Read Online Confessions From an Arranged Marriage by Miranda Neville - Free Book Online

gift.
    â€œYou will forget Desirée. You love this jeune fille, this English virgin.” Almond-shaped black eyes filled with tears, arousing admiration for her acting and an inkling of interest in another bout.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen come back to me. What is it to her, as long as you give her jewels and children?”
    â€œGive her jewels!” he yelled and jumped up from the bed. “What time is it?”
    Once again Desirée had made him late for an appointment at Vanderlin House. This time his parents’ summons was for the purpose of surveying his new living quarters and deciding which of the family jewels should be assigned to the use of his bride.
    Not that he had any intention of setting up house under the ducal noses, but he hadn’t yet evolved his strategy for resistance. Time enough after their wedding trip to Paris.
    He scrambled through his ablutions and into his clothes. It wouldn’t be the first time Minerva had seen him unshaven. Neither, alas, would it be the last.
    â€œAfter the honeymoon . . .” Desirée reminded him as he gave her a quick parting kiss.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” he said.
    M inerva liked pretty clothes, but not enough to spare much time for them. When Diana had insisted on ordering dozens of garments in preparation for the season, Minerva left most of the decisions to her knowledgeable sister and made sure she had something to read during the fittings. The modistes became accustomed to Miss Montrose standing with her nose in a copy of The Reformist magazine while they pinned and tucked and hemmed around her.
    Despite her indifference she knew she was one of the better dressed ladies making her debut that year. Her sole regret was her stubbornly frivolous golden hair, and she envied her sister’s rich brown locks. The young daughter of her Viennese hosts had compared her to a flaxen-headed doll. The little girl meant it as a compliment, but Minerva had taken a dislike to the wide-eyed simper on the face of the toy. After that she refused to have her hair curled, preferring to wear it in neat braids pinned around her head.
    As for jewelry, she was content with what she had: a necklace of small pearls presented at birth by her godmother; her parents’ confirmation gift of a gold cross and chain; a modest pearl set of brooch, bracelets, and eardrops from Diana and Sebastian. They went with everything and required little thought.
    Even Diana’s lavish jewelry collection didn’t prepare her for the extent of the Duke of Hampton’s possessions. Boxes and cases were heaped high covering every inch of the desk in the duke’s study, whence they’d been hastily removed by a procession of three or four footman under orders from Blakeney’s mother. She didn’t say so, but clearly the duchess had realized the library, the scene of the late unfortunate incident, might not be the best location for a ceremony accepting Minerva as bride to the heir to the dukedom.
    Not that the heir had deigned to appear. Minerva had arrived at the appointed hour and enjoyed a tour of her future quarters without the participation of the man who was to share them. She ought to be insulted, she supposed, but found it easier to answer questions about her taste in bed curtains without the presence of the man who would have the right to join her behind the drapes.
    Aside from the duke and duchess and herself, the only attendant in the study was a very old man, whose sole duty seemed to be the care of this impressive treasure. Minerva had never heard of such a specialized servant and had no idea what his title might be. He wore a footman’s wig but rather than livery he dressed like a clerk. He seemed to know his part in the ritual. He made a selection from the array of boxes, opened it, and placed it before the duke’s eyes with a deferential air. His master would either shake his head or, less often, gesture for the duchess to