The Duchess and the Dragon (29 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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He sat down beside her, gathering her cold hands into his. “Thou wilt make a wonderful duchess. Quaker or not, Serena, you are my wife and I love you. You must come with me, take your place in the world at my side. I will guide you.”
“But . . . how does one be a duchess? Drake—” she stopped alarmed. “May I still call thee Drake? Is there some special address I should be using?”
Drake laughed. She was so delightful. “Of course you may call me Drake. Others will address us both as ‘your grace,’ but family and close friends use first names.” He gathered her into his arms. “You have no idea how wonderful it will be. I have seen your world . . . now let me show you mine.” He leaned back to look into her eyes. “Serena, trust me in this. Let me show you my world.”
Something inside her said no, that this was wrong. But he looked so happy . . . and she hadn’t seen that look very often, nearly never. She found that she would do anything to make it permanent.
Even ignore the counsel of her heart.
Chapter Twenty
LONDON
Ow!”
Serena jerked as a pin stuck the delicate skin of her wrist. She stood, precariously balanced on a three-legged stool, while seamstresses swarmed about her. A “fitting” they called it. Serena wondered if the flames of hell would come now or later. Such decadence. Such luxurious fabrics, one yard of which cost more than her father made in a year. The laces and furs and jewels.
What was she doing here?
She was being fitted for a court dress, for her presentation to the queen of England. Never in all her wildest imaginings had she thought to someday be in such a place. Her hands brushed across the skirt of her gown as she stared at her reflection in awe. The underskirt, or chemise, was heavy, gold brocade with a lighter cream fleur-de-lis design. The overskirt and bodice were done in deep blue silk. The overskirt was draped back and away, providing a teasing glimpse of the magnificence of the chemise, gathering at the sides and attached in the back. The bodice was a triangular stomacher, the blue fabric inset with real jewels of amber, diamond, and sapphire. The magnitude of the wealth she was wearing made her want to shriek with both terror and delight.
The still-sane part of her thought of the poor she had seen in the streets of London, the orphans and the widows and the starving. The other part of her swelled with wonder and . . . something else . . . a feeling of astonishment that she could look so beautiful, like a princess from some faraway land, as though this dress revealed some part of her that she’d never known existed.
She blinked into the mirror, feeling like two different women, and wondered which would prevail.
Her stays were so tight she could barely breathe. Standing before the full-length, gilt-edged, peer glass in her own private dressing room—which was connected with the large bedroom she and Drake shared—Serena swallowed hard, gulping as much air as she could.
Don’t let me fail Thee, God. If this is a test . . . I do not want to fail.
“Your grace, could you turn?”
Madame de Bourbor, whom Drake assured her was the best dressmaker in all of England, demanded more than asked. Serena had little doubt what Drake said was true. Since their arrival she had had little choice but to trust his vast knowledge in every way. She might hardly recognize her husband these days, but she was sure
he
knew whatever it was he was currently about.
Her husband.
Serena attempted another deep breath and turned as directed, thinking of him, of this strange and glorious creature she had married.
Her husband.
A vision of him in his “duke’s clothing” (as she thought of his raiment) rose to mind, sending a warm shiver over her. The changes in him since returning to London had been nothing short of astounding. It wasn’t just the clothing or the extravagant townhouse on Berkeley Square, where they now lived. When Drake asked her to let him show her his world, she’d had no
idea the scope of such a world.
So much had happened since Drake read that letter.
They had sold the farm in the Shenandoah Valley to a nice Quaker family who promised to make of it all Christopher had hoped. It was hard to leave and yet a relief of sorts. They were meant for something different. Back in Philadelphia they had visited briefly with Serena’s family, explaining everything that had happened. Her mother and father had showed little shock to find their daughter married into the English nobility, knowing all along that there was much more to their son-in-law than an indentured servant. They were saddened to see Serena off to England but acknowledged she must follow her husband. The two of them had sent Serena and Drake off with kisses of goodwill at the dockside.
The journey was much easier than the one Drake had taken over a year ago. With money, Serena learned, anything could be had. His name and title reinstated, Drake took charge. They boarded one of the king’s own vessels, taking possession of a comfortable cabin complete with feather bed, servants to wait upon them, and French delicacies to dine upon.
Upon reaching London, her breath caught at her first sight of one of the world’s largest cities. The harbor was at least as busy as Philadelphia’s but different; it seemed busy in an ancient way, as though all knew their business better. The people here spoke in her husband’s accent, even the dock hands, though their sound was more coarse. But they treated Drake with deferential bows and ran to and fro to fetch him his heart’s desires. Serena realized something along those docks: Drake’s title, just the name they called him, that alone generated respect. It didn’t matter what he did or how he lived his life; he was a duke.
It was all so foreign. She’d clung to his arm like a child, hating that she felt so helpless, feeling that whatever ground she had gained, whatever growing up she had done after Christopher’s death, was gone like a puff of smoke. This world was as unknown to her as the silversmith shop and the farm had been to Drake. Now he was the confident one. They were now in his world where they were sudden royalty and everyone around them bowed and scraped for no other reason than the accident of one’s birth.
A hired carriage had taken them from the busy harbor, down the cobbled streets to Berkeley Square. On the ride Serena glimpsed the sorry side of London. Dirty children ran like rats in the narrow alleys. Dark and dank little houses lined the side streets, and everywhere were hucksters with their carts. It was such a frenetic place, so alive with the business of trying to make a living. Serena was appalled and enthralled by turns.
They had finally reached Berkeley Square, where the wealthy and titled resided in three-storied brownstone houses that lined the square. Like the king’s own guards, the stately homes stood ready to cast judgment on any who didn’t belong. Serena had floated through the front door of the duke’s home, as if riding on a cloudy dream. The entrance was more of a salon than a hall. A polished black-and-white marble floor gave way to snowy white walls, complete with Roman columns and inset arched cases. Six gilt armchairs, done in gold and white velvet, flanked the walls. A black velvet settee with matching scrolling gilt edging sat against another wall. Chinese urns of dark-hued richness, as tall as she, stood guard on either side of an arched doorway that led to a short hall. A domed ceiling was intricately plastered, with a brilliant chandelier its central jewel. It was a room designed to impress and intimidate.
It accomplished both. Serena had been overwhelmed.
Further down the hall was a feast for the eyes, with landscape paintings in soft greens and blues, a thick carpet running its length. There was a library filled with alcoves of books, a sunny yellow breakfast room, and a gallery with family portraits and valuable works of art. The main drawing room was done in sapphire blue and gold. The ballroom boasted a huge domed ceiling. And in the back was a well-hidden kitchen.
Upstairs Drake had been eager to show her the master bedchamber and the deep four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains. It was a dark, private world inside those walls of fabric and Drake had been more sure of himself there under that silk counterpane, had shown her things he seemed to have forgotten across the sea.
As smooth as water running over a rocky outcropping, that was Drake’s manner now, and as powerful as a waterfall. Serena marveled at how well it fit him. She no longer wondered at his black moods and stony silences of the past—all was explained in the reclaiming of his identity. This man, so sure, so confident, but now with a hard-won kindness and new appreciation for those things beneath his notice before . . . this was the man she had married. If she thought she loved the shadow that Drake had been, she was ensnared, spellbound by the real thing. Gorgeous
. . . powerful . . . confident . . . he was any woman’s fantasy.
And he was in love with
her
.
She had no doubt of his love. He proved it a hundred times a day since they had moved into the brownstone bearing the ducal seal above the front door. Each day held new surprises, planned and executed with exacting care—all for her. Today she would be fitted for a new wardrobe, then take a curtsy class, something she’d only been convinced was necessary by a detailed description of her presentation to the queen. A short rest time would be followed by an intimate dinner with Drake. That evening they were to attend an opera at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Serena had never even seen a play, and tonight she was going to the opera and sitting in a private box with her husband, the duke.
It was all as in a dream.
SERENA DESCENDED THE stairs a little breathless, still trying to get used to the confining stays and tight bodice of her evening gown. She felt as though she’d been transformed into someone else while she was sleeping. She wasn’t sure she liked it—or more accurately, was afraid she liked it too much. What kind of woman wore finery such as that in which she was draped? What kind of woman wore her hair elaborately coiled, with one long, provocative curl dangling over a shoulder.
She gripped her heavy skirt with one hand, lifting it above the stairs and grasped the railing tight with her other hand. So intent on traversing the stairs, she did not see Drake standing at the bottom, awaiting her. When she finally reached the landing, she looked up and gasped.
“Thou frightened me!” She laughed and then looked down, feeling suddenly shy. “Thou hast been waiting long?”
Drake stood speechless. Admiration—and something else Serena could not quite identify, pride perhaps—showing from his eyes.
“Turn around,” his deep voice commanded softly. “I would see all of you.”
She turned slowly, holding back a delighted laugh. Her gown was gold, the color of the amber flecks in her eyes, with a green-and-gold-striped underskirt and matching puffed sleeves. Emeralds hung from her ears, swaying provocatively and catching the candlelight from the wall scones. A choker wrapped around her neck and tiny tear-shaped jewels sparkled from her hair. It had taken the combined urgings of her personal maid and the housekeeper to convince her it was acceptable to wear such a low-cut gown in public. Elegant gloves covered her arms to the elbows with an emerald and gold bracelet on one wrist and a Chinese fan dangling from the other.
“I knew you would be beautiful dressed as my duchess, but Serena, I am speechless. The men will adore you and the women will envy you.” He spoke the last in an underbreath, as though to himself. Then he held out her deep-black satin cloak with ermine fur trim and continued. “There are a few important instructions I would give you before we enter the theatre.”
“Instructions?” She turned toward him.
“Nothing to fret about. I shall explain in the carriage.”
The night air was brisk, but Serena barely had time to feel it before she was ensconced in a well-sprung carriage complete with fur lap robes. Drake slipped in next to her, seeming too big, too alive to be confined in such an enclosed space, even one so richly appointed as this.
As soon as the carriage swung into motion, Drake turned to her with a smile. “Serena, dearest, what I am about to tell you may seem odd . . . wrong even, on some level, but let me explain marriages of the nobility.”
Serena nodded, listening and vowing to follow his instruction to the minutest detail.
“I shall introduce you as Serena Weston, Duchess of Northumberland. When asked about your parentage you should reply that you were born in the colonies and lived in Pennsylvania. No need to mention that you are Quaker—that shall be discovered soon enough. Also, very, very important. Do not refer to me as Drake or your husband.” He smiled at her. “Always refer to your husband as ‘the duke,’ such as, ‘the duke and I met in Philadelphia,’ or ‘the duke is a most generous husband.’” He winked at her. “And this is very important, Serena. We shall go to social functions together and sometimes even sit together, but it is not fashionable for husbands and wives to be affectionate or even overly friendly with one another in public.”

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