The Inconvenient Duchess

‘Well.’ The word was artificially cheery. ‘I must thank you, Reverend Winslow, and Mrs Winslow, for your concern in the matter of my safety and honour.’
    ‘Hmm. Well, of course, the concern continues, your Grace.’
    For a moment she looked around, expecting to see her husband behind her, and then realised that he was addressing her, the new duchess.
    ‘Thank you, yet again. But I am certain, now that we are married, I will do well here.’
    They continued to stare at her. She had hoped that ‘good day’ was implied in her thanks, but they showed no sign of leaving. They must be expecting something. ‘Well,’ she said again but the cheer in her voice was running thin.
    ‘Perhaps, over the wedding breakfast, we might speak to his Grace once more. To make sure there is nothing further required of us.’ Mrs Winslow’s pointed remark led the way to yet another problem.
    ‘Ah, yes. The wedding breakfast.’ Miranda wondered if anyone on the staff had considered guests. She doubted, after watching his mood in the church, that her husband cared to celebrate. Still, if she could not come up with a bit of cake and some champagne, she might as well find a maid to ready a room for the Winslows. They showed no sign of leaving. ‘Let us go back to the house and see what the servants are preparing.’
    She walked them back and abandoned them in the drawing room with promises of a speedy return, then ran into the hall and shouted for Wilkins.
    He appeared looking as stooped and addled as he had the day before, giving her a long, fishy look that made her suspect he had forgotten who she was.
    ‘Wilkins.’ Her tone was sharp, hoping to cut through the fog of gin in his mind. ‘I need you to find his Grace and ask him to return to the house to say goodbye to the Winslows. And I need to speak to the housekeeper about preparing a small wedding breakfast.’
    ‘Breakfast.’ The word had registered, judging by the panic that crossed his face. ‘That won’t be likely, miss. Housekeeper’s off today.’
    In a flash, the mess she had landed in spread itself before her. The house was unmanageable, the servants intractable, the duke antisocial and oblivious to the chaos around him.
    And, after twenty minutes of rote prayer, she was in charge.
    ‘First, Wilkins—’ her voice was silky smooth ‘—you will no longer refer to me as “Miss”. After the ceremony in the chapel this morning, my title is her Grace, the Duchess of Haughleigh. Since I doubt you remember my old name, you need waste little time in forgetting it. If the housekeeper is off, than she needs to make other arrangements for the management of the house while she is gone. Who, exactly, is in charge in her absence?’
    Wilkins’s blank eyes and furrowed brow were answer enough.
    ‘Very well. I will assume no one is in charge, since this is certainly the appearance the house creates. Is the cook available? Sober? Alive? Do we even have a cook, Wilkins?’
    ‘Yes, miss—ma’am—your Grace.’ With each new title, his back got straighter as he addressed her.
    ‘Then you will inform the cook that, if she values her position here, there will be a wedding breakfast laid in the dining room in forty-five minutes. I do not expect a miracle. Just the most she can manage on such short notice. And a bottle or two of the best champagne in the cellars to take our mind off the food. Please find the duke and ask him to join us in the drawing room.’
    The speech must have hit home, for Wilkins toddled off in the direction of the kitchen at a speed as yet unseen byher. Then she turned with as much majesty and command as she could muster and headed back into the drawing room, trying to radiate her half of marital bliss.
    The Winslows were perched on the edges of their respective chairs, awaiting her arrival. She informed them of the brief delay and set to holding up her end of the conversation, which was rather like supporting a dead ox. Topics such as family, past, friends, and thoughts for her future had been exhausted or avoided in the morning’s interviews with Mrs Winslow.
    Efforts to draw the Winslows out on their own lives proved them to be neither well travelled, nor intelligent.
    The clock was ticking by with no evidence of the arrival of the duke. It would serve him right to enter and find himself the topic of conversation. She tried hesitantly, ‘Have you known the Radwell family long, Reverend? For other than connections with the dowager through