Veronica. Nattie Jones

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      Chapter 1

      Lady Bridget had no need of a lady's companion for the afternoon. I escaped to the library. I should have gone to my room or joined Jeanette, Lady Caroline's companion, in the sitting room, but I was twenty-five. Talk could do me little harm. I was destined for a life unwed; a life as a companion to those with more promising futures; at worst, a life living off the charity of my sister's husband.

      Reading was the only joy that remained for me, and I would not have access to such a grand library as the Duke's for a long time.

      Despite the forced gaiety of the weekend house party, the house still had a gloomy feel. It was poorly situated; the windows did not let in much light, nor did the cloudy, foggy days of March give light where light was allowed.

      It was midday and already the halls were lit with candles and lamps; the fireplaces were all crackling and burning. Ellsworth was an old estate: impressive and wealthy. It was said the Duke of Durhamshire had an income of 30,000 pounds a year. His library held more books in a single room that I had ever seen in my lifetime.

      Since his father and mother had been killed in a carriage accident two years ago, he was the youngest and wealthiest eligible man this season. He'd danced more than a few times with Lady Bridget; she was of great beauty, if not of great dowry.

      The library was thankfully abandoned. Thunder rumbled in the distance, so I curled up on the window seat with my diary, keeping an eye out for the men to come in from the hunt early. If they all returned, I would likely be needed for the afternoon.

      But only the Duke of Durhamshire returned.

      He rode up to the stable, so proud and tall and commanding. For just a moment, I allowed myself the fantasy of catching his attention. Not even in my fantasies would I presume to imagine myself a Duchess; I only imagined the riding crop swinging at his side to be swinging against my backside.

      I had been haunted by such fantasies since childhood. Abnormal daydreams, to be certain, but there was no escaping them. No enjoying them, either. They were longings to endure, longings that tortured: I would likely never feel a man's touch at all.

      So what harm, to fantasize? How else to pass the time as Lady Bridget sought to snare a husband and navigate the rocky waters of social standing and popularity? There was a time I envied her wardrobe of dresses; now I was almost glad my station allowed me to wear one a day. Lady Bridget changed three times before noon, twice more before dinner, and once more for the evening's entertainment.

      I searched for a scenario in which his Grace would punish me. I could not even find a reason he would speak to me, so I just imagined the punishment. I scribbled it all in my diary: my dress lifting, his words of admonishment and the feeling of his crop on my bottom.

      It almost made me wish myself nothing more than a servant—his servant.

      At that thought, I grew disgusted with myself. I stood up and went to the bookcases, dropping my diary on to the nearest end table.

      The fact that I wished, even fleetingly, to be only a servant so that I could be punished, convinced me I must rid myself of my musings, or I would certainly grow mad. I trailed my fingers along the books, searching for something practical. A book on flora, maybe biology. Economics СКАЧАТЬ