“Aye, but you, my lord, as her husband, would stretch it to beautiful.”
“Would I? I wonder. You’ve tricked her out well, Maggie. You may leave us now.”
“Just a moment, my lord,” Maggie said with oblivious disregard of the fact that the earl himself had dismissed her. “Let me put this lovely shawl over her shoulders. It’s fair cool at night and I won’t want her to catch a chill. There, Duchess. You look bloody fine now. I approve.”
“Thank you, Maggie. Please don’t wait up for me.”
Maggie just nodded, then, to Marcus’s utter astonishment, she winked at him, then walked out of the bedchamber, all the while touching and patting that flaming red hair of hers.
“Where the devil did you find her?” he asked, staring in bemusement at the now closing door.
“Badger did, in Portsmouth. She found him, actually. She saved him from being run down by a mail coach. I needed a maid and she needed a position. It seems she was between acting jobs. That’s what she is, you know, an actress. Actually, she is very competent and I find her amusing.”
“She winked at me!”
“Well, she’s never been a maid before. She was probably quite used to men looking at her and admiring her, perhaps even more. Perhaps she forgot herself for a moment and was seeing you as a possible leading man in a play.”
More like a possible protector, Marcus thought, but said aloud, shaking his head, “Jesus. The countess of Chase has an actress for a personal maid.” He added with a grin, “I will admit she does have panache.”
He’d actually referred to her as the countess. She felt something hopeful sprout in her, but then he turned away from her and began pacing the floor.
“You shouldn’t allow her to call you Duchess. Surely it’s an impertinence.” This observation he tossed over his shoulder. “Everyone calls you Duchess. You’re not Duchess, you’re a countess, you’re a my lady.”
“I don’t really care,” she said, watching him closely. “How is your wounded arm?”
“What? Oh, my arm. It’s fine. Actually, it still gets a bit sore if I use it too much.”
“And your ribs?”
He looked at her now, stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs spread, and just looked down at her. He was so big. She knew he was trying to intimidate her, but how could he when she’d known him since he was fourteen years old? As she recalled, to a nine-year-old girl, he’d been overpowering even then. “What is this? Wifely concern?”
“I suppose so.”
“My ribs are well again.”
“That’s good.”
“I met Trevor. He was riding Clancy. He looked like a bloody centaur.”
She smiled, actually smiled, more than one of her meager little liftings of the corners of her mouth, and he knew she knew he’d made a complete and utter ass of himself. He persevered. “Trevor is still a wretched dandy’s name.”
“Perhaps, but he is a man with nothing at all effete about him. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, dammit. It’s ridiculous to pin such a ridiculous name on a man who is my size.”
“Yes, but right now, I really don’t care.” She paused a moment at the surprised look on his face, then said, “It’s good to see you, Marcus. I was hoping you would come here.”
“I hadn’t intended to, but, well—” He shrugged, and for a moment, she would have sworn he looked vastly uncomfortable, even embarrassed.
“Regardless, I’m glad you’re here. Your Aunt Wilhelmina is a difficult woman, a puzzle really. Your young cousin Ursula is very nice, I’m sure you realized that when you met her this morning in the garden. James is my age, perhaps a bit older, and I have no idea what he’s like. The look on his face is decidedly morose. Something is wrong there. As you saw for yourself, Trevor is quite a lovely man. He’s kind.”
“What do you mean he’s ‘lovely’?”
“He’s big and very strong and handsome.”
“I want you to watch what you say around him, be certain not to be overly friendly. He might try to take advantage of you. You’re very innocent and he is not.”
“I’m a wife now, surely I’m not all that innocent.”