Read Online The Inconvenient Duchess by Christine Merrill - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine Merrill
Ads: Link
breakfast.’
‘I ordered no breakfast.’
‘I did.’ She glared at him in frustration. ‘Perhaps you see no need to celebrate the day, and I could do without a continuation of this…this…melodrama, but the Winslows expect it of us and will not leave until the niceties are performed.’
‘Damn the Winslows!’
‘Damn them indeed, sir,’ she whispered, ‘but do it quietly. They are probably listening at the door.’
‘I do not care what they hear. If they lack the sense to clear off—’
‘Very well, then there will be no breakfast. And since I am to have no authority in this house I will leave it to you to step into the drawing room and request that they leave. Order them from the house. You seem to be good at that.’
‘Ahh, we come to the crux, finally. This is about St John, is it? I told him this morning that he is no longer welcome here and my decision stands.’
‘St John? Don’t be ridiculous. This is about your unwillingness to live by the proprieties for more than a few minutes at a time.’
‘I followed them when I offered for you. And I married you, didn’t I?’
She forced a smile and muttered through her gritted teeth, ‘And now you must pretend to celebrate the fact, as I am doing. Choke down a piece of cake and a glass of wine. We both must eat something, and it will not kill us to eat it together. Then thank the vicar for performing the ceremony. Pay him. Make him go away.’
The door to the drawing room swung open and the vicar’s head appeared in the opening. ‘And how are you two managing together?’
Her husband smiled with such ferociousness that the vicar retreated behind the protection of the door. ‘As well as can be expected, Reverend. I understand my wife has arranged a feast for us. Let us retire to the dining room and see what the servants have prepared.’
He led the way, Miranda noted in relief, since the diningroom was not a place she had had need to visit since coming to the house. It was about as she had expected: dirty and dusty, but with lurid painted silk on the walls, depicting poorly drawn shepherds and shepherdesses bullying sheep up and down the hills.
The breakfast was also as she expected. Weak tea, runny eggs, a passable ham accompanied by another serving from the endless supply of dry bread. She wondered how the cook managed it. Had she found a way to dry it before baking? The wedding cake itself was the most frightening part of the meal. There had been no time to prepare a true cake, and cook had made do with something that had been leftover from another meal. Whose, she was not sure—she certainly had not seen it during her brief stay. The cut edge had been trimmed away and the whole thing heavily iced and scattered with candied violets that were unable to conceal the lopsided nature of the whole.
And Marcus ruled over the table without saying a word, maintaining the same horrible smile he’d shone in the hallway. The vicar offered a brief prayer of thanks, to which Marcus blinked in response, and they all ate.
To her relief, Wilkins had followed her instructions and provided the best champagne that the cellars had to offer. She had never tasted it before and was surprised at how light and easily drinkable it was. And equally surprised, twenty minutes later, that she had downed three glasses of it, and barely touched the food on her plate. She opened her mouth to speak and hiccupped, making the Winslows jump in their seats and bringing a critical glare from her husband. She offered a quiet apology and shielded her glass from any further attempt of the eager footman to fill it.
Shortly thereafter the duke removed his napkin from hislap and threw it on his plate with a note of finality. He stood and advanced slowly on the vicar with an evil grin and such a deliberate pace that all at the table were convinced that they were about to see the poor man murdered and perhaps eaten. The duke reached into the front pocket of his jacket and the vicar
‘I ordered no breakfast.’
‘I did.’ She glared at him in frustration. ‘Perhaps you see no need to celebrate the day, and I could do without a continuation of this…this…melodrama, but the Winslows expect it of us and will not leave until the niceties are performed.’
‘Damn the Winslows!’
‘Damn them indeed, sir,’ she whispered, ‘but do it quietly. They are probably listening at the door.’
‘I do not care what they hear. If they lack the sense to clear off—’
‘Very well, then there will be no breakfast. And since I am to have no authority in this house I will leave it to you to step into the drawing room and request that they leave. Order them from the house. You seem to be good at that.’
‘Ahh, we come to the crux, finally. This is about St John, is it? I told him this morning that he is no longer welcome here and my decision stands.’
‘St John? Don’t be ridiculous. This is about your unwillingness to live by the proprieties for more than a few minutes at a time.’
‘I followed them when I offered for you. And I married you, didn’t I?’
She forced a smile and muttered through her gritted teeth, ‘And now you must pretend to celebrate the fact, as I am doing. Choke down a piece of cake and a glass of wine. We both must eat something, and it will not kill us to eat it together. Then thank the vicar for performing the ceremony. Pay him. Make him go away.’
The door to the drawing room swung open and the vicar’s head appeared in the opening. ‘And how are you two managing together?’
Her husband smiled with such ferociousness that the vicar retreated behind the protection of the door. ‘As well as can be expected, Reverend. I understand my wife has arranged a feast for us. Let us retire to the dining room and see what the servants have prepared.’
He led the way, Miranda noted in relief, since the diningroom was not a place she had had need to visit since coming to the house. It was about as she had expected: dirty and dusty, but with lurid painted silk on the walls, depicting poorly drawn shepherds and shepherdesses bullying sheep up and down the hills.
The breakfast was also as she expected. Weak tea, runny eggs, a passable ham accompanied by another serving from the endless supply of dry bread. She wondered how the cook managed it. Had she found a way to dry it before baking? The wedding cake itself was the most frightening part of the meal. There had been no time to prepare a true cake, and cook had made do with something that had been leftover from another meal. Whose, she was not sure—she certainly had not seen it during her brief stay. The cut edge had been trimmed away and the whole thing heavily iced and scattered with candied violets that were unable to conceal the lopsided nature of the whole.
And Marcus ruled over the table without saying a word, maintaining the same horrible smile he’d shone in the hallway. The vicar offered a brief prayer of thanks, to which Marcus blinked in response, and they all ate.
To her relief, Wilkins had followed her instructions and provided the best champagne that the cellars had to offer. She had never tasted it before and was surprised at how light and easily drinkable it was. And equally surprised, twenty minutes later, that she had downed three glasses of it, and barely touched the food on her plate. She opened her mouth to speak and hiccupped, making the Winslows jump in their seats and bringing a critical glare from her husband. She offered a quiet apology and shielded her glass from any further attempt of the eager footman to fill it.
Shortly thereafter the duke removed his napkin from hislap and threw it on his plate with a note of finality. He stood and advanced slowly on the vicar with an evil grin and such a deliberate pace that all at the table were convinced that they were about to see the poor man murdered and perhaps eaten. The duke reached into the front pocket of his jacket and the vicar
Similar Books
