Page 7 of The Duke’s Sworn Spinster (A Duel and a Wedding #1)

Chapter Five

“ I t seems Her Grace has a headache and will not be joining us,” Archer explained as he sat down at the dinner table for his wedding dinner.

“Oh, should we send for a physician?” Juliet asked.

“I do not think that will be necessary.” Archer gestured for everyone else to take their seats. “But if she is still poorly in the morning, I will have Mr. Lyall send for a doctor.”

“Not the most fortuitous start to your marriage, Dash.” Cora sat on his left with Juliet and Iris on his right.

“Sickness cannot be helped.” Archer shrugged. “She would hardly be the first Baine to miss an important dinner, would she, sister?”

Cora blushed and opened her mouth, but Juliet interjected, “I think she is probably just as disappointed as we are, Cora. After all, who wants to miss their wedding dinner?”

His sisters exchanged looks, but Archer quelled their next words with a slightly arched eyebrow. Later. They understood his meaning perfectly. Iris, unfortunately, did not. “But I wanted to meet my new Auntie. She looked so pretty in her dress!”

“She was rather fetching.” Cora nodded. “You failed to mention that when you were describing her to us.”

“She looked like a princess or a queen!” Iris clapped her hands in delight, her curly black hair falling in delicate rings around her face. “Maybe I should go and say hello to her now.”

“You will have plenty of time to meet her, little one.” Archer reached over and ruffled her hair affectionately, which earned him one of Iris’s sunniest smiles. “She has had a long day and clearly needs rest.”

“Maybe I should bring her Mr. Pickles? He always makes me feel better.” Iris gestured to her teddy bear who was sitting on the seat beside her.

“But then who would keep you safe from the monsters beneath your bed?” Juliet interjected tickling Iris.

She let out a delighted giggle and jerked away. “Uncle Dash, silly. He keeps us safe from all the monsters. That’s why he has so many muscles.”

Iris pointed at Archer’s arms, and he flexed them obligingly for her. “No monster is going to get past me.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “And I suppose my efforts mean nothing? Or have you forgotten how I helped you build a monster trap yesterday?”

“Yes, but the only monster it caught was Miss Boyd.” Juliet looked at Iris, who had an expression so innocent that Archer knew that had been the plan.

“Iris, have you scared off another governess?” Archer gestured for the servants to serve dinner.

The cook had prepared a feast fit for a king — the first course was a delicious white soup which would be followed by a massive roasted pig with peas and carrots, a vegetable pie, pickled onions and asparagus, and for dessert, a special wedding sponge cake topped with fruits and jam.

“Miss Boyd was surprisingly good natured about the whole thing,” Cora explained as she finished her soup and helped herself to one of the bread rolls on the table.

“That is lucky.” Archer gave Cora a look. “We will soon be out of governesses if this continues.”

Cora made an appeasing gesture. “Your niece assured me the trap was for monsters; that’s why I set it up in her bedroom.”

Archer looked at his niece who gave him her most winning smile. “You know better than to be tricking people, Iris. Miss Boyd is a nice lady.”

“She’s booooring.” Iris kicked her feet and gave him a smile that was pure mischief. “Maybe my new Auntie can teach me things instead!”

“Your new auntie will be running the estate. Besides, you need a proper education, and that means a governess,” Juliet explained.

“Then she will not have time to play with me?” Iris’ big eyes turned to Archer with a crestfallen expression that melted his heart.

“I am sure she will find time to play with you. After all, Uncle Dash manages just fine.” Cora gave him a look. “And I doubt Uncle Dash would have married the kind of woman who does not like playing.”

“I am sure Lyd— Auntie Lydia will find time to play with you.” Archer saw Cora’s eyes widen at his use of her name. “But only if you are very good and finish all of your food.”

“Okay!” Iris began wolfing down her food.

“Careful, if you eat too fast you will make yourself sick.” Archer gently chided. “It is not a race.”

“It could be.” Cora grinned, and Archer shot her a look. “But it is not.”

“You are no fun.” Cora threw a pea into the air and caught it in her mouth.

Archer arched an eyebrow at her, catching the next pea she threw and eating it himself. “I am plenty fun; I simply have no wish to let my niece choke herself.”

Cora’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, Dash.”

“We should bring Auntie Lydia some dinner. I’m sure that will make her feel better,” Iris suggested through a mouthful of cake.

“I think you should go to bed.” Archer nodded to his sisters. “I trust the two of you can see to it.”

“But you read the best bedtime stories, Uncle Dash!” Iris batted her big eyes at him. “Please!”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” Archer smiled at his niece as he plated up some food to bring up to his new bride.

He knew that if the servants did it, Iris would no doubt accompany them, and he was not sure that that was a good idea. At least, not yet.

“Fine. But I want two.” Iris grinned at him, and he swept her into a hug.

“Only if you say please.”

“Pleeeeaaaaase!” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Archer swung her around.

“Of course. Now, off to bed with you.” He gave her a gentle nudge and made his way up the stairs to the Duchess’ room, a plate of food in hand.

He opened the door to the Duchess’ room, and every part of him tensed. The room was exactly as he remembered it as a child. Gaudy, mismatched furniture littered it.

He was grateful for the darkness that hid the horrendous pink walls that his mother had so adored. He swallowed, practically feeling her cold gaze on him.

He could almost see her wizened figure in the chair by the fire. A small noise brought him to the present, and he saw Lydia was asleep on the bed, curled into a tiny ball, making small whimpering noises. Without thinking, he moved towards her, placing the tray on the table beside her bed.

“Mother. No… Please…” she murmured.

Archer tucked the blanket around her, wondering if he should wake her. She looked so innocent, so sweet as she dreamed. He found himself stroking her forehead gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face.

Her eyes flickered open, her lips parting. His heart sped up, and he stood. What am I doing? He gestured to the food, his voice hoarse. “I brought something to eat.”

“I can see that.” Lydia shifted, moving into a sitting position which revealed the thin night dress she was wearing beneath the covers and the soft skin of her collar bone.

Archer leapt to his feet and looked away, blood thundering in his ears. “I will get you a dressing gown.”

He grabbed one from the walk-in closet and handed it to Lydia, staring anywhere but at her. His eyes fell on the dwindling fire, and he moved towards it, stoking it back to life. The fire gave a merry roar, bringing light into the room.

As he turned, his eyes caught on an expensive chair in the corner. It was the tenth of its kind. The first nine had been destroyed by his mother in her fits, and his father had been forced to buy replacements over and over. His mother had died before she could destroy this one.

A memory of his twelve-year-old self bubbled to the surface.

He could see his mother tearing at the sofa, remember the way she had blamed its destruction on him and then hit him for it.

She had stopped when he had grown strong enough to catch her hand in his, her attention turning to his sisters instead.

His fist clenched as he remembered how he had begged his father to see the truth about her, and he had tried to make him see reason.

But his pleading had been drowned out by his mother’s sweet words.

He could picture her viper’s smile as she goaded her father into disciplining his children. Into doing exactly as she wished.

“I am sorry I missed our wedding dinner. I am sure this would have been even better with company.” Lydia’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he turned to face her. “Or at the very least, it would have been lovely warm.

She was dabbing gently at her mouth with the napkin he had brought her, her plate of food nearly empty.

“You need not apologize.” Archer gestured towards her, relieved that the robe hid her beneath it. “I take it your head is feeling better?”

Lydia nodded. “I am sure I will be right as rain tomorrow.”

Archer made a noncommittal noise. He knew he should leave; he could feel a part of him itching to be gone from the room. He could practically hear his mother’s cruel laugh. Even her perfume lingers in the damn air.

“Your mother certainly had interesting taste.” Archer was glad she did not see him flinch.

“That is one way of putting it.” His fingers clenched into fists.

“I do not think I have ever seen so much pink and purple in one room. My headache cut my tour rather short—is the rest of the house a similar color scheme?” She gave him an embarrassed smile.

“No. Thankfully.” Archer had undone much of his mother’s redecorating after his father had died, confining her efforts to her room to keep her away from him and his sisters.

Lydia got out of bed and put herself in the chair by the fire, wincing as she sat in the expensive armchair. “This is not… terribly comfortable.”

“The late Duchess valued aesthetic more than function.” Archer gestured around them. “Now that you are the mistress of the house, décor and such will fall to you. You may as well start here.”

He tried to keep his voice cool, disinterested even, as he felt his neck hairs stand on end. “Feel free to do with it as you will; it is yours now. You should make it feel like it.” The sooner the better.

“Are you sure?” Lydia canted her head at him, her eyes narrowed.

“I recognize some of this furniture—it is near priceless, even if it is not to my taste. And there are so many things here, heirlooms and such—I would hate to accidentally get rid of anything you might want to hold on to.” Lydia gestured around them.

“Believe me, Duchess, there is nothing in this place that I want.” His voice was hard, and he saw her recoil out of the corner of his eye.

“I see.” Her tone was icy.

“I should leave.” Archer moved to the door. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Her words were muffled as Archer closed the door behind him, the scent of his mother’s perfume lingering long after he had left the room.