The Autumn Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 4)

by Jillian Eaton

  “A duke,” her maid said importantly. Carefully draping the blue gown over the back of a chair so as not to wrinkle it, she motioned for Hannah to stand with an impatient flick of her wrist and whisked the soiled dress off her head. “The Duke of Colebrook, to be precise. He owns the neighboring estate.”

  Colebrook…Colebrook…the name sounded familiar, although she couldn’t quite place it.

  “Do you know what he’s doing here?” she asked, recalling that her husband did not get many visitors. Which was not surprising, given the state of the manor. Who in their right mind would want to sleep amidst scurrying mice and sticky cobwebs? Three times she’d been woken by the sound of tiny claws scratching away in her closet which was why she now slept with a fire poker by her bed. Although hopefully as long as the mice kept to their end of the treaty she’d struck with them on her very first night – that was, to remain out of sight and out of anything that resembled a pocket – she’d never need to use it.

  “Having dinner, I imagine.” Climbing onto a three-legged stool, Elsbeth slid the new gown over Hannah’s head whilst she stood with her arms straight up and her ankles touching, feeling for all the world like an awkward stork. “Then he must be spending the night because I saw one of the scullery maids bringing fresh linens up to the third floor.”

  “The third floor?” Hannah’s nose wrinkled. “But it’s filthy up there.”

  Tying off the gown at the neck and waistline, Elsbeth stepped down off the stool and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “Maybe they’re cleaning it as well.”

  “Maybe,” Hannah said doubtfully. To say the staff’s work ethic was underwhelming was a grave understatement. From everything she’d witnessed, they were nothing short of lazy. And why wouldn’t they be, when their employer didn’t seem to care – or even notice – the two inches of dust coating every surface?

  Her mother may have been a frivolous spender, but she’d always run a tight household. ‘Tis the duty of every good wife, she’d told her daughters on more than one occasion, to give their husband sons and an orderly house. Having failed to do the first, Lady Fairchild had seen to it their home was always impeccably turned out. Hannah could only hope to accomplish the same with Wycliffe Manor. A formidable task, but then she had always enjoyed a good challenge.

  Standing patiently while Elsbeth pinned her hair back into a neat chignon that left two auburn tendrils dangling from either side of her temple, she finished her appearance with a pair of tiny pearl earrings – the only jewelry she’d brought with her – before heading to the dining room.

  To her surprise, she arrived to find her husband already seated at the head of the long oak table where they’d been taking their supper – often separately. A blond man impeccably dressed in a white cravat and burgundy tailcoat sat to his right. They both rose when Hannah entered the room, but only the blond man (whom she assumed to be Colebrook) bowed.

  “This must be your lovely duchess,” he said, slapping a hand on Wycliffe’s back. “Well done, old chap. She’s a beauty.”

  Wycliffe’s only response was a short grunt, but Hannah couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze seemed to linger on her as she took her usual seat at the far end of the table. She offered him a tentative smile, to which he replied with a scowl. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his predictably curmudgeonly demeanor, she turned her attention to the first course of their meal, a piping hot bowl of boiled cauliflower and turmeric soup. But when it became apparent that Wycliffe and Colebrook intended to carry on a conversation without her – easy enough to do, given how far away she was – Hannah promptly picked up her soup and her spoon and sat down beside her husband.

  “There,” she said cheerfully, pretending not to notice Wycliffe’s glowering stare. “Now we can converse without shouting. Tell me, Your Grace.” She looked across the table at Colebrook. “How is it you know my husband?”

  “We go way back,” Colebrook said, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Some might even call us childhood chums. Which was why I knew I could count on my old friend to put me up while my estate is undergoing renovations.”

  “Oh?” Pausing with the spoon halfway to her lips, Hannah glanced at her husband who was scowling into his bowl with such ferocity she wouldn’t have been surprised if the soup curdled. “What sort of renovations?”

  “All sorts.” Colebrook waved his hand in the air. “I am afraid my grandfather was a bit of a gambler. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at it and lost the family estate in a particularly unlucky hand of cards. I was able to reacquire the old girl some years ago, but haven’t had the time to devote to her restoration until recently.”

  “How fortunate you were able to reclaim your childhood home,” said Hannah.

  “Indeed.” There was a temporary lull in the conversation as their next course was served: roasted lamb covered in sweet cream sauce and asparagus sautéed in red onion with garlic. “So tell me,” Colebrook said once the servants had left. “How is it you came to marry this grumpy old bastard?”

  “Is he grumpy?” Hannah said innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  Tossing his head back, Colebrook laughed. “Beauty and wit. I quite like her, Wycliffe. You’re a lucky man.”

  Suppressing a smile, Hannah stole a sideways glance at her husband. He sat stiffly in his chair, one hand wrapped around his fork while the other gripped his knife as if it were a deadly weapon. It was clear from his body language that he disliked Colebrook, but she couldn’t imagine why. The other duke was friendly, warm, and amusing. In short, he possessed all of the qualities Wycliffe lacked. And yet as her gaze flicked back and forth between the two men, she found herself preferring her husband’s dark, brooding nature over Colebrook’s innate charisma.

  Wycliffe may not have been outwardly charming. Or inwardly, for that matter. But there was something about him that pulled at her. She liked that he said what he thought. His opinion was not always been kind, but at least it was genuine. A babbling brook may have been pretty to look at but it was shallow and slight compared to a river which, while deeper and more treacherous, contained far more life within its watery depths.

  “I am the lucky one,” Hannah demurred.

  Wycliffe’s startled gaze rose from his plate to meet hers, a faint line appearing between his thick brows as they drew together over the bridge of his nose. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but with a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head he took a bite of lamb instead.

  Colebrook, having watched the subtle exchange with some interest, leaned back in his chair and changed the subject to the weather. For the rest of dinner he and Hannah maintained a polite discourse while Wycliffe ate in silence, his expression unreadable. Only when Colebrook offered to take Hannah down to the stables to show her his prized thoroughbred stallion did he finally speak.

  “You’ll not be taking my wife anywhere, Colebrook.” His fist hit the table with more force than necessary, rattling the silverware and causing Hannah’s brows to lift. If she didn’t know any better she might be tempted to think there was a hint of jealousy in her husband’s stormy blue eyes. But surely she was mistaken. For someone to be jealous of someone else they actually had to show interest in them, and ever since their kiss he had displayed a distinctive lack of interest. In fact, with the exception of their exchange earlier in the day, they’d hardly spoken more than a dozen words to one another since the day of their wedding!

  “Perhaps you would like to take me,” she said impulsively.

  Wycliffe blinked. “Take you where?”

  “To the stables, of course. I haven’t seen them yet, and I would like to meet the horses. Unless you are too busy, in which case I am certain Colebrook would be delighted to accompany me.” It was a dirty trick, to use one man against the other. One she’d seen deployed time and again but never tried to use herself…until now. Desperate times, she thought silently. If she didn’t take the initiative with her marriage, who would? And if this was what it took to finall
y get her husband to notice her, well, then she wasn’t above getting her hands a little dirty for once.

  Colebrook stood up. “Wouldn’t you know, there’s something I’ve forgotten I need to do. Unless, that is, you need me to walk you down to the stables.” He looked out the window. “It has gotten rather dark. I wouldn’t want you to trip or lose your way.”

  “She doesn’t need your help,” Wycliffe growled. If he had hackles, they would have been standing on end. “If she wants go to the stables then I’ll take her to the bloody stables.”

  It wasn’t the most romantic invitation Hannah had ever received, but it was better than nothing. “Excellent!” she said, jumping to her feet before he could change his mind. “Let’s go.”

  “Now?” he said blankly.

  For such an intelligent man, he was remarkably obtuse at times.

  “It is getting rather dark. But if you’re busy…”

  “I will fetch your cloak,” he said, jaw clenching as he shoved back from the table and stalked out of the room. Hannah bit her lip when the door slammed behind him and looked up uncertainly at Colebrook. Perhaps she’d made a mistake…but to her surprise, the other duke winked.

  “Good job love,” he said approvingly. “I’ve never seen the old chap in such a state before. You’ve not known each other for very long, have you?”

  “We met on the same day we became engaged,” Hannah confessed, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “It was a very…unusual circumstance.”

  “I can only imagine, seeing as Evan has sworn up and down he would never marry.”

  “Yes, he said as much. But I do not understand why.” Hannah knew plenty of men who were reluctant to take the plunge into marital bliss – her sister’s almost fiancé being one of them – but she’d never heard of a man who never wanted to get married. Especially a duke who did not yet have an heir.

  “He didn’t give you a reason?” Colebrook asked.

  She shook her head. “Not specifically.”

  “Well, it is not my story to tell, but suffice it to say there was a woman.” His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “Isn’t there always? And this woman received amusement at your husband’s expense. It’s funny.”

  “What is?” Hannah asked, for she found nothing the least bit humorous about what Colebrook had just told her.

  “The things that stay with us.” He was quiet for a moment, and she could tell that even though he was looking at her he wasn’t really seeing her. Then he blinked, and his rakish smile returned just as the door swung back open.

  “Are you coming or not?” Wycliffe demanded, holding up Hannah’s cloak, an emerald green garment trimmed in soft gray fur. His gaze narrowed when he saw Colebrook was still in the room. “I thought you had a pressing matter to attend to.”

  “On my way,” Colebrook said easily. As he walked behind Hannah’s chair he leaned in close and whispered, “Good luck, love. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jealousy.

  It wasn’t an emotion Evan was accustomed to, and it wasn’t one he liked. Yet all it had taken was the mere thought of Hannah alone in the stables with Colebrook for the green monster to raise its head, leaving him hard-pressed not to leap across the table and punch the smirk right off of Colebrook’s bloody face.

  He knew Hannah wouldn’t betray him. His little wife was meek as a lamb and loyal besides. It was his lecherous, womanizing neighbor he didn’t trust. He would rather cut off his good leg than leave Colebrook alone with his duchess for more than a few minutes, let alone allow him to drag her off into a dark, secluded barn. Which was why he was dragging her off into a dark, secluded barn.

  Although God knew he wasn’t happy about it.

  There was a reason he’d been avoiding Hannah as if she carried the plague, and it wasn’t because he did not like her. It was because he liked her too much.

  One glance at her sunset colored hair, one whiff of her sweet floral scent, and he was hard as a rock and aching to take her into his arms. After being celibate for the better part of half a decade, it wasn’t exactly a comfortable position to be in. Which was why he’d been doing his best to pretend she didn’t exist. A difficult task to accomplish when he was in one wing of the house and she another; a damn near impossible one when they were walking side by side, her tiny hand buried in the crook of his elbow and her right breast temptingly close to brushing against his arm.

  “I thought you’d been to see the horses before,” he said as they walked slowly along a narrow, partially overgrown path that led from the manor down to the stables.

  Originally made of wood, the main barn had burnt to the ground while Evan’s grandfather was still alive and had been rebuilt out of stone. It was a two-story structure in the shape of an L with horses below and hay above. The longest part of the barn contained the stalls, each with a double hung door overlooking the front courtyard while the smaller section housed tack and feed. Behind the barn was a large paddock and beyond the paddock an even larger field.

  During the warm summer months the horses were allowed out at night and kept in their stalls during the day to avoid the heat and the flies. But with the cooler temperatures they’d recently switched back to being stabled overnight and a chorus of sleepy whickers greeted Evan and Hannah when they reached the main entrance where twin lanterns cast a shallow circle of yellow light onto the freshly raked ground.

  “No,” she said, slipping her hand free of his arm in order to walk up to the nearest horse, an old bay mare named Abigail that had once belonged to Evan’s mother. Laying a gloved hand alongside of Abby’s neck, she gave the mare a gentle scratch. “I have never been a very accomplished rider, but I do enjoy their company. I believe it’s their eyes.”

  “Their eyes?” Evan asked, his brow furrowing as he automatically reached into his pocket for a piece of peppermint and held it out to Abby who lipped up the treat with an appreciative snort and immediately began nosing his chest for more.

  “A human can deceive you with their eyes, but not a horse.” With one last pat Hannah moved on to the next stall. She giggled when its enthusiastic occupant, a dappled gelding with a mischievous nature, thrust his head over the door and knocked her bonnet askew. The happy sound, bright as a ray of sunshine on a clear summer’s day, caught Evan off guard, as did the warmth that spread through his chest upon hearing it.

  “That’s true enough,” he said tightly. Hannah peered at him from beneath the gelding’s scruffy jaw, gray eyes big and bemused in the dim lighting.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  Yes. Something bloody well is the matter. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything for you, and now I’m feeling too much. I wasn’t supposed to want you, and now you’re all I can think about. I wasn’t supposed to believe in love, and now I think it might be the only thing worth believing in.

  “No,” he snapped. “I am simply tired. I did not sleep well last night.”

  “Oh.” Those soft, tempting pink lips pursed together and it was all he could do not to groan. “Would you like to return to the house?”

  “You wanted to see the damn stables and we’re seeing the damn stables. Tonight,” he emphasized with so much force that Abby’s ears flicked back and she bared her teeth. Hannah had a similar reaction.

  “There’s no need to be so short-tempered all of the time,” she said, her tone gently chiding. “It was a simple question. Not an accusation.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I warned you that I was a bastard, and a callous one besides. You knew exactly who I was when you married me.”

  “Yes,” she acknowledged. “But you never told me why you are the way you are. Surely there must be a reason. Colebrook mentioned…”

  “What?” he demanded when she hesitated. “Colebrook mentioned what? You cannot believe a word that lying bounder says. He’ll try to turn you against me just for the amusement of it.”

  “Turn me against you?” This time when she looked at him, her
eyes were sad. “I think you are doing a fine job of that all on your own, don’t you?”

  Evan’s mouth opened. Closed. Her words had hit him like a punch to the gut, but before he could summon a response she’d moved on to the next stall.

  “Who is this?” she asked, peering over the door at a spindly legged colt with a large white blaze and two white stockings. He was a handsome, inquisitive fellow, and – if he grew as tall as his sire – Evan’s next riding horse. The colt’s dam dozed in the corner, exhausted after a long day of chasing her impish offspring over hill and dale.

  “He doesn’t have a name yet.” Evan joined her at the stall. She stepped sideways to accommodate him and her ankle turned. Without thinking he wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. She fit against his side as if she’d been born to be there, her subtle curves as soft as feather down against the hard lines of his body. His jaw clenched. “Have I mentioned how much I dislike clumsy women?”

  “Once or twice.” Auburn curls spilled across his shoulder when she tilted her head back. In the soft glow of the lamplight the scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks looked like tiny flecks of moon dust. “Have I mentioned how much I dislike rude, overbearing dukes?”

  “Once or twice.” Let her go, damn you. Let her go now, while you still can.

  His grip tightened.

  “Are you going to kiss me again?” she whispered, her eyes two shimmering pools of ash beneath a thick fringe of velvet lashes.

  “Do you want me to?” His voice was hoarse, his blood hot.

  “Yes.” Her tongue slipped between her lips, drawing his gaze down to her delectable little mouth. A mouth that was all but begging to be tasted. By him. And if that wasn’t the most confounding thing on God’s green earth he didn’t know what was.

  Hannah wanted him. The half crippled duke with a disfigured face who’d once been mocked by the entire ton. He didn’t know why or how, given as he did not even want himself. But she did.