Читать книгу Veronica - Nattie Jones - Страница 6

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.

I was taken to a house in the country: warm and friendly, with flowers everywhere. My bags were carried in, and I was escorted to a sitting room. As soon as I was announced, I curtsied.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady—” I stumbled. I flushed. I knew she was married to an Earl, but I could not think of which town. My eyes slid to see if the butler would provide a proper introduction, but he had disappeared, assuming, I supposed, that we were already known to each other. I did not wish to offend the Countess upon our first meeting. I could feel my face burn with embarrassment, and I suddenly realized how drab a dress I wore in comparison to the Countess.

She greeted me as she would a sister. “Georgette! You must call me Georgette! We are as sisters, now!”

She hugged me, and I tried to receive it gracefully.

When I took a seat, I folded my hands in my lap, exactly as I had when I'd been interviewing for a position as lady’s companion, two years earlier. I was certain I should say something, but I could think of nothing. I had accompanied Lady Bridget on many social occasions, and now I realized how little I had paid attention. I preferred the fantasies in my head to my reality.

“Oh my dear sister,” she gushed. “You look positively worn out from the journey. I will show you to your room.”

I stared at her in shock. Certainly she would not show me herself, but she was standing and preparing to do just so. I really wanted to know if she resented me, if she thought her brother's choice peculiar, if she suspected the worst of me, if she thought the whole situation odd. I wanted to know if she knew of the secret circumstances that had compelled the Duke to propose to me.

I stared at her sweet smile, her kind eyes and her pretty blond hair, and realized I would never know these answers. If perhaps she thought me a terrible choice, she would never say so outright. It made me uncomfortable and far more uncertain than if she had been cold to me or if she had given me a scolding until I was compelled to cry.

I think I responded to her, but I couldn't remember. I followed her to my room, and once left, I collapsed on the bed in mental exhaustion.

What girl does not dream of marrying a rich Duke? But my fantasies had never mentioned the difficulties. Confronted with the first person that knew of the engagement, I felt every word I uttered and everything I did could be taken as proof that I was not of the right sort.

I went to the mirror and stared at my dress. It was a drab sort of yellow. My allowance from Lady Bridget had not been generous. I believed she would have been more generous once she married: she had always seemed afraid I would outshine her. She had taken some care to choose a woman she thought plain, and she had succeeded in me. I had once done my hair in a fashion like hers, in the hopes of appearing more respectable for her. The rage she'd flown into had taught me my plainness was more desirable than my respectability.

It was ironic: I had never imagined her fears had any root in reality. I felt, in some way, that I had betrayed her. I would not have been in the Duke's manor at all, if not for Lady Bridget. And now I was marrying the catch of the peerage. I'd been fascinated by her for the first year, and gradually I'd grown more careful and more guarded. I had not liked being what she wanted, but I was dependent on her allowance.

After I dressed for dinner, I had gathered my confidence to me like a crutch. Every time I felt inferior to the Countess, I reminded myself that she could one day be dependent on my charity, should her circumstances drastically deteriorate. I reminded myself she was younger than I was.

I even convinced myself that it was my job to put her at ease. I could not wholly delude myself, but I did manage to converse with Georgette throughout dinner.

When we were alone, after dinner, she turned to me with enthusiasm. “My brother told me no details. Please, you must tell me everything.”

I must have looked shocked, because an expression of uncertainty passed over her face.

“We are sisters now. I've always wanted a sister. Do you have a sister?”

This was an easier question to answer. “Yes, her name is Sarah. She is married to a clergyman.”

Georgette fluttered a hand to her heart, as if this was the most romantic thing she'd ever heard. “My husband is not much concerned with me. He was pleased with me after I bore our son, but now he spends much time in London.” She crinkled her nose. “I have hopes he will return today or tomorrow.”

She stared out the window, and then her attention suddenly snapped to me. “But my brother will not be like that, I promise you. He is most attentive to his sister and his cousins, and he will be to you, too.” She spoke in a tone that suggested she would scold him soundly if I ever reported otherwise.

I laughed more loudly than a lady should, and she grinned all the wider. I really liked her, and for a moment, I wished I could be her lady's companion and not Lady Bridget's. But then I remembered I was no one's lady's companion.

Would I hire a lady's companion?

What a startling thought.

I realized Georgette was looking at me shyly, as if she very much wanted me to agree to something she was about to ask.

“My brother has suggested we go to London so you could be outfitted for new dresses, but there is a dressmaker in town who is a dear. She makes the most beautiful dresses, and everyone always thinks I go to Paris for them.” She paused. “She apprenticed in London, but her mother is very ill, so she will not return.”

I thought better of Georgette. “I will be happy to go wherever you like.”

At that moment, a man entered. Georgette jumped up and greeted him with enthusiasm, and I was certain this was her husband. He looked twice her age, quite a bit older than the Duke.

I stood, and Georgette introduced us.

“This is my husband, Lord Riverchurch, but you must call him Michael. He is your brother now.”

I curtsied as she introduced me as “Miss Veronica Bridges.”

He frowned. “Bridges?” he asked, as if trying to place the name.

“Sir Thomas,” I said. “He has passed on.”

“And how were you introduced to the Duke?” He spoke so severely, his disapproval was clear. Had he heard some gossip and returned to his wife in order to protect her from me? Or protect the Duke from his rash proposal?

I did not dare address him as Michael, in spite of Georgette's invitation. “I was Lady Bridget's companion, my Lord.”

His eyebrow lifted. Just the one eyebrow. I realized I was holding my breath. As he surveyed me, I tried to breathe normally, but I felt like the effort it cost me was visible. I braved a glance at Georgette to see if she also disapproved.

She was smiling as if nothing was amiss, as if her husband was not glaring at me, as if the room was not thick with tension, as if everything was grand. She seemed so happy to see this stern, serious, disapproving man that I had to take a second look at him to see if I had missed some kindness or charity in him.

I curtsied. I thanked them and begged tiredness, then excused myself. I ran away. It was not my proudest moment.

I was anything but tired: my heart was beating so fast my chest hurt. I made my way up the stairs and nearly knocked over a maid. She looked startled and immediately turned to face the wall as I passed.

“Please forgive me,” I said.

She turned and looked at me. When I said nothing else, she curtsied and said, “Yes, mum.” Her gaze went past my shoulder, and I turned to see what she was looking at. Lord Riverchurch frowned up at us, and the maid hurriedly turned to the wall again. I continued up to my room.

It was very late when I heard muffled cries from far away. I sat up in bed. It was not my home, so I told myself to return to sleep. But trying not to listen made my ears strain all the more. Perhaps I would peak out in the hallway. I put on my robe and stole to the doorway.

I pushed the door open just a crack. The candles were still lit in the hallway, and the sounds drifted from the right.

It was a spanking.

I had never heard a spanking before, but still the sound was unmistakable. The sound of a hand slapping flesh was something I had only imagined, but I had been accurate. The crying was hearty and unembarrassed.

My breathing sped up, and I felt very hot. I was compelled down the hallway. Was a servant being reprimanded? So noisily? Certainly such a thing would be done outside of the family's hearing. I snuck down the hallway until I came to an office. A girl with black hair, possibly the same I had tripped over on the staircase, was bent over the desk, receiving a spanking from Lord Riverchurch.

I had been incorrect: it was not a hand I heard slapping flesh, it was a small paddle of some sort. She cried as if brokenhearted, pleading and begging for mercy and grace. Her dress slipped down, covering the top of one of her cheeks, and he stopped.

He carefully arranged her dress up on her back and out of the way. I suddenly realized I was standing directly in the doorway. I stilled, praying I would not be seen.

He raised the paddle again, then splatted it across her bottom. I tried to feel pity, to feel guilt for getting her in trouble, but the sight of the paddling was engaging. Each stroke of the paddle caused her to cry more heartily, more honestly. Her bottom bloomed red under his attentions, as if burnt by standing too close to a fire. No matter how hard he struck her bottom, she stayed in position, letting him paddle her as he willed.

For a moment, I wished with all my heart to be her.

I moved back into the shadows, gripping the robe at my throat. He turned at my movement, strode over to me.

I panicked. “I knocked her over. It was my fault. Please don't punish her.”

He smiled a little. “Are you offering to take her place?”

Something in my stomach jerked, and I knew that if the Duke had offered such a thing, I would have taken him up on it instantly. I pressed my lips together and looked away, afraid my strange feelings could be seen in my eyes.

“It is not your doing,” he said. “A follower of hers was found sneaking on the grounds tonight. Followers are not allowed.”

It was an impossible rule. If servant girls never had followers, they would never marry and leave service. The ways of the world were often bound with rules so tight it made living impossible unless you broke them. He tapped the paddle impatiently on his hand. I instantly imagined it smacking across my seat.

He gave me a stiff bow. “I am sorry I woke you, Miss Veronica Bridges.”

He took my leave and pulled the door shut, leaving me still standing there in astonishment. I collapsed against the wall feeling hot and feverish. Why was the master of the house taking care of such a matter, and not the butler? Putting my hand to my chest, I tried to control my breathing. Another door opened, and I feared to look.

Georgette rushed to my side.

“Did he wake you? Please, I am so sorry. My husband is not the brute he seems. You look afraid. You have nothing to fear, I promise. You won't tell my brother we were inhospitable, will you?”

I shook my head, let her escort me back to my room. When I was once again settled in bed, I wondered if I would ever cry with such abandon. I wondered if I wanted to cry with such abandon. Would the Duke ever spank me in earnest? A real punishment?

I had enjoyed the feel of his crop across my hand and hoped we would repeat the game.

But now I longed for something else: I longed to be punished so that I did not enjoy it, so that I could not control my tears, so that the pain overwhelmed me and wiped all my thoughts away.

What would that feel like?

And how could I want so badly to not want something I wanted? I lay awake for a long time, my attempts to unravel the riddle futile. I drifted in and out of fuzzy sleep as I imagined the Duke paddling me until I cried just as the maid had. Something in me relaxed at the thought, and I finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.