Before they could take a single step, however, the elder Pickerings spotted them. Bronwyn froze as her mother leveled a delighted smile on them. “Oh, but here is our daughter now,” she exclaimed. She hurried down the front step toward them, the wide ribbons of her bonnet flying behind her, arms outstretched. Bronwyn barely had time to brace for impact before she was enveloped in plump arms that carried with them more than their fair share of perfume. Bronwyn, for her part, stood frozen. Their family had never been one for affection. Yet here was her mother, hugging her as if she had not seen her in a decade and this was some joyous reunion.
“My darling Bronwyn,” she said. “And dearest Buckley. We could not wait another day to see you. It feels as if it has been forever.”
“It has been two days,” Bronwyn muttered, extricating herself from her mother’s embrace. She straightened her bonnet, all the while fighting the urge to hide her bag behind her back so her parents might not see that she had been indulging in research. She did not have to worry about their decrees any longer, did not have to fear they would send her away from Synne. Yet the fear was still there in spades.
She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Now, Poppet,” her father replied with mock sternness, “is that any way to greet your loving parents. You must know how dearly we’ve missed you.” He turned to Ash then. “Buckley, good to see you, my boy. Treating our Bronwyn well, are you? You must, for she’s looking decidedly flushed right now.” He laughed, loud and long.
Bronwyn wanted to close her eyes in mortification and slink away, especially when Ash drew in a sharp breath at her father’s crassness. Instead she said, head held as high as she was able, “If I am flushed it is because the day is warmer than I took into consideration and our walk was a long one. But please excuse us; we have just returned and need to ready ourselves for dinner.”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” her father said expansively.
“Oh, yes, completely understandable,” her mother joined in. “Just have your butler show us to the drawing room and we shall make ourselves at home while we wait for you.” She smiled brightly all around while Bronwyn gaped at her. “I say, this shall be lovely, our first dinner with our daughter the duchess.” She tittered.
Bronwyn felt the blood leave her face. Ah, God, now what? Ash must rue the day he married himself to such a family. She cast him a horrified look, mind whirling at how she might get them out of this mess.
But he was not looking at her. No, he was looking at her parents, and with a disturbingly blank expression.
“Perhaps you misunderstand my wife,” he said softly. “We are still newlyweds, after all, and are not yet ready for guests.”
Her parents, however, either did not hear the tension under his calm tone or did not care. “Oh, but we aren’t guests, my boy,” her father said with a wide smile. “We’re family now.”
Bronwyn winced. Ah, God, he was only making things worse. “Papa,” she tried again, “what the duke is trying to say is that we would prefer some privacy, for a little while longer at least.”
“Privacy, eh?” He leered at Ash before sending a knowing look to his wife. “That we can understand. Gad, but I didn’t let you leave our bed for a fortnight after our wedding, my dear.”
How Bronwyn didn’t cast up her accounts then and there, especially when her mother blushed and simpered like a bride, she would never know.
Ash stepped forward. “I’m glad that you understand.” Then, with a talent that Bronwyn would be in awe of for the next decade at least, he herded them all toward the waiting conveyance.
In short order they said their goodbyes to her parents and, before that couple had even stepped up into their carriage, she and Ash were safe behind Caulnedy’s doors.
After they had handed over their things to the butler, Bronwyn wasted no time in apologizing. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a low voice.
But he held up a hand, halting her apology in its tracks. “There’s no reason to apologize. You are not your parents, Bronwyn, and have no control over what they say or do. I more than anyone should understand that.”
Why, she wondered, more than a little stunned, did his gentle tone turn so bitter at that last bit?
But she had no time to think on it. In the next moment he bent his head, taking her lips in a swift kiss. “Go now, and ready yourself for dinner. I’ll see you momentarily.”
With that he hurried away toward his office. Bronwyn, frowning, made her way to her room.
***
Ash had not cared for the elder Pickerings from the moment he had met them. Over the past two days, upon learning what they had done to Bronwyn in an attempt to suffocate her talents, he had begun to actively dislike them. Now, however…
He hurried through his office to the French doors that opened into the side garden and to the front of the house, hoping the Pickerings had not left Caulnedy just yet, for he had something to say to them and he did not want to put it off a moment longer. Blessedly their carriage was still on the gravel drive, Mr. Pickering having taken it upon himself to reprimand his groom on something or other from the carriage window. When he saw Ash, he waved the man off and stuck his head farther out, smiling expansively.
“Your Grace, have you changed your mind about that dinner then?”
“Not in the least,” Ash answered curtly, stepping up beside the carriage. “No, it is something altogether different I wish to speak to you about.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Pickering bit her lip, poking her head out her window. “Has Bronwyn displeased you in some way, Your Grace? I know she is not classically pretty, and her form is not pleasing.”
What the devil?He gaped at the woman in disbelief. “There is nothing at all wrong with Bronwyn’s appearance,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, well.” The woman gave him a look that said she did not believe him one bit. Before Ash could think how to react—whatever it was, it would not have been at all pretty—she spoke once more.