Page 14 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)
Chapter Fourteen
“T here are so many people here,” whispered Christine to the duke, almost against her will, feeling a spike of anxiety as they walked into the grand drawing room after being formally announced. “I-I did not realize it would be such a large dinner party.”
She swallowed a large lump that had just materialized in her throat as she gazed around.
The duke had announced they were attending this dinner party at Lord Hartington’s large estate just this morning, casually telling her over breakfast, before abruptly leaving the table. Christine hadn’t had a chance to ask him anything about it and he had been moody and sullen in the carriage, offering no information about what was ahead then, either.
She felt beads of sweat prickle the back of her neck as she kept gazing around. There were at least thirty people milling around, talking in small groups, dressed resplendently in their evening attire.
This was her very first formal engagement with local society since her marriage—the tea party with the village church ladies didn’t really count. Her very first engagement as the new Duchess of Ironstone being introduced to her peers.
Abruptly, the ladies and gentlemen stopped talking, turning to stare at them, in a speculative, rather unfriendly way. Christine thought she could probably hear a pin drop.
“You are causing quite a stir,” murmured the duke, looking rather bemused. “Of course, they will all be alive with curiosity about you and why you are my new wife, rather than your sister.” His eyes rested upon her. “Do try to play the part and not arouse controversy.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “Arouse controversy? That is the last thing I wish to do.”
“Your Grace! It has been a veritable age since I have seen you!”
They both turned as a lady approached them with a dazzling smile.
Christine studied her covertly as she curtseyed. She was tall, as slender as a reed, with light brown hair, and dressed extravagantly in a frilly peacock-blue silk and lace gown, with a large ostrich feather dyed the same color in her hair.
As she rose, Christine saw her face clearly. She was rather pretty, but not a raving beauty. She guessed the lady was in her mid-twenties.
“Lady Canterfield,” the duke’s tone was neutral as he bowed stiffly. “Indeed, it has indeed been a long time,” he hesitated. “May I present my new wife, the Duchess of Ironstone.”
“I heard that you had recently married,” said the lady, visibly pouting as she stared at the duke, ignoring Christine entirely. “And I was so very saddened that I did not receive an invitation to the wedding…”
The duke shrugged in a nonchalant way. “It was a small affair, my lady. Only close family and friends.”
“I would rather think that I would qualify to be put into that group,” the lady replied tartly, bristling. She paused. “But never mind. It is past now. How are the girls? Are they doing well?”
“They are in good health and spirits,” replied the duke stiffly, his mouth thinning. “Thank you for your inquiry about them.”
“Of course I am going to inquire about them,” said the lady, arching her eyebrows. “It is only natural that I would! I miss them desperately! Tell me, can we arrange a time when I may call at Ironstone to spend some time with them?”
“I am afraid we are rather busy for a few weeks,” said the duke, frowning. “If you would excuse us, my lady. The duchess and I should mingle.”
Lady Canterfield looked shocked and affronted, but before she could reply, the duke took Christine’s arm firmly, dragging her away. He only stopped when they were across the room.
Christine gazed at him steadily. His face had visibly darkened—he didn’t look happy at all. In fact, his body was thrumming with a strange tension.
“Who was that lady?” whispered Christine eventually. “And why does she wish to see the girls so desperately?”
The duke winced. “She wants to see them because she is their aunt,” he spat, rubbing his neck. “Lady Canterfield is my late wife’s sister.” He hesitated, looking pained. “I had no idea she had been invited to this dinner party.”
Christine stifled her surprise, quickly glancing back at the lady, who had moved away to another group, and was now gripping a glass of champagne and laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“You seem…displeased to see her,” suggested Christine, her heart thumping. “Why did you make an excuse so she could not make a time to call upon the girls?”
The duke shrugged, in an offhand way, but he was frowning. She could still sense that strange tension within him.
“The girls do not like her. They have never warmed to her, despite her effusiveness with them, and the extravagant gifts she brings them. It seems best to dissuade her. That is all.”
At that moment, they were interrupted by a tall gentleman. The duke turned to him, smiling. The next minute, they were deep in conversation.
Christine took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, thinking about the odd lady, who was the aunt of Isabella and Beatrice. As far as she knew, Lady Canterfield was the girls’ only close relative, apart from their father.
She felt a sudden pang of sorrow for the duke’s daughters. They were so lonely and isolated at Ironstone, and it would be a blessing for them to have a close relationship with their aunt.
But she supposed the duke’s reasons for avoiding Lady Canterfield were sound. And she was hardly in a position to encourage the relationship, after all. She still often felt like a stranger living in the old castle…and the duke seemingly wanted to keep it that way.
* * *
Edwin pushed his roasted venison around on the plate with his fork, feeling irritated. The dinner party was only halfway over, and he was already bursting to leave. He didn’t know why he had even accepted the invitation. The company was, quite frankly, dull and odious.
His irritation increased. And then there was the unexpected appearance of his sister-in-law, Nora, who was the Marchioness of Canterfield now, since her marriage six months ago to an aging marquess with one foot in the grave.
He had never particularly liked Nora, but just like his daughters, he couldn’t ever put his finger on why.
Irritably, he pushed aside the thought of his sister-in-law, focusing on the other party guests, and their frosty attitude toward his wife tonight.
He turned to his left, almost against his will, stiffening. Two ladies were talking loudly together across the table, and he couldn’t help tuning into what they were saying.
“I heard that the new Duchess of Ironstone stole the duke from her own sister,” laughed one lady, taking a large gulp of champagne, her eyes darting toward Christine.
“I heard something even more shocking,” rejoined the other lady, in a stage whisper, which was clearly audible to half the table. “I heard that she actually arranged to have Lady Violet kidnapped!”
There was a shocked silence. The duke gripped his cutlery so tightly he almost bent the knife and fork in half. He turned to Christine.
She had clearly heard the wild and unkind accusations—her face had flushed hard, and her bottom lip wobbled dangerously, as if she were about to burst into tears. But then she turned to the lady on her other side, obviously trying to ignore it.
How dignified she is. How controlled in the face of such rude, public slander.
He was just about to throw his napkin on the table and tell her they were leaving when the Dowager Countess of Hungerford leaned across the table, addressing him.
“I do hope that we will hear blessed news from Ironstone sooner rather than later, Your Grace,” said the lady in a loud, braying voice, thickened by champagne, causing several people to turn to her and listen, including Christine.
Edwin frowned, glaring at her. “I beg your pardon, Lady Hungerford? What news are you referring to?”
“Why, the announcement that you are about to have a son and heir, of course, Your Grace!” The lady stared at Christine, giving her a sly smile. “Although, I suppose the new Duchess of Ironstone is struggling with the unruly behavior of her new stepdaughters, and has her hands full dealing with them so much that she simply cannot handle a new baby…”
Edwin felt like reaching across the table and throttling the lady. But just as he was about to reprimand her soundly for her insolence, Christine took a deep breath, glaring at Lady Hungerford, raising her chin, in an almost imperial way.
“I may still be settling into my new position and home,” she said slowly, “but that does not mean I will accept such impudence, my lady.” She took a deep, ragged breath. “You have no right to speak about my stepdaughters in such a way.”
Silence gathered around them, sharp as glass.
Lady Hungerford’s smug smile froze upon her face. Edwin suppressed a smile. His heart filled with pride as he stared at Christine’s unrepentant face. Her gaze was implacable, and her eyes were filled with flint.
“And I will add that no one insults my family, Lady Hungerford,” he said, in a loud, firm voice, glaring at the lady. “Not my daughters…and not my wife, either.”
Instinctively, he reached across, taking Christine’s hand, squeezing it firmly. No one said anything, but several people looked embarrassed, if not downright mortified. Lady Hungerford had turned a dull brick red.
“I-I do apologize, Your Grace,” she stammered, her hands fluttering nervously. “I meant no disrespect against your family…”
“Of course you did,” sneered Edwin, staring at her coolly. “It was most certainly your intention, my lady. But I will not tolerate it, and neither will my wife.”
Suddenly, he stood up, throwing his napkin on the table. He looked at Christine.
“I think we should leave.”
She nodded, getting to her feet.
Everyone watched them quietly as they walked out of the grand dining room. He put a hand gently on Christine’s elbow, where the top of her white glove stopped. A frisson of unexpected, abrupt desire shivered through his body.
Even though he had been highly conscious of it, he had been trying to ignore how beautiful she looked this evening in her silver lace gown with tiny white flowers threaded through her dark golden hair. The combination of her beauty and her boldness at the dinner table was almost too much for him to resist.
Stop it, Ironstone. You must resist her.
They didn’t say a word to each other as they walked out of the house to the carriage. But he could tell she was as conscious of him as he was of her by the way she leant toward him and the tiny shivers pulsing through her body.
Dear God, this is getting harder and harder.
What was he going to do about it?