The Inconvenient Duchess

a guardian of mine, they are strangers to me.’
    ‘Hmm. Well, yes. I’ve been in the area, man and boy, most of my life. Things were different under the old duke,’ he hinted.
    ‘How so?’ She doubted such a direct request for information was going to be met with an answer, but it was worth a try.
    The vicar shot a nervous glance at the doorway, as though expecting the appearance of the current duke at the mention of his name. But Mrs Winslow was no longer able to contain the dark secrets she knew. ‘The old duke would not have held with the nonsense his sons have got up to. He knew his duty and the land was a showplace while he controlled it. The fourth duke tried for a few years to hold up to his father’s standards, but gave up the ghost after his first wifedied, leaving the poor dowager alone to manage as best she could. And Lord St John…’ she shook her head and sniffed for emphasis ‘…has never made any effort to make his family’s life any easier. From the moment he was old enough to distinguish the difference between the sexes and read the numbers on a deck of cards or count the spots on the dice, there has always been a debt that he has been running from. It is my opinion that the dowager died more of a broken heart than anything else.’
    ‘The current duke…’
    And, as if summoned, the door opened and framed Marcus.
    The vicar’s wife shut her mouth with a snap.
    ‘If I might see you for a moment in the hall, Miranda.’
    The word ‘now’ was unspoken, but plain enough. And the sound of her name on his lips was strange, indeed. There was something about the way he said the ‘r’ that seemed to vibrate into a growl.
    ‘If you will excuse me, for a moment, Reverend, Mrs Winslow?’ And she rose quickly to join her husband in the hall.
    ‘Your Grace?’
    ‘You demanded my attendance, Miranda?’ He sketched a mocking bow to her.
    ‘Not demanded. I requested that Wilkins find you and bring you back for our wedding breakfast.’
    ‘I ordered no breakfast.’
    ‘I did.’ She glared at him in frustration. ‘Perhaps you see no need to celebrate the day, and I could do without a continuation of this…this…melodrama, but the Winslows expect it of us and will not leave until the niceties are performed.’
    ‘Damn the Winslows!’
    ‘Damn them indeed, sir,’ she whispered, ‘but do it quietly. They are probably listening at the door.’
    ‘I do not care what they hear. If they lack the sense to clear off—’
    ‘Very well, then there will be no breakfast. And since I am to have no authority in this house I will leave it to you to step into the drawing room and request that they leave. Order them from the house. You seem to be good at that.’
    ‘Ahh, we come to the crux, finally. This is about St John, is it? I told him this morning that he is no longer welcome here and my decision stands.’
    ‘St John? Don’t be ridiculous. This is about your unwillingness to live by the proprieties for more than a few minutes at a time.’
    ‘I followed them when I offered for you. And I married you, didn’t I?’
    She forced a smile and muttered through her gritted teeth, ‘And now you must pretend to celebrate the fact, as I am doing. Choke down a piece of cake and a glass of wine. We both must eat something, and it will not kill us to eat it together. Then thank the vicar for performing the ceremony. Pay him. Make him go away.’
    The door to the drawing room swung open and the vicar’s head appeared in the opening. ‘And how are you two managing together?’
    Her husband smiled with such ferociousness that the vicar retreated behind the protection of the door. ‘As well as can be expected, Reverend. I understand my wife has arranged a feast for us. Let us retire to the dining room and see what the servants have prepared.’
    He led the way, Miranda noted in relief, since the diningroom was not a place she had had need to visit since coming to the house. It was about as she had expected: dirty and dusty, but with lurid painted silk on the walls, depicting poorly drawn shepherds and shepherdesses bullying sheep up and down the hills.
    The breakfast was also as she expected. Weak tea, runny eggs, a passable ham accompanied by another serving from the endless supply of dry bread. She wondered how the cook managed it. Had she found a way to dry it before baking? The wedding cake itself was the most frightening part of the meal. There had been no time to prepare a true cake, and cook