Page 16 of His Unruly Duchess (The Spinsters Club #6)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
M ax lay on the floor in the sun room, the fluffy white cat sitting on his stomach, pushing her paws into his chest as if she were kneading dough. “Gentle, Powder Puff! Gentle!” he urged. “I do not need tenderizing so you have a more comfortable place to doze.”
The cat’s green eyes flashed him a withering look, and she proceeded with her massaging, deliberately adding a bit more claw to teach him a lesson.
“I cannot imagine you are very pillowy,” Caroline said from the settee, where she was in the midst of sketching a new design for the fireplace. The original was old and lopsided, and she had mentioned about having something more modern.
Max chuckled, disturbing the cat. “I should hope not. I do not intend to be ‘pillowy’ for at least twenty years, so I am afraid you have a long wait ahead of you, Powder Puff.”
He resisted grimacing every time he said the name that Caroline had chosen for the feline. He suspected she had done it on purpose, purely to hear him say ‘Powder Puff’ every time he engaged with the feisty creature. Then again, he could not think of a more fitting name. The cat was the epitome of a powder puff, claws and all.
“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asked slyly, peering up at Caroline.
Her stick of charcoal halted on the page, her eyes wide as she lifted her head. “What do you mean?”
“This floor is surprisingly comfortable. Why not come down here and find out if I need further tenderizing?” He patted the right side of his chest. “We can lie here and watch the stars together.”
She blinked. “We are inside, Max.”
“Ah, then we can watch the spiderwebs together,” he teased.
She shook her head, resuming her sketching. “I am convinced you are half-mad sometimes,” she mumbled. “It is quite jarring when you are one person behind your writing desk, and quite another when you are away from your work. ‘His Grace’ would not lie there with a cat on his chest. Max would.”
“Neither thought they would be lying here with a cat on their chest,” he told her, “but as you insisted on turning the little beast into a spoiled princess, bringing her indoors, I must do what I can to ensure she does not become a tyrant. Princesses need placating.”
Caroline chuckled softly. “And what of wives?”
“ Impossible to placate.”
She cast him a look of mock disapproval. “After a month in my company, you still think me difficult? How can that be when I have not played my violin in the room next to your study in weeks? And I only disturb you at your work twice a day now. I would call that improvement.”
“Has it been a month already?” Max stroked the fur between Powder Puff’s ears, hardly able to believe that so much time had passed.
In the weeks since they had begun to take their meals together, and the cat’s dramatic appearance had thawed the last of the ice between them, their initial enmity had transformed into a comfortable companionship. They still quarreled and disagreed, she still did not always appreciate his sarcastic humor, but they were friendly.
I think I will miss this. It was a strange realization, but in a month’s time he would have his manor to himself again, while his wife would be making a new life for herself in a household of her own. It would be quiet again. Too quiet, perhaps. But maybe Caroline would visit each week, so they could have afternoon tea together and discuss what the other had been doing.
That would not be so bad.
“Actually, I have been meaning to discuss the next month with you,” he said, sitting up.
The cat leaped away, meowing at the insult of being disturbed. She prowled toward Caroline and jumped up onto the settee, lying right down on the design that Caroline had been creating.
Dismay rippled across Caroline’s face, almost certainly because of the ruined sketch. “What of it?”
“The London Season will soon be beginning, and I thought it might be wise for us to attend plenty of events before we part ways,” he said. “We can journey to the townhouse in the next few days, perhaps yawn our way through a museum or gallery or two. Then, as invitations come, we can venture out into society again.”
Caroline put away her stick of charcoal, in the thin silver box she had taken to carrying around with her. “Do you think we will be welcome?” Her voice hitched. “Truth be told, I have been dreading it. There do not seem to be any newspapers at this manor, and I have grown all too accustomed to the lack.”
He had wondered if she thought at all about society’s gossip, but it was a point of conversation that he never cared to broach. There seemed no reason to reopen old wounds when he had already taken matters into his own hands, sowing seeds through friends and acquaintances by way of endless correspondence.
From the very beginning, as soon as his decision was made to take his brother’s duty onto his own shoulders, he had determined that the ton should not, under any circumstances, believe that Dickie jilted Caroline. So, he had poured some gossip of his own into the rumor mill, insisting that his most influential friends should spread the word that it was always meant to be him.
“It is strange that the newspapers have not managed to arrive,” Max agreed with a sly glance at her. It was an open secret that he had been hiding them as soon as they came to the house, to keep her from seeing anything unsavory.
“But,” he added, “you have nothing to worry about. It is already all but accepted that you were supposed to meet me in that study, that we were always hopelessly in love, and that is why we married. I have seen to it personally.”
Caroline looked as if she had been stung by a bee and was trying not to cause a fuss, squirming in her seat as flickers of horror, confusion and disbelief turned in a carousel across her pretty features. “But… why would they think that?”
“As I said, I have seen to it personally,” he replied.
“But it is not true.”
He shrugged. “You would prefer them to know the truth?”
“Well, no, but?—”
“There will be some who still deem it scandalous, and may be somewhat frosty toward you, but now that we are wed, the majority will pretend there was never a scandal at all,” Max explained. “And those who stick their noses in the air have nothing better to do, so do not waste a thought on them.”
Caroline’s throat bobbed. “But why would you mention that we were in love?”
“Because people daydream as you do, Caroline. They are obsessed with the notion of romance and love, so if we smother our wedding in that saccharine story, it will be far easier for the ton to swallow.” He paused. “Of course, that will mean that we have to behave as if we more than tolerate each other. But, as it will only be for a month or so, I am sure we shall survive it.”
He had to keep reminding himself that this situation was not a permanent one, no matter how friendly the couple had become. He had his life to lead, and she had hers to begin afresh, with all the freedom accorded to her as a duchess. He would not be the one to snatch that away because he had come to appreciate the feeling of not being so alone.
It is what I promised. I will not give her any reason to call me a liar.
Besides, after their past discussion about Bessie, he had been considering getting another dog. That would be companionship aplenty for the likes of him, and once Dickie had resurfaced and things had been smoothed over, everything would go back to normal. As if he were not married at all.
“Why fabricate a story at all?” Caroline pressed. “Surely, it would be of greater worth for you if the truth was told. Society would respect you immeasurably for what you did, and Dickie would… Well, I imagine he would weather the scandal as he has weathered every other.”
Max had to laugh. “The story protects your reputation and Dickie’s. I told you once that all I was bothered about was making sure that my siblings were taken care of and, sometimes, that includes cleaning up after one of them. Continuing to clean up after one of them, I should say.”
He was about to mention that, obviously, he cared about her reputation as well, but she jumped in before he could.
“Do you think Dickie will come to see us when we are in London?” Caroline asked, absently stroking the cat whose belly was now gray with charcoal dust.
“I never dare to assume what Dickie will do in any situation,” Max replied. “Not anymore, anyway.”
“Has there been word of him from Greenfield?”
Max shook his head. “Not a peep, still.”
An odd feeling caught him in the chest. A wriggle of something he did not understand. The last time he had felt something like it, he was a boy trying to attract the attention of one of the village girls. She had, of course, been immediately besotted with Dickie, and that feeling had stuck in his chest for a week until he found another distraction.
Does she wish it was him here instead of me?
He pushed down the thought, knowing it was silly to even consider. But, perhaps, it would be of benefit if the next month could fly by as swiftly as their honeymoon, so there would be no chance of that wriggle becoming something bigger.