“Now you look perfect,” she declared, smiling, although there was a tinge of sympathy in her eyes. “Are you alright, Your Grace?”
Rose nodded, stood up quickly, and moved over to her dress, realizing that Anna's kindness was almost her undoing. She let Anna slide her into it and then put on her own long gloves. Rose became aware of how much she had missed color. She'd been wearing black for a year, then gray or lilac, and putting on the blue gown seemed almost shocking.
She took a deep breath and exited her bedchamber, descending the stairs to the Entry Hall, holding a small matching clutchbag. The Duke stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her descend each step, past the hanging tapestries, portraits, and stone lions holding the Norfolk coats of arms at each turn of the banisters.
He looked irritated and uncomfortable.
“Your Grace,” Rose said, dipping her head towards him.
“Where have you been?” He snapped,turning an angry shoulder towards her with a scornful expression. “I have been waiting here for ages, and the blasted staff seem to think I am some sort of guest. They confined me to this spot until you came.”
Rose came to stand beside him. “You must forgive them, Your Grace. Ambrose was not partial to large events, so I imagine their nerves are frayed. They were merely treating you like any gentleman who has come to pay me a call.”
His eyes narrowed as he peered at her. “Do you have many gentlemen callers?”
“No, of course not.”
“Yes, well. I am their master now, and they would do well to remember it!”
“They will,” she said, feeling as if she was mollifying an irate child. “But in the meantime, why don’t we take a turn. We have half an hour before we must start greeting our guests.” She touched the soft wool of his jacket as an olive branch gesture. He shrugged, still ornery, but he moved to follow her, albeit slowly.
“Are you in pain, Your Grace?”
“It is nothing,” he said crossly. “Just a touch of gout. It won’t get in the way if that is what you are hoping.”
Rose fixed her gaze on him. "I was simply inquiring about your health, Your Grace," she explained, only to realize he was looking at the strip of sequins and pearls across her breasts. He did not hurry his perusal, and when he finally raised his eyes to hers, there was a challenge in his expression. She hoped she returned her confident look.
The Great Hall was dazzling. Rose was so taken with it that she almost clapped her hands in approval as she admiredthe starched white tablecloths, elegant linens, and floral displays from the castle's own gardens set along the massive refectory table around the china and glass. The candle chandeliers hanging from the wooden vaulted ceiling had already been lit.
“Oh my,” Rose exclaimed. “Don’t you think it looks wonderful, Your Grace?”
“I have seen it before,” Ernest snapped testily. “My parents entertained. My father amassed everything you see here.”
Sometimes it was hard to imagine him as a member of Ambrose’s family, given he had never visited when his brother was alive. There was no family portrait of him on the walls, something he surely had not overlooked. She wondered if that was what irked him so much.
The butler met them halfway along the vast table.
“Ah, Jennings, may I introduce you formally to the Duke of Norfolk?”
“Your Grace.” Jennings bowed his head deferentially.
“We met at the door,” Ernest said sharply, neglecting to even look at him. “He was the one who made me wait for you.” Rose apologized to her trusted servant with her eyes and suggested he move away with a tilt of her head.
“We prepared for two hundred, as you ordered, Your Grace,” Rose said. “The guests have been arriving all afternoon. The guest quarters have never been so full in my time here.”
Ernest was plainly not interested in her nervous prattling. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his snuff, and availed himself of it.At least he does not seem to have been drinking already, Rose thought, but she wondered at the propensity of this man to need so many stimulants.
“Shall we walk back to the Entry Hall?” Rose suggested, realizing it might take some time with his painful leg, and not sure what else she could show him that would please him. He nodded.
“I have decided a two-week engagement is enough,” he said suddenly. “We are to be married here in a fortnight on Saturday.”
Rose’s heart sank.
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“I shall move into the castle on that date. I shall bow to your modesty until then,” he said curtly.
She crafted her expression to appear suitably grateful.