The Mad, Bad Duke by Jennifer Ashley
Susan curtsied again. Though she tried to keep a haughty demeanor as befitted a lady’s maid, her brown eyes held eager excitement and her mouth kept curving into a smile.
Mrs. Caldwell continued. “The footmen in the middle are Brutus, Gaius, and—Oh, I can never remember the other one.”
“Marcus,” Nikolai said helpfully.
“Marcus. Outlandish names for servants, but they are Nvengarian. They speak very little English, except Gaius, who speaks some, but you can make yourself understood with gestures. They are to fetch and carry for you anything you need.”
The three Nvengarians flourished grand bows in Meagan’s direction. Meagan remembered Prince Damien’s very enthusiastic footmen and smiled. “I speak very little Nvengarian and must learn it. I believe we’ll struggle along together.”
Nikolai spoke rapidly behind her, translating. The three footmen, black-haired and blue-eyed and very young, laughed and bowed again. One said something to his fellows, setting them off, and Nikolai laughed behind him. A word from Alexander silenced them all, but she noted the Nvengarians did not look abashed.
Next was another maid who would help Susan with Meagan’s clothes and gloves and ribbons. The two girls eyed each other jealously. Next came an English coachman whose employment would be to drive Meagan in the carriage Alexander had provided, and an English groom, who would take care of her horses and ride out with her. Nikolai, in addition to his valet duties, would help Meagan understand and follow Nvengarian protocol.
Mrs. Caldwell stepped back to her place, the introductions at an end.
The entire line swiveled eyes to Meagan and waited expectantly. Alexander watched her too. She realized after a moment that they wanted her to make a speech.
“Oh, um, well.” Meagan resisted twisting her fingers together like a girl. “It is nice to meet you, and I hope we get along swimmingly.”
They waited, leaning the slightest bit toward her, then blinked when they realized nothing more was coming.
One of the Nvengarian footmen shot his fist into the air and gave a rousing shout. The other two footmen and Nikolai and Dominic joined in the answering shout. They did this five times, loud male voices reverberating from the gilded ceiling. The groom and coachman joined in enthusiastically, but Susan put her hands over her ears, and Mrs. Caldwell openly grimaced.
The first footman thumped his fist to his chest and declared something in a ringing voice. The second and third footmen followed suit.
“What are they saying?”
“That they are proud and honored to serve you,” Alexander said. “That they would die for you.”
She looked up in alarm. “Die for me?”
Alexander gave her a quiet nod. “As is their duty, and their right.”
Nikolai broke in. “We would all gladly die for you.” Beyond him, Dominic nodded silently. “We would lay our bleeding bodies at your feet to show you how much you are honored and adored.”
Mrs. Caldwell looked pained. Alexander traced distracting patterns at the base of Meagan’s spine.
“Oh,” Meagan said. “Oh, dear.”
Supper commenced soon after that, a quiet, simple supper, Mrs. Caldwell explained, showing Meagan the menu. Reading course after course, Meagan wondered what on earth the woman considered an elaborate meal.
She was also expected to change her clothing yet again. She had thought the green silk to be plenty fine for a supper dress, but both Susan and Mrs. Caldwell looked horrified and said it would not do at all. Susan and the other maid bustled her into a shimmering silver silk with a fine black net overdress, and Susan wove a rope of pearls studded with diamonds through Meagan’s hair.
Meagan asked directions to the dining room, which fortunately was simply called “The Dining Room,” and entered to find Alexander waiting for her.
The room was as vast as any other in the house and just as intimidating. Four thick marble pillars soared to the ceiling, and enormous paintings depicted men in Roman dress battling other men in Roman dress. Horses reared and fell in an abundance of horseflesh and blood.
The long dining table stretched beneath the paintings, loaded with silver dishes that matched the silver on the equally enormous sideboard. Eight chairs marched down each side of the table, and gilded armchairs stood at either end.
Alexander, resplendent once more in military coat, medals, and sash, the ruby in his ear winking fire, escorted her to the chair at the far end of the table. The Nvengarian footmen she’d met earlier waited there, and three similarly dressed Nvengarians waited at Alexander’s end.
Alexander pulled out the chair. Meagan sank into it, and two of the Nvengarians shoved it to the table, while the third presented her a napkin over his arm. Alexander let his fingers drift over the back of Meagan’s bared neck, then returned to the other side of the table, where his footmen presented a chair and napkin to him.
Meagan stared in some dismay at the array of cutlery spread before her. Three plates were stacked on top of each other, with several crystal goblets lined up beside them. One of the footmen carefully placed the first course on the top plate, a thin cutlet of fish in some buttery sauce. The footman on the other side, Gaius, lifted one of the forks and handed it to her.
The haughty Montmorency entered, bearing bottles of wine. He handed a bottle to one of Meagan’s footmen, who sloshed a huge amount into the largest of her goblets. At precisely the same time, Alexander’s footman served wine at his end of the table.
Alexander calmly began eating as though the machinations of his servants were in no way unusual. Meagan plucked up a tiny piece of sole with her fork and raised it to her lips. She did not much like fish, but she could hardly scorn the first offering of the very first meal in her new husband’s house.
When she placed the bite of fish into her mouth, a wonderful explosion of flavor burst over her tongue, buttery, savory, salty, and smooth, delicate herbs just setting off the velvet touch of the butter. She closed her eyes and chewed, amazed at the sensations. She’d never tasted such food.
She opened her eyes to see Gaius hovering at her elbow with a huge grin, holding out the goblet of wine. Meagan took the glass from him and sipped, experiencing another savoring moment. The mellow sweetness of the wine nicely offset the fish, the flavors melding perfectly.
“Oh, my,” she said, setting down the goblet. “This food is excellent. Montmorency, please tell Cook.”
The butler raised his brows the slightest bit. “His Grace’s French chef will be pleased to hear the first course is a success.”
Meagan’s face heated. She glanced at Alexander to see what he made of her gaffe, but her husband, far away behind silver serving dishes and candlesticks and crystal, had his attention on his food.
The soup came next, a clear broth served steaming hot in a porcelain bowl. Gaius lifted one of the many spoons and handed it to her with an encouraging smile. All three footmen waited with eager gazes for her to take her first mouthful. The soup, too, was excellent, but Meagan refrained from making any excited statements about it.
It was the most bizarre meal she’d ever had in her life. She and Alexander might have been in different rooms. Each set of servants carried out their tasks without speaking to the others, the only go-between being the butler, who handed out bottles of wine.
At home in Portman Square and Oxfordshire, supper was a lively meal, filled with Simone’s chatter as she related the gossip of the day. Michael would listen with a fond smile; then he and Meagan would discuss things he’d read in his books that he thought would interest her. The table in the Tavistock dining room seated six at most, and that was in a pinch, with everyone’s elbows squeezing each other’s.
The vastness of Alexander’s dining table could have been a desert, the empty chairs marching down each side giving the impression that only ghosts ate there. She imagined skeletal fingers reaching for the fruit bowl and shivered.
As soon as she set down her soup spoon, Gaius whisked the bowl away. In the delay b
“I did not see Lady Anastasia at the wedding,” she said into the silence.
Every head in the room lifted, every pair of Nvengarian eyes fixed on her. The butler stopped in the act of handing the next bottle of wine to Alexander’s footman.
Alexander’s eyes, bluest of all, pinned her down the length of the table. “What did you say?”
Meagan cleared her throat again. “I said, I did not see Lady Anastasia at the wedding.”
Alexander fingered his wineglass, tracing the facets of crystal. “No, she thought it better she stayed away.”
“Pity, I would have liked to speak to her.”
He shook his head. “You should not speak with her.”
“Because everyone believes she is your mistress?” You see, I can be blunt as well.
But her speech hadn’t shocked Alexander. She’d only succeeded in shocking Montmorency, if the choking noises coming from him were any indication.
Alexander lifted the goblet to his lips, taking a swallow of wine. He passed his tongue over his lower lip as he set it down. “Yes.”
“All this intrigue is so difficult.” Meagan sighed.
Alexander raised his eyes again. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, all this—Oh, never mind. This is ridiculous. I cannot even see you, let alone conduct a conversation. Gaius.” She held up her hand, stopping him from setting down a plate of roast beef. “Put my food over there. I am going to sit next to His Grace.” She pointed at the empty space before the chair on Alexander’s right. Gaius stared in the direction and stared back at her, mouth open.
“I want to move,” she repeated, raising her voice. She started to stand, but the other two footmen, Marcus and Brutus, pushed her back down.
Alexander growled a few words in Nvengarian. The footmen serving him broke away and headed down the table to Meagan. The butler backed against the sideboard as they went by, holding his bottle of wine against his chest.
“Wait a moment,” Meagan said as all six footmen bore down on her. “For heaven’s sake—”
She broke off with a squeak as two of the footmen lifted the chair with her still in it and half galloped with it down the length of the table. Marcus moved the chair next to Alexander out of the way, and the other two set her gently down in the place she’d requested. Gaius led the others in bringing every piece of porcelain, crystal, and silver from the end of the table to swiftly place them in front of her.
Before she could even draw a breath, Gaius laid the meat in sauce, undisturbed from its journey, in front of her.
“Well.” She glanced at Alexander, who had calmly continued his meal throughout the move. “Perhaps tomorrow night we might save trouble by setting my place here from the beginning.”
Alexander lifted his goblet and sipped more of the Nvengarian wine, his throat moving as he swallowed. “We will dine out tomorrow. There is a ball at the house of the French ambassador.”
“Oh.”
“Mrs. Caldwell will provide you with a schedule.”
“A schedule.”
“She and Mr. Edwards have been tasked to tell you which clothes to wear and to make certain that you get into your carriage and arrive on time.”
Meagan poked tiny holes in her slab of roast. “My carriage? Will we not go together?”
He shook his head. “Not always. My tasks might not permit me to return home before my evening obligations. I have rooms at my club to use when necessary. And sometimes, we will attend different events. When two functions coincide, you will represent me at one while I attend the other.”
“Represent you?” She swallowed.
“I will instruct you in what you need to do.”
“Alexander—”
His gaze lingered on the pearls and diamonds in her hair, then slid to where the net and silver dress skimmed her bosom. “You will do well.”
She let out a breath. “I vow, if you had told me all this before the wedding, I might have fled screaming into the night.”
“I would have come after you and brought you back.” His voice held dark tones.
He would have, she understood that. She shivered a little under his gaze, which held an undercurrent of determination. He wanted her, the look said, and he’d go to any lengths to have her. He was like one of the new steam machines—he determined his course and plunged on without stopping. Steam engines would take over the world, her father predicted. Alexander could, too.
“You ought to have married Lady Anastasia,” she said. “She must understand all this.”
“I did not want to marry Lady Anastasia. I wanted to marry you.”
He did not look at her, but his voice carried conviction. She blushed and busied herself cutting a bite of meat.
It too was delicious, the velvety sauce spiced with just a hint of pepper.
“Is there any salt?” She glanced about for a caster or bowl, but there were so many silver pieces on the table she could not tell what was what. She glanced at her three footmen, who were poised, ready to get what she wanted, but they obviously did not understand her.
“Alexander,” she hissed, “what is salt in Nvengarian?”
“Pesch,” he answered, cutting his meat.
She looked at the footmen and gestured at the silver dishes. “Pesch,” she repeated. “I want pesch.”
The footmen froze. They exchanged an amazed glance, then their heads swiveled on stiff necks to look first at Alexander, then at Meagan.
Alexander stopped eating and raised his blue eyes to her. The moment hovered.
Then a snort burst from Gaius’s mouth. Before Meagan could ask what he meant by it, all the footmen were roaring with laughter. They hung on to each other and whooped.
Meagan’s face heated. “Did I say it wrong?”
“Not exactly.” Alexander’s voice was calm but mirth danced in his eyes. “But you asked them for a penis.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Meagan gasped in horror. “I most certainly did not.”
“I told you to say pesch,” Alexander said. “You said pesche.”
She stared at him. “I cannot hear the difference. You are making this up.”
He took another quiet sip of wine. “Nvengarian has many nuances that are difficult for the English to grasp.”
“Which you might have mentioned before I attempted it, you horrible man.” She glared at the footmen who were holding their stomachs, tears leaking from their eyes. “Stop that!”
Alexander touched her hand, his fingertips warm. “In Nvengaria, we laugh only at those we hold in great affection. Fear and reticence is not a compliment.”
She wondered suddenly if it bothered him that so many men feared him. Perhaps his footmen laughing at his wife’s blunder was a good sign.
“Well, you will have to teach me better pronunciation if I am to be the Grand Duchess,” she said. “What happens when I am at a banquet for Prince Damien and accidentally ask someone to pass me a—you know?”
Alexander’s hot blue gaze fixed on her. “I imagine most gentlemen at the table would be willing to oblige you.”
Her entire body warmed, his touch stirring the tendrils of the love spell. “You should not say such things. I am certain they would simply make a joke of your silly wife.”
He leaned closer, medals clinking. The footmen had recovered themselves somewhat, but they still smirked and broke into the occasional chuckle. Meagan felt the tethers of the spell close on her, and from the dark look in Alexander’s eyes, he did as well.
“The last thing any Nvengarian gentleman will do is laugh,” he said. “I am certain you will have plenty of choices for your paramours. That is something else we need to discuss. I believe you will intend to be discreet, but there are rules to follow that you may not know of.”
She stared back at him, her forkful of spicy meat hovering above her plate. “I have no idea what you mean. What are you saying?”
He was perfectly serious. Meagan laid down her fork, her body stilling in shock. The Nvengarian footmen continued to hover, waiting to whisk away plates and serve more food and wine. They didn’t understand enough English to follow along, and Montmorency, thank heavens, was too far away and absorbed in his bottles of wine to hear.
“Alexander, are you saying you expect me to cuckold you?” she hissed. “That I will take lovers and break my vows and behave like—like Deirdre Braithwaite?”
Alexander answered in the neutral, reasonable tone that made Meagan’s hands curl into fists. “I am a powerful and wealthy man, and you are a beautiful woman. It is inevitable that gentlemen will dance attendance upon you and natural that you will single out one or more for your attentions. It is the sort of thing that happens in the circle you have entered.”
Meagan recalled his blunt admissions that his first wife had taken lovers and that he’d done so himself from time to time for physical relief. He was calmly assuming that Meagan would do the same.
His quiet words brought the emotions that had been curdling inside her all day into sudden boiling rage. She turned to the butler, her eyes burning.
“Montmorency,” she said in a clear voice. “Take the footmen out. I wish to speak to His Grace in private.”
Alexander did the brow lift again, but he gave Montmorency a nod when the butler looked at him questioningly. Montmorency clapped his hands and said loudly to the Nvengarians, “Come along, you lot.”