“I apologize for my intrusion, Your Grace. Due to some…unforeseen circumstances” – that was one way to put it, being left humiliated and brokenhearted was another – “I needed to leave London.”
The duke’s gaze dropped to her belly. “In the family way, are you?” he said sympathetically. “I knew it the moment I saw you. Don’t worry, love. There are plenty of nice villagers who would be happy to raise a squalling brat. I can provide a list if you’d like.”
“What? No!” Flattening her hands over her stomach, she stared at Hannah’s husband in disbelief. “I’m not – that is to say, I am not pregnant,” she hissed, a blush overwhelming her cheeks. “And even if I were, I would not let my child be raised by strangers.”
Good heavens. Who had she told her sister to marry?
“No need to be sod dramatic, love. It is not as if they would eat the child.” The duke rolled his eyes. “It’s a perfectly practical solution to an unfortunate problem. But if you are not expecting–”
“I am not,” Cadence said firmly.
“–then you have nothing to worry about.”
Except, apparently, the fact that she looked pregnant. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was somewhere below Never Being Able to Show Her Face in London Again and above Losing Her Second Favorite Pair of Gloves.
“Do you know where my sister is?” she asked.
The duke blinked. “Why the devil would I know where your sister is?”
Cadence frowned. “Why wouldn’t you know?”
“Because I don’t know who your sister is? Or who you are, for that matter.” He stepped further into the parlor, a rakish gleam entering his eyes. “Except for one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” Gaze intent on her mouth, he reached for a loose tendril of hair dangling down over her shoulder. Cadence slapped his hand away in shock.
“Your Grace!” she gasped. “You are married to my sister.”
“The devil I am.” Rearing back on his heels, the duke regarded her with a scowl. “Are you deaf or otherwise mentally impaired? I told you not two seconds ago that I didn’t know who the bloody hell your sister was.”
The poor man. Cadence knew the duke’s accident had left his body scarred, but she’d had no idea it had addled his mind.
“You should get some rest,” she said kindly. “When my uncle becomes confused he often takes a nap and feels much better afterwards. He also drinks a special tea, although I cannot recall the ingredients at the moment.”
The duke’s blue eyes flashed. “I am not confused. And I do not need a bloody nap or any of your damned witchcraft tea, for that matter.”
Cadence’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not witchcraft tea. And you should not use such vulgar language in the presence of a lady!”
“When I see one I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he sneered.
“Oh!” she gasped. “You are the most wretched, appalling, arrogant–”
“Finally, a woman who sees you for who you truly are.” A second man strolled into the parlor and all it took was one glance at the gruesome scar running down one side of his face for Cadence to realize her mistake.
“You’re not the Duke of Wycliffe,” she said accusingly, glaring at the blond-haired stranger who she’d confused for her sister’s husband.
“Bloody hell, I should hope not.” he said with a shudder.
“Miss Fairchild, might I introduce you to my temporary houseguest, the Duke of Colebrook. He is staying here while his estate undergoes renovations.”
“I would say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Cadence said icily. “But my mother always told me it was impolite to tell a lie.”
“Allow me to show you to your rooms, Miss Fairchild.” Mouth twitching with thinly concealed amusement, Wycliffe extended his arm. Sailing past Colebrook with her nose in the air, Cadence allowed her brother-in-law to escort her out of the parlor and up the stairs.
Unable to shake the feeling of eyes upon her, however, she paused at the top of the staircase and glanced back over her shoulder. There, in the middle of the foyer, stood Colebrook. When he saw her looking down at him he bent forward in a mocking bow and, without taking his burning gaze off of her, straightened and blew her a kiss.
“Just ignore him,” Wycliffe provided helpfully. “I do.”
Taking the duke’s advice, Cadence turned and followed him down the hall. But she couldn’t help but wonder what Colebrook’s kiss had meant…and when she would see him again.
To say that evening’s dinner was a frosty affair would have been a grave understatement.
Hannah glared at Wycliffe.
Wycliffe glared at Colebrook.
Colebrook glared at Cadence.
And Cadence, having finally sorted out who was who, glared right back at Colebrook.
Conversation, when it occurred, was kept to such benign topics as the weather and the pending autumn harvest. And no sooner had dessert been finished than everyone retreated to their separate bed chambers.
To Hannah’s surprise, she slept rather well. Tucked beneath layers of blankets and warmed by a fire smoldering in the hearth, she did not wake until dawn. For a moment she considered trying to fall back asleep, but then with a shrug and a stretch she tossed back the covers and tip-toed across the icy floor to her wardrobe. If there was one benefit of being up with the sparrows, it was that everyone else – including her husband – was almost certain to still be in their beds. A good thing, as the only company she currently sought was that of herself and the horses.
Last night before bed she’d asked a scullery maid to set aside some of the carrots from the soup. When she opened her door she found them waiting for her as requested inside a small burlap sack. Tucking the sack under her arm she proceeded downstairs, careful to walk on her tiptoes so as not to rouse Cadence who was sleeping just across the hall.
Her husband’s valet, a perpetual early riser, greeted her in the foyer with a respectful bow. She’d not had the opportunity to exchange more than a few words with Peterson since coming to Wycliffe Manor, but she liked him for his loyalty and kind demeanor.
“Good morning, Your Grace. Going out for an early walk?” Peterson asked, taking note of the hooded cloak she’d thrown on directly over her nightdress. Scuffed leather boots peeked out from the satin hem and her hair was concealed beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet lined with soft ermine.
“Just to the stables. I’ve treats for the horses.” She lifted the carrot filled sack. “Do you know if they’ve been turned out for the day?”
“Not to my knowledge. Would you like me to see if His Grace is able to accompany you?”
“No,” Hannah said quickly. Too quickly she realized when a flicker of concern passed over Peterson’s usually stalwart countenance.
“Might I have permission to make a very personal observation, Your Grace?”
Hannah eyed Peterson warily. “I suppose.”
“I have known the duke for a very long time. You could almost say we grew up together, as my father served his until the day he died. And during all those years, I have never seen His Grace look at a woman the way he looks at you.”
“Oh.” A warm blush stole across Hannah’s cheeks. Biting her lip, she looked down at the floor. “Mr. Peterson, I am sorry to say but I think you are mistaken. My husband is not – that is to say, we’re not…he doesn’t love me,” she blurted out, and to her horror she felt the sharp sting of tears in the corners of her eyelids.
“Your Grace?” Visibly alarmed by her sudden display of emotion, Peterson took a step back. “Should I send for your lady’s maid?”
“No. No, I – I want to speak to you.” Sniffling, Hannah lifted her sleeve and blew loudly into it. “You said it yourself, you’ve known Wycliffe for a very long time. Perhaps longer than anyone else. Can you tell me why he is the way he is? Please,” she begged when the valet started to shake his head. “I want to understand. I need to understand. You’re the only one who can help me.”
> Peterson was quiet for a long moment. So quiet that Hannah feared he was going to deny her request. But with a quiet sigh and a quick glance around to ensure they were alone, he leaned in close. “I don’t know all the details. I was not there when it happened, but I saw him directly after and the humiliation and devastation on his face is something I will never forget.” He took a deep breath before he continued grimly, “There was a young lady, at a ball. One that His Grace regarded quite favorably. He believed she regarded him the same way, but after they danced he discovered it had been nothing more than a bet.”
“A bet?” Hannah asked, auburn brows drawing together in confusion.
“Apparently the young lady, along with her friends, had placed a bet amongst themselves. The one who danced with His Grace the longest was the winner.”
“I – I still don’t understand.”
“No,” said Peterson. “I wouldn’t expect you to. These ladies, and I use the term loosely, saw the duke as nothing more than a freak. They made the bet to amuse themselves, not because they had any real interest in him. And in doing so they managed to reinforce all of the horrific things his father had said to him over the years. Things I will not repeat in polite company. Suffice it to say His Grace was left with the impression that no woman would ever be able to see past his scars, or love him for who he was on the inside.” The valet straightened. “Does that answer your question, Your Grace?”
“Yes, I think it does.” Cruelty on top of cruelty, Hannah thought silently, her chest aching for the young boy who had suffered so much pain and the young man who had been mocked for it. No wonder her husband did not trust anyone. Those he loved had disappointed and hurt him at every turn when they should have been protecting him. “Thank you, Mr. Peterson.”
“Do not give up on him, Your Grace,” the valet said earnestly. “He is a good man with a good heart.”
Hannah smiled sadly. “I know. What I don’t know is if my heart is strong enough to fix his.”
Chapter Eleven
“Peterson, have you seen my wife?” Evan had been looking for Hannah for nearly an hour. After a restless night spent tossing and turning and going over their last conversation again and again, he had finally reached a few conclusions. The principle among them being that he’d treated his wife poorly, and he needed to apologize. But after looking everywhere he could think of including her bedchamber, the library, even the dreaded east wing – he was no closer to finding her than when he’d started.
There was one thing he had discovered on his search, however.
Light.
It streamed into the manor from all directions, illuminating the freshly swept floors and polished wood trim and the new furniture in nearly every room. Or mayhap it was simply old furniture that had been uncovered and cleaned; either way, he felt as if he was walking through someone else’s house. Hannah’s house, to be more precise.
While he had been stomping about, grumpy as a bear and glowering at anyone and everyone who crossed his path, she had been pouring her heart and soul into Wycliffe Manor. His little wife had managed to turn the old, dusty heap of bad memories into something any duke would be proud to call home.
He wanted to tell her how pleased he was with all of her hard work. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for the way he had acted in the stables and his study. Most importantly, he wanted to tell her that she was right and he was wrong. About so many things.
But to do all that, he had to find her first.
“Well?” he asked, hands settling low on his hips. “Have you seen the duchess or not?”
“She’s gone, Your Grace.” Peterson frowned. “I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.”
Evan didn’t like the finality in his valet’s tone. And he sure as hell didn’t like his use of the word ‘gone’.
“Gone?” he growled. “What the devil do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?”
“I – I couldn’t say, Your Grace. She left early this morning. At daybreak.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Peterson met his employer’s furious gaze without blinking. “To be honest, Your Grace, I did not think you would care.”
“Well you thought wrong,” Evan snarled.
“Might I ask where you are going?” Peterson called after him as he threw open the door and stormed out into the brisk autumn air.
“To get my damn wife back.”
“You’re here.”
Turning at the sound of her husband’s stupefied voice, Hannah tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and frowned. “Of course. Where else would I be?”
“I thought…Never mind.” With a hard shake of his head, Wycliffe walked around a bale of straw and into the stables, the shoulders of his coat slightly damp from the misting rain that had just started to fall. Inside the barn it was warm and cozy and the smell of leather lingered pleasingly in the air.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Feeding the horses.” Picking up the nearly empty sack, she held it out. “There’s still a few carrots left if you’d like to join me.”
Standing shoulder to shoulder, they walked slowly down the long row of stalls, neither one of them speaking. When the last carrot had been given out to a pretty sorrel with one brown eye and one blue, Hannah finally gathered the courage to face her husband.
She’d been thinking hard about what Peterson had told her. The glimpse into Wycliffe’s past had given her a piece of the puzzle she’d desperately needed, but it hadn’t solved it for her. For that she needed her husband. But did he need her?
“When I came here, I did so out of sheer desperation,” she began quietly. “I didn’t know anything about you except what I had heard through rumors and conjecture. Still, I thought I knew what to expect.” Biting her lip, she looked up to find him gazing down at her, his steely gaze unreadable. “But I was wrong.”
Wycliffe’s jaw clenched. “Because I was even more hideous than you were led to believe?”
“Because you were even more handsome,” she corrected. When he made a scoffing sound of disbelief under his breath she removed her glove and slowly, gently, traced his jagged scar with the tips of her fingers. “Beauty is not defined by our outward appearance. Those who think otherwise are cruel and smallminded.”
“I am a cripple,” he said shortly.
“Is that what you see when you look at yourself in the mirror? Because I see a man who is capable of more than he knows. You’re just wrapped in so much armor and ice that you can’t see it for yourself.” She knew she’d struck a nerve when she saw the flash of pain his eyes.
“You’re afraid,” she whispered, her thumb resting against the raised edge of his scar as she cradled his cheek in her palm. “Afraid I will hurt you like your father did for putting you through such horrific treatments, and your mother for not stopping him, and the women for mocking you.”
Wycliffe’s gaze darkened. “Colebrook told you about Lady Portia?”
“No, Mr. Peterson did. But you should have. You’re my husband, Evan, and I am your wife. If we cannot share our secrets and our pain and our deepest desires with one another, then who can we share them with?”
“I don’t know,” he said bleakly. “I’ve never…I’ve never had anyone I can trust.”
Trust me. Love me. Choose me over them. Choose our future over your past.
“I cannot promise I will never hurt you,” she said quietly. “I’m sure I do not need to tell you this, but you are a very infuriating man. And I know that we will argue and say things we don’t mean. But I swear that no matter what happens, no matter how angry you make me or how hard you try to push me away, I will never leave you in the dark.”
“Hannah.” It was only the second time he’d ever spoken her name, and it was even more meaningful than the first. “Hannah, I don’t deserve you. The way I’ve acted…the things I’ve said…”
“Were hurtful. I won’t deny it. But at least now I can understand why you said them.”
He placed his hand over top of hers, pressing her fingers into his scar. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes, I can. I have.” She took a deep breath, preparing herself for rejection even as she hoped and prayed for acceptance. “I love you Evan.”
“I love you Hannah,” he said simply, and her heart swelled with so much happiness it was a wonder she could contain it all. “I think I have loved you from the first moment you showed up on my doorstep, but I was too bloody stubborn and scared to admit it. Everyone I have ever loved has brought me nothing but heartache and pain. But you, Hannah…” Lowering his head, he claimed her lips in a kiss so soft and gentle it brought tears to her eyes. “You’ve given me nothing but light.”
When they walked out of the stables the rain had ceased and the sun was beginning to emerge. Stopping suddenly, Hannah pointed up at the sky above Wycliffe Manor.
“Look!” she exclaimed. “A rainbow. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Not as beautiful as my duchess,” Evan said huskily. And taking her in his arms, he kissed her again.
Epilogue
One Week Later
“Are you certain you will be all right here by yourself?” Hannah fretted. “There is plenty of room in the carriage. You could always accompany us, you know.”
“On your honeymoon?” Cadence shook her head. “I think not. I will be perfectly fine remaining here. Elsbeth will be with me and besides, you’ll only be gone for a fortnight. It will give me time to catch up on my reading.”
Hannah regarded her sister dubiously. “You hate reading.”
“My sleeping, then. And we both know how much I like that. Go.” Looking out the window at the gleaming black coach where the Duke of Wycliffe was impatiently waiting for his bride to join him, Cadence gave Hannah a gentle push. “Enjoy your time alone together.”
The Autumn Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 4) Page 8