My Last Duchess, стр. 22
She’d said no.
Ophelia meant it too.
Marie had flirted with him, but from the moment they met, she’d been as interested as he. After that, it was a matter of mating.He’d flaunted his dukedom and his body, just the way Fitzy, the young peacock at Lindow Castle, spread his tail. Marie hadpretended to run away, enjoying every moment of the game.
They had been young and beautiful. He had already inherited the title, feeling no true grief for the father he had barelyknown. She had been the treasured eldest child of a marquess, and had excelled at everything she chose to do—including marriage.
Marie had been amazingly precious to him, partly because she was so direct, so uncomplicated. She was a child of laughterand joy who loved him, and loved their children.
Ophelia was far more complex. She had grieved and was still mourning, unless he was wrong. She had faced life alone—in morethan one way. She and her husband had been partners, but not soul mates. Not the way he and Marie had been.
That thought made his heart ache for her.
But she didn’t need or want his pity.
Somewhere in that conversation he’d gone badly wrong. He was banished from the house, and his chance of winning her hand haddiminished.
Think as hard as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on what he had said wrong.
In the morning, the young footman returned his clothing, immaculately cleaned and pressed. His sword made an appearance aswell, and Hugo buckled it on without inquiring how the coachman explained possession of the duke’s weapon.
Fiddle ushered him into a charming breakfast room and informed him that Her Ladyship always broke bread with her daughterin the morning. One of Lady Astley’s carriages was at his disposal, and Fiddle would order it to return His Grace to the Lindowtownhouse after the meal.
Ophelia must be in the nursery. Hugo would be damned if he’d leave without saying goodbye.
He finished the meal without haste, talking to Fiddle of this and that, learning far more of the household than the butlerimagined he had revealed. Ophelia’s eggs were brought from her country house, as was her meat, “and as much produce as LadyAstley deems practical,” the butler said, more than a hint of pride in his voice.
Fiddle was brother to Ophelia’s coachman in that: Bisquet had made it clear that he was proud to serve his mistress, and hewould lay down his life to protect her.
Hugo’s servants were loyal too. His butler, Prism, was devoted to the duchy and his position as head butler of several estates.In fact, most of the servants were proud of being part of the duchy. They enjoyed wearing his livery.
Ophelia was not only complicated; she had built a life for herself that he would be hard-pressed to match. No one knew betterthan he that the life of a duke or duchess could be a tedious, even lonely one.
Everything he did was considered interesting. If he went to chapel, by the time the service ended, there would be a throngof people outside, waiting for him to throw alms, or simply gawking at his clothing.
At his carriage.
At his children.
Could he subject Ophelia to that much scrutiny? He looked around him. The breakfast room was painted pale green, and plasterarabesques covered the ceiling. Every piece of furniture was exquisite, and each spoke to Ophelia’s taste.
In contrast, Lindow Castle was a hodgepodge, a huge, sprawling mélange of towers and wings, with secret passageways, suitsof armor, dusty tapestries, endless staircases.
A stuffed alligator resided in the drawing room, and the family peacock screamed warnings at any time of day or night.
Marie had been raised to be a member of the peerage. She hadn’t blinked an eye at miles of bookshelves, tottering retainersgrown old in service to the duchy, fourteen sets of china.
But Ophelia?
She had created a home for her daughter: a beautiful, graceful place.
His heart settled like a stone. He couldn’t do this to her. She might come to blame him, perhaps even to hate him. He hadbeen spoiled by the fact that Marie had instantly responded to his proposal with enthusiasm—but also by the fact that shehad been raised to be a duchess.
Her mother had accompanied her to the castle and lived there for the first six months of their married life, making certainthat her daughter successfully took over the household. Marie had dived into everything with joy and was never happier thanwhen she announced she was carrying a child a month after their wedding (in truth, she must have carried Horatius up the aisle,which spoke to their mutual enthusiasm about the marriage).
By contrast, Ophelia was enthusiastic about bedding, but not about him. He frowned, not sure what happened . . . Hadn’t they discussed being friends? He didn’t want to be friends with her.
He wanted to be her husband.
But now he had the idea that she didn’t even wish to be friends.
In the end, he didn’t storm the nursery. He sent his gratitude by way of her butler, accepting Fiddle’s explanation that LadyAstley never received callers before noon.
He returned to his townhouse and fell blindly into the work involved in running one of the largest duchies in all England.He went to the House of Lords. He went to court, registering that Ophelia would probably loathe such pomp and circumstance.Or would she? He hardly knew her. He went to the opera at Covent Garden, noticing how every member of the audience swiveledhis or her head when he entered the Lindow box.
He put on his pink suit and went to another ball. He danced with an eligible daughter of a marquess, who giggled and toldhim that she loved kittens more than life itself. He translated kittens into children, bowed, and walked off without anotherglance.
Next he danced with the Dowager Countess of Webbel, who told him, in so many words, that she was too old for children. Shecast condescending looks in all directions when he danced with her for the second time, and then