Page 10 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)
CHAPTER 10
T he sun shone brightly through her curtains as Thalia woke the next morning, completely stretched out across her massive mattress. Her first night at Stonewell had been… less than peaceful, as she’d found herself keenly alert to every small sound within the walls.
Memories of the day before—of the duke within her room, how gently he’d escorted her to bed with little more than a nod goodnight—stirred warmly in her stomach, and it took quite a bit to shake the flush from her cheeks.
“He was simply being polite,” Thalia reminded herself. “Just polite.”
Yes. Very polite, the way his lips felt against hers when they’d–!
She rose quickly, pulling at the hem of her comforter with another short huff of breath. Today; Thalia needed to focus on what today would bring. She glanced about her guest room, not surprised at all to see Robin slumped against one of the plush reading chairs, arms folded over his chest as he silently dozed.
“Oh, Robin…” Thalia smiled gently, slipping quietly from bed as she dragged her blanket towards her brother, covering him with a tender kiss on his cheek.
Drawing a borrowed bedjacket from the closet, Thalia slipped quietly out of her door and strolled through the halls, a vague recollection of the route to the dining room. She spotted a maid dusting what looked to be one of Charlotte’s vases, and she approached for greeting and directions.
“Oh, Miss Sutton!” The maid curtsied smartly, feather duster still grasped in her hand. “Good morning to you; My Lady thought it best to let you sleep in as much as you’d like, and wished to inform you that she and the duke are attending a social ceremony in town for a newly-built park.”
Thalia glanced at a large, grandfather’s clock at the end of the hall, holding back a startled gasp at the time. Ten in the morning—she hardly remembered a time she’d slept in so late.
“The kitchen has prepared a small picnic for you and your brother,” the maid continued. “And you have been invited to bring said meal to enjoy the park alongside the duke and lady of our manor.” She offered another curtsy, adding after-the-fact, “Of course, Lady Charlotte made it known that you may stay here at Stonewell, should you not wish to entertain the public today.”
Thalia’s heart softened at such consideration. “Please let the kitchen know I’m grateful for their work, and would be happy to take the picnic into the park.”
“Very well, Miss Sutton. Her Ladyship also wanted me to tell you that her wardrobe is your wardrobe; if you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Thalia tried her best not to grimace—another very kind offer, though Charlotte’s petite and willowy frame was hardly comparable to her own…fuller attributes. “Perhaps if she has a sunhat I could use? Nothing too grand, if you please.”
The maid gave a curt nod and hurried to accomplish her task, leaving Thalia to her own thoughts. Her most appropriate dress for a day within society was the one Giles had purchased, and even thinking about touching the fabric caused a painful twinge in her wrist. “I would sooner wear a flour sack,” she grumbled, pulling at the hem of her bedjacket before returning back into her room.
Robin was sitting up as she entered, arms outstretched and yawning wide. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked groggily, then slid back into the chair, the blanket pulled up towards his chin. “Good God, that was the best night of sleep I’ve had in years.”
Thalia made a slight face as she opened her closet, shuffling a handful of simple dresses back and forth in the hopes that one would become fancier than it currently was.
“You woke up at least three times—the third you sat up with me and read over my shoulder.” She grasped for a burgundy with bubble sleeves, patterned in faded stripes, and hemmed with a frill of lace. Then, she considered hanging it back in its place.
“Infinitely better than sleeping in Whitechapel,” her brother argued. “In that I actually fell asleep, short though it may have been.” He watched his sister quietly fuss about her wardrobe for a moment more, gesturing towards the dresses with a slight tilt of the head. “I always thought you looked nice in green—why not wear that one today?”
Her eyes followed his hand, and she immediately bristled at the sight of Giles’ “gift” to her. Still, it really was the only proper dress she owned—the one for Orion’s Hunt had long-since been returned to its rightful owner—and Thalia mentally prepared herself to dawn the olive-hued dress once more.
“The Hardings have invited us to promenade about the new greenery park with them. Will you be joining me?”
Expectedly, Robin wrinkled his nose at the prospect. “I think I’ve been lucky enough to have set foot into Stonewell. Wouldn’t want to push my luck—besides, I should really let the others know I’m all right.”
Thalia smiled softly, still in her nightgown as she drew close to her brother. “All right… but be careful, won’t you?”
He stood from his chair, offering a tender embrace to his clearly-concerned sister. “I always am, Thalia. I always am.”
* * *
If there was any benefit to her age, Thalia would immediately note that the Season no longer held any sway in her mind. Once upon a time, she might have been among the many outdoor garden celebrators, trying to work her way around the guest list and socialize with as many influential individuals within the Ton as possible.
Now, she simply enjoyed the sights of spring through her carriage window, appreciating the decorated spaces rented out for this Season’s young ladies. They were all lovely affairs, each more grand in appearance than its predecessor. Gentlemen in fine suits, ladies wearing beautiful pastel gowns and highly decorated bonnets; a pretty picture to admire, but Thalia was more than happy to remain on the sideline.
The Stonewell carriage soon came to a pause, parked just outside a massive acre of perfectly manicured greenery. Budding catkins dangled from large, English oaks, their lines perfect against the brickwork pathway where couples and friends alike had already begun their long walks.
A few gingham blankets had been set along the grass for fellow picnickers, with a few more influential hands having dragged entire tea tables and stands of desserts out to enjoy beneath the springtime sun. As Thalia stepped down from the stairs, she began to search for signs of the Hardings, already beginning to pick at the thumb of her opera glove.
“They did say this was the park, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” an older maid affirmed from her side.
Thalia nodded nervously to her chaperone, still glancing around for some familiar face.
“Miss Thalia Sutton! Is that you standing there at the park gates?”
Thalia’s blood froze, and she stood stiffly in place. The voice was familiarly bright and cheerful, like a flock of twittering birds hoping to swoop down and steal one’s food straight out from one’s hand. She coaxed as much warmth as she could to her face for a smile, her gaze settling on the small group of women at a tea table.
Their obvious leader daintily waved a gloved hand for attention, petunias woven into her bonnet which practically gave her an extra foot in height.
“Miss Ann Fitzwilliam; so good to see you after all this time.”
Ann giggled rather childishly for a woman her age, her hand remaining upright in the air. Thalia squinted, the sunlight catching what looked to be a band around her left ring finger.
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Harrington now, Thalia dear.”
“No, no, it’s Lady Worsely, now,” one of the women corrected her.
“Ah, so it is—forgive me, but the title of marchioness is one I’m still getting used to.” Lady Worsley sat daintily, sweeping the delicate beading of her dress aside so as to show it off to all who passed her by. “Oh, but I don’t mean to bring up sore memories, Miss Sutton. You must still be getting used to… well, you know. No title at all.”
Thalia gritted her teeth and continued to grin, making her way through the gate in order to greet the women properly. It would do them no good to continue shouting across the way; already, onlookers were beginning to stare.
“I had long since made peace with that, Lady Worsley. The title was never mine to have, and thus, I never had grown used to its presence.” Some of the women visibly recoiled as she approached their table, one going as far as to flick open her fan and avoid Thalia’s gaze.
“Yes, but still,” Lady Worsley insisted. “What a terrible thing to have happen to a bright, up-and-coming socialite like yourself. I do miss you terribly at my gatherings, but as you said, the pressures of a marchioness’ title are simply beyond your knowledge.”
She wanted to leave, turn immediately on her heel and storm back to the carriage. It would be horrifically embarrassing, yes—to give Lady Worsley the petty win she was trying to wring out of her—but Thalia had already gone through the upheaval of her social reputation.
If she could, she’d avoid reliving the experience. Unfortunately, the new marchioness seemed hardly ready to let her go that easily, and as such, Thalia was trapped.
“Certainly, Lady Worsley. I’m afraid I would have little time to accept any invitation you would have sent, regardless.”
“Oh, of course! I’m sure Whitechapel has kept you quite…” Lady Worsley pursed her lips, clearly holding for dramatic effect. “Busy, as of late.”
A few conspiratorial whispers flooded the table as more ladies produced their fans. Not that it entirely hid their voices from Thalia; they hadn’t even the decency to completely cover their lips.
“But a woman has to do all she can in this world, yes?” Now it was the marchioness’ turn to produce a fan, and she wielded it with a deft hand, gently fanning the tightly-wrung curls against her perfectly porcelain face.
“We hardly judge you, Miss Sutton—I find it quite inspiring how willingly one may throw away their ego to keep themselves afloat. And with you approaching the age of spinsterhood—why, it’s better for those without prospects to learn to care for themselves.”
“I wholeheartedly agree, Lady Worsley.”
Thalia had never watched so many pretty faces grow pallid so quickly. She felt an arm loop through her own, and a glance upward revealed the face of the Duke of Stonewell, having seemingly appeared from the very air behind her.
He was positively frigid to look at, expression stone-cold as his jaw remained set in a perpetual, disapproving scowl. The only note of color on him revealed itself as a soft-pink pocket square and tie, matching his sister’s dress exactly.
His sister’s—Thalia glanced to her opposite side, finding Charlotte hanging on her arm as well. Her blushing-rose dress flared out at the side, as if she’d just hurried a great length to meet her, and while her face was far more inviting, her tone left plenty of room for one’s imagination.
“Oh, Lady Worsley! I didn’t think I’d see you and your lady friends today—that spot of sickness has simmered down at the estate, then?”
Every woman at the table swiveled to the marchioness, her mouth slightly agape. She snapped her fan shut, scrambling to recover with a grimace of a smile. “It… it has, Your Ladyship. Thank you again for… your concern.”
“Gracious, but of course! I would hate for anyone here to catch their death.” Her emphasis on ‘death’ sent a shiver up Thalia’s spine; Charlotte truly was a Harding, through and through. Just as terrifying as her brother, perhaps even more so, what with how effortlessly she slipped between social and personal roles.
Of course, the absolute killer look on the duke’s face wasn’t preferable, either. The duke held fast to Thalia’s arm, yet still made sure to gently grasp around the splint hidden beneath her opera glove.
“Well, ladies, I apologize for interrupting your little get-together.” Charlotte leaned her head against Thalia’s shoulder, sighing as loudly as polite society would allow. “We’ve got our own soiree to get back to, so if you’ll excuse us?—”
“—you’re welcome to join us, Your Ladyship!” Lady Worsley quickly shooed at a few ladies with her fan, trying desperately to make room at her table. “I—I would hate for you to walk all the way back to your spot without offering some form of refreshment. Please—if only for a moment! I would be a poor hostess if I didn’t at least try.”
Her voice caught in her throat, and she visibly swallowed as the duke’s face remained unchanged. Without a word, he turned and began to walk away, Thalia’s arm still entwined in his while Charlotte offered an apologetic grin. She soon skipped after the pair, and as Thalia glanced over her shoulder, she watched the whole of Lady Worsley’s table seethe quietly at their supposed hostess.
“Wasn’t that fun?” Charlotte asked, and Thalia thought she saw the duke suppress a smile.
Then again, she couldn’t be sure. The next minute, he was a man made of stone. And she was a woman… well, intrigued.