Veronica. Nattie JonesЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter 2

      The morning brought bright light and reason to my situation. A maid knocked at my door. After a little bob, she told me my carriage was ready.

      “Did your master leave me a note?” I asked.

      “No, mum.”

      I wanted to ask where the carriage would be taking me, but what kind of lady did not know where she was going? I insisted on carrying my bag, but the maid flushed as if I had reprimanded her. I followed her in silence.

      A weathered, friendly man greeted me at the carriage. “Good morning, Ma’am!”

      I tried to think of way to ask where we were going without seeming like I did not know of my own destination. “How long will the journey take?”

      “We should arrive just after noon.” He threw my bag on top and held the door open for me.

      The inside of the carriage gleamed. The wood was smooth and polished, and the seats were plush, red velvet. I accidentally let out a giggle, then glanced at the driver to see his reaction.

      “It's beautiful,” I said.

      He beamed with pride. “Polished it just this morning, master's orders!”

      I climbed in and tried to imagine how a proper lady would react. She would take such things for granted. In fact, Lady Bridget would have been quick to scold if the carriage had not been prepared properly. This luxury should feel like a matter of course, I told myself. A norm, something I was entitled to.

      The thought alone made me grimace with a guilt I did not understand. As we drove away from the manor, I considered that I knew nothing of being a Duchess. I was a lady's companion, a poor sort holding on to gentility with my fingernails. It would be easier for a servant girl to find a man than for one of my sort.

      I ran my hand over the soft fabric of the seat and reminded myself I was engaged.

      Was I, though? It had been secret, and he had told no one. I had told no one. The Duke had only to laugh and say I was mad, and all would be certain of my madness.

      Perhaps I was engaged, or perhaps I would not be. I had always hoped for adventure, for something to come along and completely alter the course of my life, but I had never considered the risk and uncertainty such change would bring. After my parents had died, I had secretly fantasized of some rich uncle suddenly appearing to see after my sister and me, to provide a dowry and clothes and something more than a life of not-quite-gentry and not-quite-servant.

      But fantasies are fantasies and should be expected to remain as such.

      I told myself that if I did not like where the driver stopped, I could order him to take me to my cousin's. I wondered, too, if I would be welcome, or if whoever would be informed of my pending arrival. How could I explain, if they were not informed?

      I leaned back and finally observed the countryside rolling by. We were still on the Duke's estate, with its expansive, rolling land. There was nothing so tall as a hill: the land tumbled up and down in mini-valleys and small mounds. The sunlight had not yet pierced the morning fog that hovered over it all, giving the illusion of flatness beneath.

      I pulled my cloak around my shoulders against a shiver.

      I heard a shout, a pounding of hooves. I peered out the small window as best as I was able, and the Duke himself was chasing the carriage on horseback. I giggled. I laughed. And then I blushed, even though something in me was pleased.

      Then I admonished myself. Perhaps he was only chasing me because I had been shown to the wrong carriage. The carriage rocked to a halt, and he wrenched the door open.

      I was trying not to smile, trying to look serious, trying to hide my blush. I couldn't look at him, and my throat swelled with awkwardness.

      “This is how you leave me? No goodbye? No stolen kiss?”

      I had to turn away from him to hide my grin at the last question. He grabbed my chin and forced my face so that it was vulnerable to his gaze.

      I managed to control my grin before he saw it. I schooled my face into an expression of displeasure. “Your maid whisked me down to the carriage, and now I am being taken to parts unknown. You left me no note, sent me no message.”

      He seemed surprised. “I told you I would send you to my sister, Georgette.”

      I bit my lip. “And what will I tell her when I arrive?”

      He grabbed my hand and turned it over, tracing lines across my palm. The welts from last night were gone, and I realized I was as disappointed as he was, if his expression was any indication. I reached out and touched his riding crop.

      We exchanged a smile of such easy intimacy, it surprised me. Without words, he knew my longing and I knew his desire. I relaxed into our mutual understanding, until I remembered the differences between us. He was a Duke; I was a lady's companion. I turned away.

      “You still don't trust me,” he said, almost sadly. “I have sent a messenger ahead. My sister will welcome you, I promise.”

      I shook my head. “I wouldn't know how to be a Duchess.”

      “For years, you have sat at the side of those who would be a Duchess. You know everything they do.”

      His horse whinnied impatiently.

      “Just tell me why. Something must have happened. You did not wake up yesterday thinking to propose to a lady's companion.”

      “I've watched you all season,” he tried.

      If he had, I would have noticed. What does a lady's companion do but watch everyone else at their fun? I frowned at him.

      He sighed, relenting. “Does it matter? You are not expecting true love, are you?”

      I flushed as if he had called me foolish. I shook my head.

      “You will be Duchess. You will have the means to indulge every material thing you could desire. Why do you need to know why?”

      “If I understand why, then perhaps I can trust you.”

      He held my hand, his thumb still absently rubbing my palm. He brought it up to his lips and kissed the center of my palm.

      “I will visit, Miss Veronica Bridges, the soon-to-be Duchess of Durhamshire.” His eyes twinkled. Before I could object to his avoidance of my question, he closed the carriage door, stepped away and ordered the driver onward. He stood at the side of the road, waving the carriage off.

      I could not be upset with him. Something in me made me want to giggle at him like a silly schoolgirl. He stood, rooted to the spot, waving me off for near ten minutes. Even when we were so far away that he was only a tiny speck, still he stood, watching me go.

      I wondered if he knew how odd that was. I had never been seen off. Not even my own sister waved me off. I suspected she feared her husband found me attractive, which accounted for her always being glad to be rid of me. Or perhaps it was just the financial burden I caused.

      With a tentative hand, I touched my lips. I was still smiling. I did not think I had stopped smiling all morning.

      Another new experience.