by Amy Jarecki
“Drink this down, Your Grace.” Mrs. Temperance hastened in with a steaming mug. “I’ve added some honey to take away the bitterness.”
Eleanor accepted the cup with trembling hands. “Thank you.”
While a line of footmen processed with buckets of warm water, Sher briskly rubbed his palm around Eleanor’s back. “We’ll have you toasty warm in no time.”
Rosie approached with a stack of linen bandages. “You requested these, Your Grace?”
He took one and leaned back, raising the disarray of Eleanor’s hair and lightly dabbing with the cloth. With her hiss, he replied, “You’re lucky you weren’t killed out there.”
She chuckled, handing the mug back to the housekeeper. “It might have simplified matters if I had been.”
Though she’d used a lighthearted tone, her words slayed him more than she could possibly know. “I wouldn’t say that.”
What the devil has come between us?
As soon as the thought passed through his mind, he knew how ludicrous he was to wonder. He’d shattered her life with his investigation. Not that it didn’t need doing, but it was a shame Eleanor had to take the fall. If only she would have married after her father returned from the wars.
He motioned for Mrs. Temperance and the footmen to leave.
“Would you like some lavender oil in your bath, Your Grace?” asked Rosie.
“That would be nice, thank you.” Eleanor placed her hand on Sher’s chest, the gentleness of her touch making something melt deep inside. “I’d best bathe whilst the water is warm.”
Standing, Sher took her hand and kissed it. “I will be in my chamber on the other side of the door, should you need anything at all.”
Eleanor’s gaze met his and she offered a sad smile, one affected by intermittent shivers. If only he could make her shiver like that when she wasn’t truly cold—when she was on her back and staring into his eyes.
Sher paced his chamber while trickles of water interspersed with conversation resounded from the duchess’ rooms.
“I think we’ve rinsed all the blood from your hair,” said Rosie.
“Fine,” Eleanor replied, her voice warbling as if she were still chilled. “I’d best towel off before the water grows any colder.”
Sher slammed his fist into his palm. Had the servants brought up cold water?
“I’ve set out your night-rail.” The water whooshed. “We’ll have you dry and under a pile of cozy bedclothes in no time.”
“Have you slipped in the bed warmer?”
“I have, madam.”
A knock came. “The physician has arrived, Your Grace.”
He opened the door to the housekeeper and Dr. Roberts who carried his black case. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” Sher ushered the man into his chamber and strode toward the door between the chambers. “Her Grace was thrown from a horse, then spent hours out alone in the pouring rain.”
The doctor was a stout man in middle age. “I had no idea you’d married, sir.”
“We’ve only recently arrived in Yorkshire,” he replied without elaborating. Though Sher knew the townsfolk would be curious, especially now that the physician was paying a visit. The man had an affable bedside manner and was very good at his work, but Sher reckoned everyone within twenty miles would know by the morrow.
He pulled on the latch and peeked inside Eleanor’s chamber. “Dr. Roberts has arrived.”
“Just in time. Her Grace is tucked in.” With a furrow in her brow, Rosie glanced to the servants’ entrance. “Shall I leave you?”
Of course, most lady’s maids ought to know to stay put. “No, you’ll need to be privy to the doctor’s orders,” said Mrs. Temperance.
Dr. Roberts strode to the bed with Sher on his heels, even Joe joined them. “His Grace tells me you suffered a fall from your horse.”
Eleanor looked up, her eyes barely peeping out from a mound of blankets. “I did. And I’m afraid I landed on my head.”
“I see.” The doctor leaned in, examined in her eyes, and took her pulse. “I’ll need you to sit forward.”
Sher clenched his fists at his sides while the man poked and prodded.
“There is quite a contusion. Did you lose consciousness?”
“Yes. I’m not sure for how long, though.”
“But you remember everything, do you?”
“I do now. It took a moment.”
“What is your name?”
“Eleanor Kent… I mean, Eleanor Price, the Duchess of Danby.” She released a nervous chuckle. “I suppose I must grow accustomed to my new name.”
“I would think most newlywed ladies would be elated to tell the world if they married into a dukedom.”
Eleanor glanced to Sher with a bit of sadness reflected in her eyes. “Agreed. It is an honor. Please forgive me. I’m not feeling myself.”
“It is perfectly understandable,” said the doctor, rummaging in his bag before he turned to Sher. “I’ll apply a poultice and a bandage. Continue to give her willow bark tea and she must remain in bed for two days.”
“Two days?” Eleanor complained. “I’ll go mad.”
While Dr. Roberts set to work, Sher patted her knee. “Then we’ll have to find ways to keep you entertained.”
After the doctor left with Mrs. Temperance, Sher excused Rosie and sat on the edge of Eleanor’s bed.
“I’m so sorry to be such a burden,” she said.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a heel.”
She snorted. “Neither of us wanted this.”
His smile faded as he brushed a knuckle across her cheek. “If I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have gone through with the wedding.”
Eleanor opened her mouth, blinked, and shut it. “Oh.”
Chapter Twenty
When Eleanor opened her eyes, a ray of light beamed through the window. Outside, birds sang a happy tune as if there had never been a storm. She tried to sit up, but when her temples throbbed, she thought better of it.
At the sound of a very light snore, she shifted her gaze to her left and realized her husband had moved an overstuffed chair beside her bed. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his hands folded atop his waistcoat. Last eve, he had read to her for a time and she must have drifted off.
She rolled to her side, which eased the pressure on the back of her head. Even in slumber, Danby was handsome. With his lips slightly parted, he looked delicious enough to kiss.
Indeed, with his eyes closed, he didn’t gaze upon her with the judgmental disdain she’d felt ever present since the duke had uncovered her ruse—her shame. Though Eleanor would never apologize for undertaking what needed to be done in order to care for her father and save his estates. Perhaps she should have taken Weston’s advice long ago and retired, but there had been something dangerously exciting about consorting among the ton and providing rare art, exotic fabrics, and expensive liquor to those who desired it most.
Except I was wrong—a wretched fool!
Danby sighed and moved his shoulders a bit but didn’t wake. He’d behaved quite differently after her fall. It was curious the duke had been the one to find her. Furthermore, he’d been far kinder and far gentler than she would have imagined.
She expected a scolding, but one never came.
And then after the physician took his leave, Danby had admitted he wouldn’t have gone through with the marriage if he hadn’t wanted to.
That one sentence had utterly rendered her speechless—given her hope. But then, he hadn’t gone on to explain.
Oh, how she longed to ask him why he’d wanted her to marry him. She’d patiently waited for more. But the moment vanished when he changed the subject.
Was he such a philanthropist that he would cast aside his own needs to rescue a lady in need?
Not likely.
Had he endured enough of his mother’s badgering, and decided to settle?
Also not likely. The dowager duchess had been a stalwart member of polite societ
y for ages and every year she paraded a parcel of young ladies in front of her son at her annual ball, none of whom had captured his heart.
Before the wedding, Sher had told her he’d agreed because he needed an heir. He’d admitted as much, yet he obviously was in no hurry to consummate the marriage and get her with child. Moreover, his reputation was notorious for consorting with mistresses and opera singers and, if Eleanor remembered correctly, he’d even spent a Season in the arms of one of London’s most prominent madams.
But in the time I’ve come to know him, he has not entertained a mistress.
Why?
She looked at his face, made dark by the stubble that had grown in overnight. The man seemed almost angelic in slumber, yet she knew him to be layered and complex.
What am I doing wrong?
With her question, Eleanor closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. When she woke again, Rosie had taken the duke’s place.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” said the maid, pushing to her feet and crossing the floor. “I have a breakfast tray for you.”
Feeling much better, Eleanor pulled back the bedclothes. “Wonderful. I’m famished.”
“No, no!” Rosie dashed to the bed with a tray in hand, making the cup and saucer rattle. “I have strict orders from His Grace that you are not to leave your bed.”
Adjusting the pillows behind her and nestling against the headboard, Eleanor reached for a slice of toast. “Next he’ll place an armed guard in here with orders to smite me should I move.”
“Now I know you’ve suffered a blow to the head.”
“Why is that?”
“I might be new to Rawcliffe, but if you ask anyone who works here, they’ll tell you the Duke of Danby is a kind employer who treats his servants quite well.”
“Is that so?” Eleanor savored her tea, letting the warm liquid slowly slip across her tongue. It had been brewed just long enough, pleasing her palate with a robust, malty flavor. “Why do you think they like him so much?”
The maid perched on the edge of the chair. “Well, to begin with, he’s generous. Anyone within twenty miles of Rawcliffe knows he pays top wages.”
“That may well be, but I’ve heard of many tyrannical employers who pay well. There must be something else about him that endears his servants.”
“The grooms say he’s very knowledgeable about horses—and owns the best brood mares in England. He also never loses his temper, at least not that I’ve heard.”
Eleanor’s stomach was still a bit too squeamish for eating eggs and sausages, so she opted for a second slice of toast. In truth, she had never seen Danby lose his temper. He’d been annoyed with her many times but had never raised his voice—aside from bellowing orders when he carried her into the house. “I’m glad of it. Anything else?”
Rosie turned as red as her namesake. “Um…”
“Tell me.”
“All the maids think him a fine dandy.”
To avoid spewing her half-chewed toast across the tray, Eleanor covered her mouth and chortled.
“Do you not agree?”
To be honest, her husband’s devilish good looks had been her undoing. “He is fetching to the eye. I do not know a lady in London who would argue.”
“London,” Rosie said on a sigh as if it were a magical city. “I’d like to see it one day. Is it fabulous? The theater, balls, rows of shops with fine things imported from faraway places.”
“It is bustling with people—like any city, Town has its advantages, though unpleasantness can lurk around unexpected corners.” Eleanor slid the tray aside. “You will travel there with me next Season.”
“Truly? But what about your lady’s maid at your town house?”
“Because she cares for her mother and was unable to follow me here, I provided her with stellar references. I’m sure by the time I return, she will have found a new place of employment.”
Rosie beamed, clapping her hands over her heart. “’Twould be a dream come true.”
“Which reminds me.” Eleanor pointed toward the archway leading to her private salon. “Will you fetch my sketchbook, inkpot, and quill? As long as I’m relegated to this bed, we may as well teach you your letters.”
Besides, she had a few decorating ideas she wanted to play with even if she wouldn’t be staying there long.
The following evening, Sher popped his head into Eleanor’s chamber. “Splendid. Stay where you are.”
“What?” the duchess asked, sitting in bed, blankets up to her waist, wearing a night-rail buttoned up to her throat, and balancing her sketchbook on her knees.
He beckoned the line of maids and footmen behind him in the corridor. “Put the table and chairs in front of the hearth. Light the candles, set everything out as we discussed and take your leave, if you please.”
He stood back and held the door as he watched the procession.
Eleanor tugged the bedclothes up to her chin. “Exactly what are you doing to my bedchamber?”
As the last maid entered with an aromatic dish in her hands, Sher sauntered inside, unable to help grinning like a schoolboy. “Since this is your last evening abed, and since you have reminded me at least a hundred and fifty times that you are well enough to jockey a horse in a mile race, I’ve decided to let you up.”
“Up?” Eleanor glanced to the bustling collection of servants. “I take it up means remaining in here?”
Sher grasped her dressing gown from the foot of the bed. “I thought a quiet dinner for two might be on the cards.” He glanced over his shoulder as the team started filing out the door. “I’d hoped it might be a pleasant segue toward regaining your strength.”
“My strength never left, mind you. At least after my teeth stopped chattering from the cold.” After they were alone, Eleanor stood and allowed Sher to help her don her robe. Tying the sash, she glanced toward the table and an enormous smile brightened her face. “It does smell delicious.”
He bowed, led her to a chair, and held it for her. “Your Grace.”
“Thank you,” she said, sweeping into the padded seat as elegantly as any duchess had ever done, even if she was indecently clad by society’s standards. “The candlesticks are lovely. They’re quite unusual.”
Eleanor ran her fingers along one of the two silver maidens holding a gilt bronze tulip, in which each candle was supported. “I imagine these have been in your family for a long time.”
“They have. I believe they are sixteenth-century.” Sher removed the stopper from a decanter of wine and poured, first for her, and then for himself. “But I doubt they have ever been put to better use.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I cannot be sure, but as long as I’ve been alive, these beauties have been in a cupboard in the china closet, standing in obscurity as forgotten relics.”
“Hmm.” Eleanor carefully raised one and looked at the bottom. Then, without spilling a single drop of wax, she returned the candlestick to the table. “They’re Flemish. I am duly impressed. How did they come into the hands of your family?”
“Our family, mind you.” Sher took his seat. “I have no idea. Perhaps one of my ancestors purchased them whilst participating in a tourney circuit on the Continent.”
“Or they could be from the spoils of war.”
“Could be.” Sher raised his glass and Eleanor did in kind. “Shall we make a toast?”
“To beautiful art?”
“I was thinking more of new beginnings, but why not start with art?”
“Why not both?” she asked, clinking his glass. “Cheers.”
Sher sipped, never taking his eyes off his duchess. Without any airs, her unbound auburn locks flickering copper with the candlelight, she was more stunning than he’d ever seen her.
He used a pair of silver tongs to place a roll on her plate. “Tonight’s dinner is a simple affair. Bread, pigeon pie, and a dessert of almond flummery with hypocras jelly.”
“Mm. I like simple. I prefer it, to be honest.” She s
plit her roll and buttered it. “Might I say this was a very kind gesture. I know there are most likely a thousand other things you’d prefer to be doing at the moment.”
“I don’t know.” He winked before he served the pie. “A thousand could be exaggerating a bit.”
She clipped a bit of bread with her teeth, looking again like the seductive woman who’d beguiled him. “What was it you said about new beginnings?”
“Our marriage was rather rushed.”
“That is an understatement.”
“In truth, I was surprised when you accepted.”
“I wasn’t given much of a choice.” Fork in hand, Eleanor paused. “But I must admit, I did have options. And, though, I do not care to be backed into a corner, at the time I felt this…situation was for the best.”
Sher gulped. After sitting at her bedside, sick with worry, he’d wished over and over they could start anew. Dear God, he’d be devastated if he lost her. “Aside from certain arrest and being publicly humiliated, what, pray tell, were your options?”
“I could have set sail immediately on any number of ships. I could have taken Margaret and Papa and established a shop in Nassau or elsewhere.”
“I doubt your father would have fared well on a sea voyage.”
“No.”
“Though Margaret is strong,” he mused.
“She is, though still an infant—fragile and too young to take to the high seas.”
“I’m glad you chose the more reasonable path.” Sher glanced aside. Though things had eased a great deal between them, there was still a long way to go before it felt like a marriage. “For their sake if not for yours.”
Eleanor gave a nod, blushing as her gaze returned to her plate. “I miss them.”
“I suspect they will be arriving soon.”
“Yes, in seven days, if all goes well.” It didn’t surprise him to hear Eleanor had been counting. “So, tell me, do you have any promising yearlings in your brood?”
“Several, though there’s an up-and-coming stallion who’s a cut above the others. Spirited like a spitfire.”