Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“It has been a great deal of change in a short time,” I agreed, meeting Lydia’s gaze in the looking glass. “I do so wish you would have joined us at the wedding breakfast, if not the church, however.”
“Your situation has changed greatly, and whilst mine has as well, I am still a humble lady’s maid,” Lydia said, plucking the last of the pins free and allowing my hair to fall in heavy waves down my back. “I must remember my position here at Wheaton and not reach above myself.”
“It isn’t reaching when you are invited to do so,” I pointed out. “You are my oldest, dearest friend, Lydia.”
“And you are mine, but you are also my employer now. We aren’t chambermaids sleeping in a dreary attic garret any longer.” Lydia had taken up a comb and was working it through the ends of my hair.
“I am your friend above all else,” I countered sternly. “Perhaps if you would allow me to speak with Lord Wheaton on your behalf, we could arrange for you to find a husband of your own. I could find a different lady’s maid to assist me.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Lydia laid down the comb, frowning at me. “His lordship has already been far too generous, taking me into his household and giving me this situation after I stole away from Cliffwood.”
She was not wrong; the marquess had exhibited a munificence that I was certain no lord would show a mere maid. But he had done so because of my affection for Lydia and because he was an honorable man who genuinely cared in a way that few others did.
Still, though I was more than familiar with the fierce boundaries of our world, I couldn’t help but to find it unjust that my dear friend should be my lady’s maid while I became a marchioness. During our many nights in the garret room, Lydia and I had shared our hopes and wishes for our futures. I knew she wished for a husband and family of her own just as I had, and I also understood how impossible it would be for her to achieve if she remained my lady’s maid.
I sighed. “I don’t like it, Lydia. Why should I be a marchioness whilst you remain a servant?”
“Because you have always been a lady,” Lydia told me gently. “You’re the daughter of a baron. I was born to this life. You weren’t. You mustn’t think that I am unhappy with my lot. I am more than contented to be your lady’s maid. Wheaton is a wonderful place, and everyone here is happy and treated well, the opposite of Cliffwood.”
She finished with my hair and began tidying up the hairpins and combs. “Now, no more fretting about me on your own wedding day.”
Her words were just the reminder I needed of what this day truly meant. I was a wife now. But in name only. Perhaps that would change soon.
I was already dressed for bed, wearing a fine night rail that Constance had gifted me, along with the beautiful gown I had worn for the wedding earlier that morning. My stomach quickened as I thought of what was to come.
Would Wheaton visit me after Lydia left me for the evening? Did I want him to?
The answer to the latter question was—to my shame—a resounding yes. I was more attracted to the marquess than ever.
I bit my lip as I watched my friend finishing her duties. “Do you think his lordship will regret marrying me, Lydia?”
“Not for a moment,” my friend hastened to reassure me. “Now, if there isn’t anything else you need, I ought to leave you to your time with his lordship.”
I swallowed hard. “There’s nothing else. Thank you, my dear friend.”
Lydia bustled about and then took her leave from the chamber I had been moved to, which adjoined the marquess’s. The marchioness’s room, as Mrs. Dougall had informed me this afternoon, telling me that his lordship had given me leave to decorate it as I liked. The room was already fine, and I was so overwhelmed as I first entered it that I hadn’t been capable of thinking of one thing I would alter.
I paced the thick Axminster now, aware of every sound, from the crackle of the low fire banked in the hearth to the light lashing of rain on the windowpanes beyond. I didn’t have long to wait. A firm knock on the shared door between our chambers told me that the marquess had arrived.
“Come,” I called, relieved when my voice emerged with far more confidence than I felt.
The door opened, and there on the threshold, clad in a dark, billowing banyan, was the man I had married that morning.
My husband.
ALEXANDER
I regarded Madeleine—my wife—from the doorway. She was a vision, her night rail a gossamer wisp of silk surrounding her, fine embroidery decorating the soft fabric. Her glorious hair was unbound, hanging in ribbons of dark waves down her back. I felt my body stir and my cock thicken at the mere sight of her. I wanted to take, to claim. To make her mine.