“It’s not too out of fashion?” She hadn’t seen the latest gowns and couldn’t be certain.
“No, with the right material, it will be perfect. I’ll see to it, straightaway.” Before the maid could leave, the duke appeared in the doorway.
“I need some new clothes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Victoria explained to her husband. “Mary has offered to procure them for me.”
“The duchess will need a complete wardrobe as befits her station,” Jonathan informed the maid. “Send the dressmaker here in the morning, with samples of her fabrics and trims.”
“Here, Your Grace?” Mary risked a glance at Victoria, and she nodded in agreement.
“That would be best.” She sent her husband a silent look of thanks, and he waved a hand to dismiss the maid. Closing the door behind him, he regarded her.
“Does this room suit you?”
“It’s… very fine.” Almost too fine, truthfully, but she didn’t want to offend him. “I’ll feel like a princess sleeping in here.”
He crossed the room and took her hand. Leading her to the window, he opened the drapes to let her look outside at the people. With his hands on her shoulders, he said, “I know you must be tired from the long journey.”
She nodded, and his arms came around her waist. “You’ll have everything you want or need,” he promised. “Just ring for it, and the servants are instructed to obey your orders.”
Turning in his arms, she faced him, feeling the winter chill beneath her skin. “I knew you were wealthy, but I could never have imagined all this…” She tightened her grip around his waist, but he held her at a slight distance, as though not wanting to get too close.
“You’ll grow accustomed to it.” He extricated himself, and added, “I’ll leave you in peace, so you can rest before we dine together this evening.” It was then that she realized that none of his belongings were here, and he apparently had no intention of sharing her bed.
“Where are you sleeping? I thought this was your room, too.”
“My room is at the end of the hallway,” he explained. “You’ll be comfortable enough here.”
Alone, she realized. He would sleep far away from her, except on those nights when he chose to visit her. She was beginning to wonder if he would ever do so. Something had changed today. From the moment he’d entered this house, she’d noticed a tension about him, a discomfort as though there were bad memories here.
“I’m sending men back to Ballaloch,” he informed her. “They will rebuild your father’s house and by the summer, your mother and sisters can live there once more.”
Though he spoke as if it were nothing, his thoughtfulness touched her. The house held memories for her, some better than others, but she had never wanted it to be burned. “Thank you. It’s the kindest wedding gift you could have given to me.”
“Your family can return to London in the meantime,” he continued. “Though we haven’t discovered who set the fire, most of the crofters believe Strathland was responsible. I don’t want your family there.”
“He wanted my mother to sell the land,” Victoria said. “Perhaps he thought a fire would get rid of us.”
“He and I have a score to settle.” A darkness clung to his voice, as if he considered the fire a personal threat. “This isn’t over; I promise you that.”
Squeezing her hands, he released them and started to walk toward the door. “In the meantime, I have to meet with my solicitor this afternoon. After you rest, you may explore the house and meet with the housekeeper to plan the menus. I will see you tonight.”
Already he had resumed the role of duke, keeping his careful distance. She studied Jonathan, wondering what had happened to the man who had played chess with her or the man who had touched her intimately. He was almost a stranger now, surrounded by servants who were paid to obey his every bidding.
In parting, he added, “I have no doubt that you’ll adjust to your new role quite easily.” He gave a slight bow to her and left the room, not even waiting for a reply.
For a long moment, she stared at the closed door. Her life had been upended and scattered into pieces. She’d married this man with the knowledge that she’d protected dozens of families by doing so. He’d given her a home, enough money to do as she pleased, and there was the promise of future children.
This was what she’d always wanted, wasn’t it? Why, then, did she feel so abandoned and alone?
Chapter Fifteen
BEATRICE ANDREWS stared at the letter before her with blurred eyes. Her greatest moment of joy, to see her eldest daughter wedded to a duke, had been overshadowed by the devastating loss of their home.
And now she had to tell Henry about the fire. A tear slid down her cheek as she tried to find the will to get past this tragedy. Her daughters were unharmed; that much was a blessing. They had not yet learned who was responsible for setting the fire, but even if they found the person, it wouldn’t rebuild the stones or salvage the furnishings.
Dear Henry, she’d written. And then she’d set down the pen, unwilling to burden him with more. What could he do, after all? He was in Spain fighting, and she shouldn’t send him news that would only cause more worry.
But keeping the truth from him was worse. Better to be honest and try to rebuild before he returned.
She dried her eyes, staring at the bundle of fabric that Margaret had found near the house. It contained silks, satins, and all manner of fabrics that Cain Sinclair had purchased and delivered to her eldest daughters. And although she believed she could ask the duke to help them, pride kept her silent.
Within this bundle of fabric lay a great deal of hope. Victoria’s needle and skill had brought them twenty pounds, and from Margaret’s secrecy, she suspected there was more than that. If all of them worked together, it was possible they could earn the money needed to hire builders. Beatrice wasn’t particularly skilled at dressmaking, but she could sew straight seams.
Her sister would die of mortification if she even suspected Beatrice was considering this. Ladies did not become merchants. Especially the wife and daughters of a baron.
Then again, she was so weary of being told what to do and how to do it. Obedience had not gotten her far, and she still suspected the land steward was bleeding them dry. Year after year, she’d allowed herself to fail, making poor decisions and worrying over what Henry would think.
It was time to change that. Time to stand on her own feet and dig her way out of the pit of financial ruin she’d created.
The Duke of Worthingstone had given them a place to live at Eiloch Hill, but she didn’t want to rely on his generosity for too much longer. And if that meant wielding her needle, she would set aside her inhibitions and do so.
“Mother?” came the voice of her daughter Amelia. “Are you all right?”
Beatrice set down her pen and took a deep breath. Yes, she was going to be all right. She’d done everything wrong, but that was going to change. Starting tomorrow, when she returned to Ballaloch to hire men to rebuild her house.
“I will be,” she answered, opening her arms for a hug. Her daughter balanced on the arm of the wingback chair and held tight.
“We’ll help you,” Amelia promised. “I’ve spoken to Margaret and Juliette, and we’re going to do more sewing. With your permission,” she added. Her face turned crimson, as if she were apprehensive of Beatrice’s answer.
Beatrice gave a nod. “So long as you are discreet, I won’t protest.”
“Thank you.” Her daughter’s face still held a flush, but likely, it was only excitement. “I’ll go and tell Juliette.”
After Amelia had gone, Beatrice picked up her pen again. The words didn’t come easily, but she wrote to Henry, telling him about Victoria’s marriage and the fire. She confessed their financial hardships, admitting her faults.
But she couldn’t bring herself to speak of the broken feelings, or the years of regret. In so many ways, it was like writing to a stranger. Her husband had loved her once, but the d
istance was so vast, she couldn’t quite reveal the hurt or fears inside.
If she wanted her life to change, then she had to begin with herself. She had to simply keep faith that hard work and courage would grant her the strength she needed.
When he opened the door to his wife’s room, Jonathan found Victoria sewing. “You didn’t come down for supper.”
“No,” she admitted. Her writing desk was filled with pieces of fabric and he saw a half-finished chemise hanging over the back of a second chair. This one was more demure than the others, but he’d spied many different colors of silk, satin, and lace.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
She set down her needle and shrugged. “Mary brought me a gown from Madame Benedict’s, but it did not suit. I’ve cut pieces from my wedding gown and the new gown. I’m making a new garment from both.”
It was then that he saw the ice blue gown she’d worn at the ceremony. Though parts of the gown had been ruined by smoke and the snow, she’d salvaged large portions of it. The new gown was ivory, trimmed with pearls and lace. It was suited to a young girl, not a newly married duchess.
He saw that Victoria had begun combining the two fabrics, creating ice blue sleeves and an ivory bodice. Though the gown was unfinished, it was far more striking than he’d guessed.
She was wearing her dove-colored traveling gown while a small bath of water stood in the corner. It appeared that she’d gotten caught up in her work and forgotten it.
“Duchesses do not sew,” he reminded her. “There’s no need for it.”
Her gray eyes flashed with anger. “Why must I give up something I enjoy?”
He sensed he was treading on dangerous ground, but better for her to learn the truth from him than for the servants to begin whispering. “Because it simply isn’t done. It’s too common.”
She picked up a panel and threaded her needle. “Other duchesses might not, but this duchess does. Sewing is what I do. It’s who I am, and I’ll not give it up.” Beneath her cool words, he detected a simmering anger, mingled with resentment.
He decided to drop the subject, for there had been many changes for her this day. “Are you hungry?”
She shrugged, her needle flashing in even stitches. “A little.”
“Where is your maid?”
“I sent her away. I wanted to be alone when I sew.”
Jonathan let out a sigh and pulled the bell cord to ring for a tray. Without asking what she wanted, he requested an assortment of food, and the footman disappeared to obey his orders.
Despite the long meeting with his solicitor, he’d never stopped thinking of Victoria. Like an obsession, she was burned into his mind. He’d wanted to leave behind the reports of all the estate profits and losses, spending time with his wife. Truthfully, he hated London and wished he didn’t have to live in this house. Every time he set foot within it, he was reminded of his father.
If the property weren’t entailed, he’d sell it tomorrow. As it was, when he did come to town, he preferred to remain behind closed doors. He was determined to protect Victoria from all the malicious talk against his family.
The food arrived, and Victoria thanked the footman, tasting the soup he’d brought. It reminded him of the night they’d shared a meal in Scotland and the first time he’d kissed her. She sipped at the spoon, drawing his attention to her mouth.
A curling strand of blond hair hung upon her bosom, and his mind conjured up the image of the strands tangled against her bare skin. He wanted to watch her come undone, to join their bodies until he could lose himself in her. But his earlier loss of control made him hesitant.
“Will you come with me for a moment?” He extended his hand, and she set aside the sewing, rising from her chair. With her palm in his, he led her toward the window. She’d closed the drapes, but he pushed them back. Outside it was dark, with only the slight glow of lanterns to reveal the streets and passersby. The noise of carriages rumbled past, while a low fog drifted across the amber lights.
“There’s far more to the world than you’ve seen, Victoria. I want to show it to you one day.” He held her in his arms, forcing her to look outside. The scent of her skin held traces of flowers, and he breathed against her neck, tightening his hold. “We’ll leave London and go back to the way it was in Scotland. Alone.”
“I would like that,” she whispered. “But first I need to face London.”
“No.” He would never expose her to their scrutiny. “Put it from your mind.” He rubbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. She’d grown thinner over the past week of traveling, and shadows hung beneath her eyes. But she was no less beautiful to him.
“Are you ashamed of me? Is that why you don’t want me to leave your house?” Her gray eyes regarded him with a quiet solemnity.
“Not at all. But I don’t want them to upset you. And they will not curb their tongues merely because you became my duchess.” He leaned in to steal a kiss, wanting to reassure her. At first, she remained still, accepting his kiss, but not returning it.
Against his mouth, she murmured, “I don’t want you to regret this marriage.”
“There’s only one thing I regret,” he murmured against her jaw. Nipping at the sensitive skin, he kissed her again, his mouth trying to force a response from her. It was tentative, but when he pulled her closer, her arms came around him, her head leaning back. “I mean to remedy that now.”
Her eyes widened as she caught his meaning. “Don’t be afraid,” he ordered. “Kiss me back.” If it took every ounce of control he had, he was determined not to frighten her.
He sensed the moment she started to lose herself in the kiss. He slid his tongue within her mouth, and when she imitated the gesture, desire tightened inside him. His hands moved down to her bottom, pulling her close.
“I’ll give you the life you’ve dreamed of, Victoria,” he swore. “If you’re willing to reach for it.”
From the crimson cast to her skin, he could tell that he’d flustered her. She knew, full well, that he desired her. But he didn’t know if she would refuse him or not. Her shoulders were tight with tension, and he massaged them slowly.
“Wh-what are you doing, Jonathan?”
“I like the way you use my name, instead of my title,” he replied, ignoring her question. He continued rubbing her shoulders, before he unfastened the first button of her gown. A second followed, and her posture stiffened.
“What color is your chemise, I wonder?” His mouth lowered to the soft part of her neck, his tongue flicking against her skin. “Blue, this time? Or perhaps a pure white, like you wore on our wedding night?” He reached for the laces that bound back her traveling gown and loosened it further. “You might think you’re hiding yourself beneath these colorless gowns, Victoria. But I know your secrets.” After he’d unfastened the back of her gown, he revealed a bright red corset and chemise.
God in heaven.
The vivid color contrasted against her skin, making him want to tear it off. “Where did you get this?”
“Madame Benedict sent it with the gown.”
He leaned in and spoke against the back of her neck. “I like it.” Slowly, he drew his hand down her spine, watching as the gooseflesh rose upon her shoulders. “Take off your gown,” he ordered.
“I’d rather you undressed me,” she answered.
Jonathan reached for the hem of her gown, lifting it up. His hands passed over her rib cage and breasts until he beheld her in only the red chemise and corset. “I’m beginning to understand why you and your sisters earned a small fortune selling these.”
She gasped as he moved before her, loosening the corset even more until he could lift it away. He lowered the chemise and bent to taste the erect tips of her breasts.
Her hands threaded into his hair, and she looked into his eyes. “I want the wedding night we should have had, Victoria.” He drew his hand beneath her petticoat, grazing her inner thigh until he cupped her damp curls.
A ragged gasp em
itted from her throat when he slid a finger inside her, his thumb brushing against her hooded flesh.
“Wait.”
He stopped touching her immediately. Victoria closed her eyes, wishing she could stop the violent upheaval inside of her. Even his words were arousing, and she knew what he wanted from her.
“All of this is overwhelming to me,” she whispered. “I am willing… but a little frightened.”
In the firelight, his chest was firm, the muscles rigid. She remembered what it was like to have his body pressed to hers, to feel the sensual touch of his hands upon her.
Jonathan turned toward her, his expression shielded. “You’re afraid of me.”
She nodded, not knowing how else to explain it. The air was cool, and she tried in vain to hide herself from his gaze. Every part of him was taut, as though he were holding back a storm. There would be pain when he joined with her, but she also remembered the intense pleasure he’d given her.
Her answer seemed to concern him, for he brought his hands to her waist. “Then we should slow down.”
She breathed a little easier, thankful that she hadn’t offended him. His hand remained at her waist, and he took her other hand. “I promised you a dance on Christmas. Will you grant it to me now?”
Her cheeks warmed at the idea. “What about your leg?”
“Believe me. I’m not thinking about my leg at all.” There was irony in his voice as he held her closer. “Follow my lead.”
He stepped forward, guiding her backward. Her feet stumbled, but he showed her the simple steps of a waltz. Though she had been taught to dance years ago, it had been so long, she could hardly remember her footing. When Jonathan tried to turn her, she tripped again, but he steadied her. “Count with me. One, two, three.”
She was terrible at it, but the more she tripped over her own feet, the easier it was to laugh at herself. Never once did he let go, simply correcting her until she managed to find the pattern and follow him.
The look in his green eyes held a hunger she was beginning to understand. She let herself be guided by him, losing herself. And she knew that this was a prelude to another kind of dance.
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