“I never meant to hurt you last night,” he said. His voice was quiet, and he admitted, “I don’t want you feeling threatened by me.”
She stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. “I wasn’t threatened at all. It might not have ended the way I wanted it to, but you didn’t have to go.”
“Yes, I did. But I hope the necklace will atone for my actions.”
She was at a loss for words. A necklace—truly? She wanted him, not cold jewels. “You don’t need to give me jewels. I’d much rather have—”
“Thimbles and thread?” he interrupted. “Or perhaps a length of muslin?” The tone of his voice spoke of a man who believed she disliked his gift. It wasn’t that at all. But she didn’t ever want him to believe that he had to apologize by spending vast amounts of money on her. A kiss would have been enough.
“I was going to say I’d rather have you,” she answered quietly. “But a thimble isn’t a bad idea.” She tried to muster a smile, for such a gift held more value to her. She loved sewing, loved watching lengths of material transform into beautiful garments. It was such an intrinsic part of her, she couldn’t ever imagine giving it up.
Rising from her chair, she turned to face him. “I married you to save the crofters, not for your wealth.”
“I suppose you wish you hadn’t,” he responded.
“Stop putting words in my mouth that aren’t true.” She held on to her waist, trying to hold back the feelings inside her. Though she hadn’t wanted to wed him, now that it was done, she was determined to make the best of this marriage. Even if it meant transforming herself.
Jonathan moved in closer, his hand reaching for hers. He removed the glove she was wearing, then lifted her palm to his lips. A light shiver fluttered through her at the touch of his mouth. “We haven’t begun well, have we?”
“We haven’t even been married a fortnight,” she said. “A quarrel was inevitable.” Searching for an excuse to distract him, Victoria spied a small game table in the corner. “Would you care to play chess?”
His eyes narrowed. “You must not be feeling well.”
“Likely not.” But it was the only thing she could think of to soothe his mood. Without allowing him to refuse, she moved toward the game table and set up the ivory pieces while he took the black. They played for several minutes, and she surprised herself by taking several of his pieces.
“Little thief,” he muttered. “Taking what’s rightfully mine.”
She only smiled and moved her knight into position. “Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do?”
She was rewarded with a dark laugh. “Touché.”
He moved his bishop and while she was distracted with the board, his foot moved against hers. “We’ve been invited to a ball next week. Your aunt Charlotte is hosting it for your sisters.”
Her hand froze upon the chess piece. “They’ve returned from Scotland?”
“Not yet, but soon.”
Joy filled her up inside at the idea. She wanted to see them so badly, but a moment later, she realized what he’d said. Charlotte was hosting the ball, which meant she would have to face her fears again, venturing out of this house.
But Jonathan continued, not allowing her to speak. “My secretary will decline the invitation, and you won’t have to go.”
She stared at the white pieces, not at all pleased by that. Yes, it would be difficult, but she couldn’t simply stay at home and hide away from the world. She had to try to attend, no matter how much she might cling to her husband’s side.
“This is my aunt,” she reminded him. “We should be there.” Charlotte was her family. Her aunt would never permit anyone to speak ill of her. Was it possible to transform herself for one night, to become another person? Madame Benedict had promised to finish an evening gown within a few days. And then she had the diamond necklace. Perhaps…
“She would understand if you didn’t attend.” From the duke’s expression, he had no intention of going.
“I want to be there for my sisters,” she said. “And I want you to go with me.” If Jonathan stayed at her side, she believed she could face the fear. She took a deep breath, praying he would agree.
Jonathan took another chess piece and regarded her. “I think it would be best if you didn’t. Not so soon.” He rested his hand upon the table, as if he didn’t believe she could manage it.
She said nothing, though a twinge of annoyance pricked at her that he had assumed she would not know how to conduct herself. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d been a guest at a party. She’d watched enough young ladies to know what to expect.
The idea of standing in front of society, baring her insecurities, was frightening. And yet… Lady Rumford had offered to help her. The matron would likely be delighted with the idea.
It burned within her, the wish to stand at Jonathan’s side as his duchess. To prove to him that she could assume this role and be his wife.
She had to try.
The snows had melted, and Beatrice had spent the past week watching the rebuilding efforts. Though it hurt to see the charred interior, at least the stone exterior had not suffered too badly. The Duke of Worthingstone had sent a dozen men to work on the house, and though she’d asked about paying the men, they claimed that His Grace had already done so. She was so grateful for the help, she’d decided to put aside her pride. The duke would not permit his wife’s family to endure hardship, not when he had the means to provide for them.
She’d remained at his house on Eiloch Hill with his staff, while her daughters had gone to London to stay with Charlotte. Although the duke’s home was in need of its own repairs, at least she had a roof over her head and a bed in which to sleep. She was determined that her own house would be finished before Henry returned.
“Lady Lanfordshire, there’s a letter come for you.”
Beatrice turned and saw Mrs. Larson holding out the letter on a silver tray. The moment she saw her husband’s handwriting, her spirits sank. Henry hadn’t written her in so long, she worried what it might say. When she read the contents, dread filled her up inside.
“Are ye all right, my lady?” Mrs. Larson asked, wiping her hands upon her apron. “It’s no’ bad news, is it?”
She forced a smile on her face. “The Colonel was wounded in the last battle, but he’s recovering. It seems that they will be sending him home early to convalesce.”
The housekeeper murmured words in Gaelic beneath her breath in prayer. “He’s no’ too badly hurt, is he?”
Beatrice shrugged. If they were sending him back, it had to be serious enough that he could no longer fight. But she worried over what he would say about the house. The men could only work so fast in the midst of snow and rain. And in this part of Scotland, the weather was merciless.
“When will he be arriving?” the housekeeper asked. “Could the men be finished with the house by then?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t know. The men are working as fast as they can. And the crofters are too busy building their own homes on the duke’s land, so they can’t help.”
Mrs. Larson nodded. “Well, if it isna finished by the time he returns, at least you’ve a place here, thanks be.”
Beatrice nodded her thanks. “I still don’t understand why the fire was started. We’ve done nothing at all to hurt anyone.” She rested a hand against the doorframe as she watched the workers. “Margaret said Victoria brought work to the crofters’ wives. They were paid for their sewing.”
“’Tisn’t money they need, but rather food,” Mrs. Larson said.
“You’re right. But it makes me uneasy living here, knowing that one of them started the fire.” A shiver ran through her. “And then Mr. MacKinloch disappeared. You don’t think that he—”
The housekeeper paled. “I canna be saying. But if he were to betray ye like that, he’ll get what’s comin’ to him, I can promise ye that.”
“I’m glad the girls returned to London,” she admitted. “It’s safer.” Had it n
ot been for the house, she’d rather be there herself.
Beatrice picked up Henry’s letter again, searching for some hint that he might have missed her or the girls. There was nothing except the terse announcement that he would be home by the early spring, if not sooner.
She walked outside, heedless of the melting snow. For the past few years, she’d been alone. Would her husband ignore her, as he always had? Or had he thought of her at all during those years?
Regardless, she did not intend to make excuses for the fire, nor allow him to blame her for it. With any luck, the house would be finished before he arrived.
And when Henry returned from Spain, she would discover what hope, if any, was left for her own marriage.
Chapter Seventeen
JONATHAN STOOD at the foot of the wooden stairs, resting his hand upon the railing. Slowly, he walked up the stairs, a heaviness centering within him. His mother had died here, and his father had taken his own life. For a moment, he stared at the floor below the railing, wondering if Catherine had known she was going to die. Even now, he expected to see her hurrying down the stairs, a bright smile on her face and a warm embrace for him.
As for his father, he hoped the bastard was burning in hell.
Although Jonathan had done what he could to silence the gossip, he’d hated the way everyone had looked at him. The duchess had been murdered, and some questioned whether his father’s harsh temper ran within his own blood.
It didn’t. He told himself that, time and again. And yet, when he was with Victoria, she conjured a side of him he’d never known existed. It was as if she’d transformed his stony existence into a man of flesh and blood—a man who desperately wanted her.
I won’t be like my father, he swore to himself. He would maintain his control, no matter how much she tempted him. He didn’t like the reckless infatuation that simmered inside him with the need to possess her. The need for distance, to calm the unrest, was heightening with every moment he spent in this house.
He had to return to Scotland. Already, he’d sent investigators to question the Earl of Strathland about the fire. Jonathan strongly suspected that the man had played a part in it, though he hadn’t set it himself. Lady Lanfordshire had admitted that the earl’s men had pressured her to sell their land on several occasions.
As a duke, Jonathan held far more power than the earl. It was possible he could use his influence to protect Lady Lanfordshire and the crofters. But he questioned the wisdom of returning to a place of such unrest and violence.
Strathland had made many enemies among the Highlanders, and although he had been within his rights to evict the tenants once their lease was ended, there was no need to burn their homes. The crofters’ resentment at being homeless was an open, festering wound. Eventually, it would result in bloodshed, and Jonathan didn’t want Victoria’s family in danger.
Remaining here, in London, was akin to turning a blind eye, believing that nothing terrible would happen. And he instinctively knew that if Lady Lanfordshire were caught between two feuding sides, she would suffer for it.
He stood outside his wife’s bedroom door at the end of the hall, resting his hand upon the wood. This time, he could not stand by and do nothing while others suffered. Even if it meant facing down the earl himself, Jonathan refused to hide from the danger.
“This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.” Amelia walked through Victoria’s bedchamber, admiring the furnishings and moving straight toward her wardrobe. After exclaiming over the new gowns, her sister closed her eyes and leaned back against the wardrobe door. “It’s truly the most unfair twist of fate. You stayed at home while we tried to find husbands. And yet, you were the one to catch the richest husband of all.”
Victoria sent her a sympathetic smile. “It wasn’t my intention to wed a duke.”
“With my misfortune, I’ll never marry.” Amelia crossed the room and sat beside Juliette. “That would be the most wretched luck. And I truly was trying to find someone, just before Christmas.”
“Juliette and I tried to find husbands, not you,” Margaret corrected. “You’re only sixteen.”
“I can look, can’t I?” Amelia countered. “Some of the men won’t be married in two more years… and there was this exquisite viscount.” She sighed, flopping down upon a settee. “I would let him compromise me whenever he wanted to.”
Margaret glared at her and turned back to Victoria. “We should lock her away for the next two years. She shouldn’t be speaking of such things.”
Victoria hid her smile, knowing her youngest sister’s propensity for drama. To change the subject, she asked, “How many of the unmentionables did we sell?”
Juliette reached inside her reticule and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Our mother has the bundle of fabric that Worthingstone saved from the fire. With the help of the crofters, we finished most of the orders. Although Mother still thinks they were sewing gowns,” she noted. “I’ve tallied up the amounts here. Sixteen corsets, fourteen chemises, and we have orders for thirty more.”
“And the money?” Victoria couldn’t help asking. Though she didn’t need it anymore, she was curious about their profit. “Did you earn very much?”
Juliette smiled and passed her the paper. “More than enough. Over a thousand pounds.”
Victoria sank into a chair, her heart pounding. Her own stays felt so tight, she couldn’t catch her breath. It was more money that she’d ever expected to see. “A thousand? But it can’t be.”
“It can, and it is.” Juliette sat across from her. “Mr. Sinclair escorted us back to Aunt Charlotte’s, and he delivered the garments to Madame Benedict’s shop. He sold all of them.”
“This will change the crofters’ lives,” Victoria said. “They won’t have to struggle so much to survive.” She imagined the joy on the women’s faces when Mr. Sinclair delivered their share of the profits.
“It can’t continue,” Margaret admitted. “If anyone found out we are behind it, Father would be humiliated. Not to mention what all of society would think of us. You might be married, Victoria, but the rest of us aren’t. The men would believe we’re harboring sordid thoughts.” She sat down, her back ramrod straight. “It’s not at all appropriate, and it’s a bad influence upon Amelia. We should cease this immediately.”
“Does the duke know?” Juliette asked quietly.
Victoria nodded. “He knew about it before Christmas. But he doesn’t want me to sew anymore.”
“He’s right. Duchesses do not sew,” Margaret agreed. “They embroider. And even then, not very often.”
Her sister’s insistence on propriety was grating upon Victoria’s patience. “If I want to sew, then I will. What I do in the privacy of my room is no one’s concern.”
“I’m only trying to help,” Margaret said. “You should be aware of your social position.”
Amelia sent her a sly look. “Don’t believe her at all, Victoria. She may try to be proper, but she’s wondering about what goes on during a wedding night, as much as the rest of us. Was it as exciting as I think it would be? Did he tear off your unmentionables?”
Victoria gaped, and Margaret put up a hand in protest. “She is not going to share such details with you.”
“No, she’ll only share them with the pair of you, later.” Amelia sighed with dismay. “It’s so unfair.”
“I, for one, believe that Victoria’s wedding night can remain her own private information,” Juliette said. She took back the slip of paper and asked, “Will you send any new designs back to Scotland? At the very least, the crofters’ wives can sew them for you.”
Grateful for her sister’s intervention, Victoria replied, “I have a few sketches. But I’ll need to make the patterns for the women. Did the families return to Eiloch Hill, as the duke promised?”
“Yes. Dr. Fraser sent a letter that they are building their homes. The old ones were burned, so they have to start anew.” A blush came over Juliette’s face at the mention of Dr. Fraser. W
hatever disagreement they’d had before seemed to have dissipated.
While her sister continued describing the duke’s efforts to help them reconstruct their home in Ballaloch, Victoria retrieved the sketches she’d done. These were more modest undergarments, based upon comfort rather than seduction. She showed the sketches to Margaret, who approved of them wholeheartedly. But Juliette shook her head. “These don’t sell as well, I’m afraid. They may be beautiful, but the women want more revealing unmentionables.”
Victoria’s face turned crimson, for she knew exactly what they wanted. “We should still make a few garments that are meant for younger women.” She didn’t want to dwell upon the material that reminded her of the way her husband had touched her. He’d enjoyed the sheer fabric, and the memory of his wicked mouth sent a secret flare through her.
She wanted him to share her bed tonight, despite the way he’d avoided her these past few days. Every moment leading up to their joining had been decadent, her body reacting strongly to his touch. Now that he’d withdrawn from her, it had only reignited her interest in him. As if he were forbidden.
“It’s getting late,” Margaret said, reaching for her bonnet. “We should return, for Aunt Charlotte will be expecting us.”
While her sisters donned their gloves and bonnets, Victoria rang for a footman and gave orders for a brougham to be brought for them. Each of her sisters hugged her in farewell, but it was Margaret who lingered a moment.
“You look pale, Toria,” she murmured, using their pet name for her. “Are you feeling all right?” She lowered her voice to a whisper and asked, “Has the duke been kind to you?”
“Yes, very.” She tried to muster a smile, but she felt the shadow of apprehension. In the past few days, she had done nothing at all to prepare for Aunt Charlotte’s ball, nor had she sent word to Melanie for help in etiquette. Right now, she felt as if she were teetering on the brink of her decision, but fear held her back.
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