Page 15 of His Temporary Duchess
Abigail gave her a dubious glance, but evidently, she did not have it within herself to argue with a Duchess, no matter how inappropriate she might feel Eleanor’s helping her was. So, she relented.
“What do you think I should wear for dinner?” she mused, examining her dresses with a critical eye. None were especially beautiful—she supposed she ought to have some commissioned for her—but they were all perfectly serviceable.
And perhaps the Duke was expecting her to look her best for their first dinner together.
Her stomach flipped at the thought. There, she could begin her task of encouraging him to think well of her, and they would truly begin their marriage. His rule of silence at the dinner table struck her as odd, but she wasn’t well-versed in the upper echelons of society, so perhaps it was routine. Whenever Margaret had hosted large dinner parties, Eleanor had been required to keep out of the way.
And, if she had been present, she had been expected to keep quiet. Perhaps that was merely how things were done.
Either way, she would do her best to please the Duke and keep to his rules of silence. But at the very least, she would do her best toappear to advantage; that, along with her obedience to his rules, may be enough to win him over.
She selected perhaps the nicest of her gowns and placed it to one side. Now, all she had to do was await dinner with her new husband.
Sebastian swirled the ruby liquid in his glass as he contemplated the long table, laid out with all his best silverware for the new Duchess. He ought to have told the staff to dispense with the formalities, but he didn’t have the energy for the quizzical looks they would give him. Especially as he would have to do it all over again for the next set. It hardly seemed worth the bother.
The chair opposite, where his bride would sit, remained conspicuously empty.
He suspected that was due to the quality of the dresses he had left in her room; he had them brought out of the attics especially for her. No doubt she was horrified at the offerings. Perhaps even too embarrassed to come down for dinner.
That would save him an awkward meal, at least. And further confirm, in her mind, that they were unsuitable together. A little more of this, and he was certain she would flee him for his neglect and cruelty, and he would be free of this farce of a marriage.
Just then, the door opened.
But instead of the anger he had expected to be greeted with, Eleanor entered with a sunny smile as she took her place at the other end of the table. And instead of one of the gowns he had provided for her, she wore something distinctly flattering. The dress clung softly to her curves, a peach that shimmered in the candlelight and highlighted the rich brown of her hair, which curled becomingly around her face.
Even at the masquerade, where he had been instantly attracted to her curves and delicate features, she had not looked better than she did then.
“Eleanor—” he croaked, clearing his throat as she looked at him in surprise. In the light, her mouth looked more lush than ever, her bottom lip soft and red. He blinked the thought away. “How did you find your room?”
Her brows creased, but she remained silent.
“…Did you find everything you…needed?” he pressed, wanting to hear her acknowledgement of the hideous gowns he had provided, and to perhaps offer some justification for not wearing them. Instead, she smiled at the footman pouring her some wine, and took a sip.
At Sebastian’s clear irritation, she tilted her head, as though she could not understand why a man might be exasperated at his wife not so much as answering a basic question.
“When Iaskyou a question,” he commanded, his voice colder than he might have intended it to be under ordinary circumstances, “Irequirean answer.”
Her lips puckered, but she finally answered. “You instructed me to be silent during dinner, Your Grace.”
Sebastian blinked. He’d forgotten he’d given her that ridiculous rule, and the fact that she had remembered only brought more chagrin.Sheappeared happy enough to obey him, and he had not so much as considered the request, given it was so outrageous.
“Well…” he coughed again, knowing he needed to speak, and having nothing of consequence to say that would justify his position, he added, “you may answer me, of course. I just do not wish for you to address me with idle remarks.” Even though he had been doing precisely that.
She bowed her head. “Of course, Your Grace.” She fell silent once more.
“Tell me how you find the accommodations,” he almost barked.
“The room is lovely. There are some dresses there, perhaps your mother’s? I can have them put into storage if that would suit you?” She began piling food on her plate. “I am happy to do whatever will suit you best, Your Grace.”
“I—” How had such a small chit of a girl rendered him so speechless? “…And what if I would wish for you to wear those dresses?”
She frowned. “Do they not belong to your mother?”
To be frank, he did not know to whom they belonged; he had found them in the attics and ordered them to be taken to her rooms. They held no sentimental value to him whatsoever. “I do not believe so,” he said at last.
“Well, if you require me to wear them, I will do so.” She took a bite of meat and chewed, and he could not help himself watching the progress of her slim neck as she swallowed. “Does that please you, Your Grace?”
Damn the girl. She acted as though he asked nothing more than he had every right to, despite the fact thatheknew his request to be unreasonable in the extreme.