Читать книгу A Princely Dilemma - Elizabeth Rolls - Страница 6

His best. Severn contemplated that as he entered his Grosvenor Square mansion three hours later, and handed his hat, gloves and cane to the butler. ‘Thank you, Blythe. Have brandy sent to the library, if you please.’

After his meeting with the prince he needed it. His best had not been anywhere near good enough. His Royal Highness showed absolutely no sign of being capable of listening to reason where the Princess Caroline was concerned—it was the king’s fault in pressing for a marriage, Malmesbury’s fault for not realising how unsuitable the woman was and getting him out of the match gracefully but instead bringing her to England, the princess’s fault for being so utterly repellent!

‘She reeked, Severn! Simply reeked. And all Malmesbury—blast his impudence!—could do when I positively begged for brandy—I felt faint, Severn, faint!—was bleat that I’d better have a glass of water!’

In the library Severn stared at the portrait of his father, resplendent in the silks and lace of his generation, an angel of ill-fortune, looming over the chimneypiece. ‘What a mess,’ he said. ‘Why the hell do fathers have to interfere in the marital decisions of their sons?’ He sank into the chair at his desk and buried his face in his hands.

His head snapped up again as a throat cleared in a very pointed sort of way.

Oh, hell!

His wife, having clearly just arisen from the wing chair facing the window, stood, book in hand, her expression unreadable, but her chin tilted just a little higher than normal. His heart kicked at the sight of her, but he kept his expression indifferent. Perhaps she hadn’t quite heard. It wasn’t as if he’d been speaking loudly.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord duke. I did not hear you enter. I hope you do not mind if I borrow your book?’ Her voice was quite even, not the least sign that she realised she had just heard herself comprehensively insulted.

‘They are your books now too.’ He looked at the one she was holding. ‘What are you reading?’

‘Goethe.’

‘What?’

‘You object?’

‘Of course not! I just didn’t know you could read German.’

‘And French, and Italian.’

She was better educated in that respect than he was. ‘An accomplished wife.’

‘As you wished. Or so I thought.’

Oh, damn. She had heard.

‘You will excuse me?’ She started for the door, her deportment perfect, correct in every particular.

‘Madam…’ He rose, went towards her, hands held out. ‘Linette, I did not mean—’

She changed course, quickening her step and skirting his outstretched hands. The slight hint of panic in her step, the sharply indrawn breath, halted him as nothing else could have. ‘No matter, sir. Fathers can be inconvenient creatures, I am sure. Good day.’ She reached the door and was through it in a froth of muslin skirts.

Returning to his chair, he dropped his head back into his hands and swore. He hadn’t even thought that she might be in here. Women were supposed to prefer drawing rooms to libraries, weren’t they? But his new duchess loved books, judging by the pile she kept beside her bed, and he had politely made her free of the library when he brought her home yesterday. At least it had been his wife, rather than a maid dusting. Although he wasn’t entirely sure which would be worse—the servants’ inevitable gossip, or his bride’s stony face over the dinner table.

Dinner… Oh, hell! It was Easter Sunday; they’d invited his immediate family, and her grandmother, for dinner. It might have been possible to speak with her, apologise, over dinner if it were just the two of them. He would have no hesitation in dismissing the footmen and dining alone with her. Impossible with guests. He’d have to speak with her before dinner.