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Or just until her patience wore out. Scarlett had never claimed to be a paragon ofthatparticular virtue.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It had been a week since he married Scarlett. A full seven days since he stood at the altar and claimed her for his own. His wife. His Duchess. His little cat—no. He could not let himself think of her that way again.

Since then, Hudson lived as if he was on the precipice, teetering over the maws of damnation itself.

He heard the butler clear his throat and forcibly dragged his gaze from the window—the one which afforded him an unobstructed view of the gardens, where Scarlett was currently playing with her puppy, her boisterous laughter like a siren call that lured him ever closer.

“I have come to give you my report, Your Grace.”

Ah, yes.Thatreport. The one highlight of his day.

He waved his hand at the butler, motioning for him to start, and sat down at his desk with his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

“This morning, Her Grace rose early and saw to breakfast in the kitchens,” his faithful servant reported.

His eyebrow arched. “I thought it had been made clear to her that she need not bother with such trivialities.”

The kitchens were hot and uncomfortable. A slice of hell in the manor. And as such, it made devils of those who stayed there.

They also liked to talk. Incessantly.

“Her Grace has been informed thus, but she insists on it.”

“Fine. But make sure that she is afforded every comfort on those visits.”

It wasnotfine, but he was more than aware that dissuading Scarlett from something she had set her mind to was an exercise in futility.

“After the kitchens, she went out to the stables?—”

The stables? What business had she there?

“She asked for a horse that she may ride on occasion.”

Damn, he had forgotten aboutthat. Colin had mentioned that Scarlett was an accomplished rider, and he had not even thought to provide her with a suitable horse. She must think him the worst of husbands now. He was sure of it.

“After breakfast with Your Grace, she saw to the invitations and correspondence. There were quitemany.”

“I am certain there were,” Hudson remarked dryly.

Scarlett was now a duchess. That meant every woman who thought herself a lady of consequence would endeavor to ingratiate herself with her—even if they had gossiped about her on more than one occasion.

“Send me a list of those sycophants,” he sneered.

He would like to see them try to take advantage of hiswife.

“Her Grace has already dealt with the, erm,sycophants, Your Grace.”

Hudson smiled proudly at that.Smart girl.

“Except for this.”

He frowned when the butler handed him an envelope. It appeared to be a formal invitation.

“Her Grace has expressed a desire to attend the said event,” the butler continued. “And she wanted to know if you would accompany her.”

Hudson opened the envelope and sucked in a harsh breath when he recognized the invitation to the opera. Scarlett never cared much for the opera.