Page 8 of Her Rogue of a Duke
Before he could articulate his words, however, she snapped, “Is there something I can help you with?”
Her sharp tone seemed completely at odds with her gentle appearance. He shook his head slightly, trying to gather his thoughts.
“I—I just wanted to check on you,” he managed to utter.
“Well, that is not necessary,” she replied. “Mrs. Clark has been more than kind and has provided me with everything I need.”
Joshua felt as though he were talking to an entirely different person from the vulnerable lady who had shown up soaking wet at his doorstep. She had been stoic but quiet. Not meek, but certainly not so grating as she was at that moment.
Lifting her chin, she continued, “There is a small ball tomorrow night that I have been invited to, and it is imperative that I attend. I would like for you to arrange transportation for me if at all possible. As I am certain you were also invited, I believe it equally imperative that we do not arrive together.”
“Agreed,” he easily replied. He thought that was rather common sense.
Wait.Under what authority was she ordering him around, to begin with?
“Good,” she huffed, interrupting his flow of thought. She paused a moment and swallowed before adding, “You should know that I will be married very soon. To a respected Lord. I will no longer be a burden to you then. Believe me when I say I do not wish to be here any less than you wish to have me.”
Respected Lord?
Joshua found himself struggling to keep up with everything she was saying, and when she shifted from one foot to another, he only grew more distracted at the sight of her plump bosom shifting beneath her gown.
Suddenly, she let out a gasp and hastily wrapped her arms around herself, as though she had only just realized her state of dress. Her cheeks burned bright crimson and she glared up at him as though it were somehowhisfault she was so scantily clad.
Just as he was about to inquire why she had come to him instead of going elsewhere, she spun around and stepped back into the chamber, slamming the door firmly in his face. But not before he caught a tantalizing glimpse of the silhouette of her hips and derriere faintly outlined against the warm, orange glow of the light in her chamber.
He let out a long exasperated breath.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
CHAPTER FIVE
Francesca lay curled up on her side in the middle of the massive bed, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Her thoughts were awash with memories of her father, and it broke her heart that she was forced to mourn him in secret. He deserved so much more than that.
The majority of her first night was spent crying and she had gotten little sleep. Despite being awake for some time now, she hadn’t left the bed. Truthfully, she had no desire to. She wanted to stay curled up under the covers and hide away from the rest of the world and the painful realities it held for her.
As she continued to wallow in her grief, a sudden knock on the door startled her. She scrambled to sit up and wiped at her cheeks in an attempt to hide her tears.
“Who is it?” she called out, flinching when her voice cracked.
“I have been asked to help you prepare for the day, my lady.”
“I…I do not need help…”
Despite her protest, the door opened and a young maid, with a tendril of vibrant red hair loose from her bonnet, swept into the room. She offered Francesca a swift curtsy before moving to the windows to throw open the curtains. Francesca grimaced at the sunlight that poured in through the glass-paned windows. Only now, in the daylight, did she fully take in the opulence of the room, and she was stunned. She had not paid attention to many of its finer details the night before in the dim candlelight, but now…
To begin with, the room was remarkably spacious. It was akin to the size of her father’s dining room at Oakvale Manor, which had been the largest space in their house. The floors, crafted from polished marble, were adorned with elaborate carpets in shades of red and gold. Across from the bed was a cozy sitting area, furnished with cushioned chairs of matching colors. A large marble fireplace dominated the far wall, while a writing desk sat beneath one of the tall windows, overlooking the gardens. Along the ceiling was crisp white molding carved into intricate designs, and a mural had been painted of the outdoor view of the garden, with hazy figures amidst a lush, idyllic backdrop of verdant foliage and tranquil waters.
The room was a showcase of luxury and refinement—a stark contrast to the simpler conditions of her own home. Francesca had never compared her family and household to others and had thought her family’s manor quite a fine place, especially when clean and maintained.
That quaint structure paled in comparison to this. It demonstrated just how worlds apart she and the Duke truly were.
The maid approached her bedside with a wide smile, her dress and apron plain but clean and perfectly pressed, and for the first time ever, Francesca felt more at home with her maid than with her peers.
“Would you like to have breakfast downstairs, my lady, or would you prefer it served here in your room?”
“Um… served here, please, if you don’t mind,” Francesca quickly answered. “I would prefer to dine alone.”
The maid nodded. “Certainly, that is not an issue at all. I shall bring up your breakfast shortly. And afterward, if you permit, I can unpack your belongings.”