The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,33
Sir Vincent’s title had inspired her father to trust him, perhaps thinking of doors Sir Vincent might open, or perhaps thinking that a man well-versed in etiquette would possess the ethical values necessary to raise her.
The butler knocked on a door, then announced them. “The Duke and Duchess of Brightling.”
Heavens.
He was talking about her. She was the Duchess of Brightling.
Of course, she wasn’t actually.
And she never would be—a fact that, to her great distress, was starting to cause her more than a little regret. Soon, her presence would be explained away by Colin, as an odd act of gallantry.
She stepped into the room, vaguely conscious she was stepping onto soft carpet, vaguely aware that everything in this room sparkled and shimmered and...glowed. Cherubs dancing on fluffy clouds stared at her from the painted ceiling. Tall windows ushered in a view of the channel in all its magnificence surrounded her.
And then she was surrounded by actual people.
People in fine attire. People with smiling faces.
“My dear!” a woman with blonde hair and spectacles who couldn’t have been much older than her said, “I’m so happy to make your acquaintance. I am the Duchess of Vernon, but you must call me Charlotte. We are certain to be great friends.”
A handsome man, who also had blond hair, stood beside her. Charlotte gestured to him. “This is my husband, the Duke of Vernon. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise, Vernon?”
“Oh, indeed.”
“I hope you don’t mind us showing up here,” Colin said. “I’m afraid we’re stranded.”
Charlotte and Vernon looked at each other, then turned back. “No ships.”
“You knew.”
“It’s a winter occurrence. Normally we don’t have so much snow.”
“Well, I for one am happy about the snow,” Vernon said. “If it means we get to see you. Though I must scold you for not inviting us to your wedding.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Colin said. “It was hasty.”
“Oh?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows, and her gaze dropped toward Portia’s stomach.
Portia stepped hastily away and glanced at Colin.
She didn’t want anyone to think she was with child. Is that what people might think? But what other reasons were there for elopement?
Colin squeezed her hand. “I’m afraid Cupid’s arrow had its way with my heart. We were determined to elope in Guernsey. After all, the road to Gretna Green is muddy this time of year.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. The roads to Scotland are always muddy.” Vernon chuckled. The sound was warm and appealing, and Charlotte smiled up at him.
Perhaps the duke and duchess had been married a few years—Portia remembered reading about their marriage in finishing school, but they still seemed wildly in love.
“Vernon is from Scotland,” Colin said.
“Oh.” Portia stared at him. Vernon didn’t speak with a Scottish accent, but then, he must have gone to schools in England. All the peers seemed to have attended Rugby, Harrow, or Eton. “Do you visit often?”
“When we can,” Vernon said. “But now we like people to visit us here.”
“Everyone likes the ocean,” Charlotte announced.
“It is remarkable.” Portia stared out the large windows. The waves toppled and rolled in a glorious, unpredictable rhythm.
“Oh, what am I thinking,” Charlotte exclaimed. “You two must be exhausted. I’ll have the servants prepare a room for you.”
“A room?” Colin asked.
Vernon and Charlotte glanced at each other.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “I hope you don’t mind. I know lots of people prefer to sleep separate, but my sister and her husband are also visiting, and with the children, and my parents arriving soon—”
For the first time, Portia noticed there were children in the room. They had their parents’ blond locks.
Vernon was also staring oddly at the two of them. No doubt, Vernon thought it odd a newly married couple might not want to share a bedroom.
Portia despised the thought they might think Colin’s wife wouldn’t desire to be close to him.
“A single room is perfectly fine,” Portia blurted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE ONE THING COLIN was certain of was that he didn’t want to share a room with Portia. He certainly didn’t want to share a bed.
He’d been in this house before, and he knew how the rooms were decorated: with romantic flourishes. Though Vernon had never seemed a likely candidate to give way to sentimental urges and displays when Colin had known him—dash it, the man had even run his own gaming hell—it was obvious time had changed him. Charlotte had changed him.
The duchess rang for the housekeeper, and a red-headed woman with warm brown eyes appeared. “Mrs. James will show you to your room.”
“We also brought my manservant and my—er—bride’s maid,”