The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(56)
“He instructed that you were not to be disturbed,” Mrs. Caldwell said. “But if you desire to know when he will leave each morning, I have brought you his schedule for the week.”
She handed Meagan a sheaf of papers covered with tiny writing. “Goodness,” Meagan said, scanning the columns of dates, times, and places. “We shall never have a meal together at this rate.”
“His Grace is quite busy,” Mrs. Caldwell said with a note of sympathy. “If you like, I will instruct his secretary to compare his schedule with yours and overlap some time.”
The cozy scenes of husband and wife enjoying each other’s company faded to nothing. But Meagan was determined to have some of the pleasures of married life. “We can at least begin our day with breakfast together. Please make sure I am awake and ready to meet him each morning.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Mrs. Caldwell gave a decided nod, as though she approved of Meagan asserting her wishes. “Your own breakfast awaits you in the dining room, along with your correspondence, quite a lot of it already, I am afraid. Mr. Edwards will go over it with you and your appointments for the day.”
Meagan exhaled, feeling the weight of being Grand Duchess descend upon her. “I suppose we’d better get on with it, then. Lead the way.”
Her face heated as she entered the formal dining room, remembering how Alexander had sent a rain of cutlery and silver dishes to the floor as he’d lifted Meagan to the table to make love to her. The servants must have known exactly what had transpired when they’d come to clean up.
Meagan had told Alexander she loved him, in the heat of passion, but she wasn’t sure what he’d made of that. Ignored her, hopefully.
The table held almost as much silver and porcelain this morning as it had last night, even though she ate alone, having a light breakfast at that. A pile of cream-colored, folded letters lay in an overflowing pile to the right of her place, and Mr. Edwards, with a plain cup of coffee before him, had already begun sorting them, making notations in a little book.
Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus waited eagerly to serve her. As they had the previous night, they pulled out Meagan’s chair and offered her a napkin with a dramatic flourish.
Meagan discovered that Mr. Edwards had already scheduled her to pay calls on the wives of other ambassadors this morning. A garden party and a dinner had been set up in her honor this afternoon, and she’d attend both. Then a ride through Hyde Park in her new carriage—Meagan could invite a friend to ride with her, preferable a highborn woman such as Lady Featherstone or the Duchess of Cranshaw.
After Hyde Park, Meagan would make ready to attend supper at the French ambassador’s house and meet Alexander there.
“I feel a bit sick to my stomach,” Meagan said, setting down her coffee. “Perhaps I am coming on with a cold and should not leave the house today.”
Mr. Edwards gave her a smile that hinted at a bit of kindness, and told her she would do just fine. “I will coach you how to greet each of the ladies and what to say to them—or I should say, what not to say to them. There is always the safe topic of the weather.”
“The weather. Yes.” Thank goodness for England’s weather. House parties would end in disaster if not for the refuge of discussions about the ghastly climate.
“What about Alex?” Meagan asked as Mr. Edwards went on opening correspondence and making notes. She’d seen nothing of the boy since he’d been led upstairs by his nanny yesterday, and she’d not heard a peep from the floor where he lived. In her experience, quietness in a boy of six was most usual.
Mr. Edwards gave her a blank look. “Alex?”
“Yes, Alex. His Grace’s son and heir. His Grace does see him from time to time, does he not?”
Mr. Edwards’ expression cleared. “Ah, you wish to see his young lordship’s schedule. I have it here.” He rifled through his books and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here we are.”
Meagan blinked at it. “Alex has his own schedule?”
“His Grace wishes his son to have the most rigorous education possible, as young Alex will be Grand Duke one day.”
Meagan ran her eye down the list of subjects Alex would be taught this morning: history, Latin, politics, French, geography, and English grammar.
“Good heavens.”
At least the poor lad was allowed to leave the house on occasion, if only for lessons in riding and fencing. However, the entry “walk in Hyde Park” at eleven o’clock this morning had been marked through.
“Because of the rain,” Mr. Edwards explained as Meagan returned the paper.
The rain looked fairly light to Meagan, barely spattering the windows. However, the day was gray and heavy, and a light rain could turn to torrents. “It seems much for a boy of six. And I noticed no place in his schedule for seeing his father.”
“His Grace makes time to speak with his son several days a week and check his progress,” Mr. Edwards said. “His Grace is …”
“An important man. Yes, so many people have told me.”
Meagan gave him a resigned look but then and there determined to have a talk with Alexander about young Alex. Alexander would no doubt raise his brows in cool surprise that she thought he was anything but an exemplary father, and Meagan knew Alexander loved his son—she saw it in his eyes. Why then, did he ignore Alex so much?