon-at-homes, and receptions. Edith could not refuse them, for they came from people in a much higher social sphere than her own, but Prudence was amused to note that she managed to finagle invitations to many of the same events for Robert and Millicent, assisting them to rise in social status as well.
A wedding date of June 17 was set, and that added even more activities to Prudence’s daily routine. When a girl married a duke, planning the wedding was a rigorous job. She found Woddell of great assistance, for the girl had been educated under the 1870 Education Act and could read, write, and do sums. Within days Woddell ceased to be simply her maid and became her social secretary as well.
Despite Woddell’s assistance, there were so many activities—luncheons, balls, parties—that by the time a month had passed, Prudence was exhausted. Rhys assured her that the pace would slow down once they were wed, but those frenzied weeks gave her an inkling of the rigorous social demands of being a duchess.
Prudence noticed that Woddell handled the ever-expanding social calendar quite cheerfully, now that her own young man, Mr. Fane, had managed to secure a post as Rhys’s valet—a delightful coincidence that gave Woddell plenty of reasons to smile.
For Prudence, however, life was not a bed of roses. Though she was happy, she found her new life strangely lonely. Despite all the people she met each day, she saw little of her own friends, for the girl-bachelors of Little Russell Street hadn’t the leisure time to pay calls, visit the shops, and go to parties. She also saw little of her fiancé, who was occupied with the responsibilities of his title and other matters of business. There was no opportunity for quiet time and private conversation.
When the time came to depart on the tour of ducal estates Rhys had promised, Prudence was heartily glad to put the exhausting pace of London behind her.
They traveled on their own private train, a luxurious affair of nine carriages that included a dining car, a drawing room, a library, a smoking room, servants’ quarters, a kitchen, and three sleeping carriages, each of which was a private suite comprised of a sitting room, bedroom, and bath. Prudence had one sleeping carriage just for herself, Rhys had another, and her aunt and uncle the third.
She and her maid looked around her compartment as the train pulled out of Victoria Station, awestruck by the luxury of it. There was a thick carpet, a bath of Italian marble and gilt fixtures, and furnishings of burled oak. Draperies of green velvet had been drawn across the windows of her sleeping berth. “Heavens, Woddell,” she murmured as she tossed her hat onto the matching velvet counterpane of her bed, “it’s the Savoy on rails.”
A low chuckle sounded from the doorway, and she turned as Rhys entered her bedroom compartment from the sitting room. “It is rather like a hotel,” he agreed, moving to stand before her. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” She laughed, lifting her hand in a sweeping gesture of her surroundings. “Who wouldn’t like traveling about the countryside in this manner?”
“I’m glad you like it, because it’s yours.”
“What?”
“Consider it a wedding present.” He put his hands on her shoulders, bent his head and kissed her.
“Your Grace,” she admonished, glancing at her maid. The girl seemed fully occupied with sorting through the trunks the porter had brought in, but Prudence still felt self-conscious. When she looked at him again, he was smiling, laugh lines marking the corners of his green eyes.
“Did I say something amusing?” she asked.
“We’re engaged, Prudence. You are allowed to use my name. And,” he added, his lips brushing hers, “because we are engaged, I am allowed to kiss you.” He tilted his head the other way and kissed her again.
Warmth began spreading through her at the touch of his mouth, the same sensation she’d experienced when he’d kissed her that afternoon a month earlier in Little Russell Street, a sensation that made her feel as if warm honey was being poured over her. Delicious as that feeling was, Prudence was still acutely aware of the third person in the room. She stirred in his hold. “Rhys,” she admonished, hotly embarrassed, and yet liking the intimacy of saying his name. “We’re not alone.”
He ignored that. “We’re allowed to kiss in front of the servants.”
“People don’t, surely!”
He kissed her nose. “You, my sweet, are a prude.”
“I’m not!” she felt compelled to protest, though she did it in a whisper. “I am just…discreet.”
“Woddell,” he said without taking his gaze from her face, “Mr. Fane wishes to show you the laundry facilities. Go find him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl was out the door in less than three seconds.
“Alone at last,” he murmured. “You see how simple that was? Order servants to leave, and they go.” He bent his head again, this time pressing his lips to the side of her neck just above the high collar of her shirtwaist. “As my duchess, you’ll have to learn to order servants about, you know.”
The feel of his lips on her skin was so intoxicating, Prudence felt dizzy, but she attempted to keep her wits about her. “Aunt Edith could walk in at any moment,” she pointed out, flattening her hands against his chest with the vague notion of pushing him away, but she must not have been all that forceful about it for he paid no heed.
Instead, he cupped her face in his hands. “Your aunt’s maid is keeping her fully occupied with unpacking her things,” he explained, and began pressing kisses all over her face—her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, her jaw. “I’m assured that task will take at least an hour. Your uncle is in the smoking car, discussing the train with the steward and the barkeep, who between them will keep him busy for that same hour. It’s amazing,” he added as he trailed kisses along her jawline to her ear, “how much one can get done with a few well-placed quid.”
“You bribed people to keep my aunt and uncle away?” she asked, her words coming out in a breathless rush at the feel of his lips against the sensitive skin of her ear.
“Absolutely.” He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, scoring her skin ever so softly with his teeth, and all the strength seemed to ebb out of her. He caught her as her knees buckled, wrapping one arm around her waist. “You like it when I kiss your ear, don’t you?” he murmured.
“I think—” She broke off, finding it hard to breathe in her tight stays and impossible to think while he nibbled on her earlobe. “I think you got what you wanted.”