As he continued to speak, something from the corner of Caroline’s eye caught her attention. Neil had gone to her husband and was now pointing a finger in her direction.
Reginald frowned, and panic washed over Caroline.
“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting the man mid-sentence, “but I must see to something.”
“Oh, well, if you must…”
Before she could get away, however, her husband’s cold hand was on her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. She knew better than to react, even if his grasp pained her, for all too many times she had been forced to remain in her rooms for a minimum of three days so no one would see the bruises he had left in the wake of his anger.
“Pardon me,” Reginald said with a curt tone, though he did not look at Mr. Grandstone. “I must speak to my wife for a moment.” He did not release his grasp as he led her from the room.
The sounds of laughter and music faded as he led her up the stairs. At the top, he grabbed a single candle from one of the stands, cursing when the hot wax dripped on his fingers.
“Reginald, you are hurting me,” Caroline said now that they were alone. She did not struggle, however; that would bring on even more pain.
“You have angered me once again,” he growled as he led her to a far door. He removed a key from his vest pocket and inserted it into the lock before pulling the door open.
“What have I done?” she asked, trying to keep her fear at bay but failing miserably.
Her jaw cracked as his fist made contact with it, and tiny pinpricks played in her vision. “Thrusting your body toward any man who looks your way?” he said, stepping in close to her, his breath hot on her face. “You are an embarrassment and a harlot. I should throw you back to the streets where I found you!”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rubbed her chin. That would leave a purpling that would last much longer than three days.
“You are to remain here tonight. Do not leave. Tomorrow I will decide on your punishment, but for now, I will enjoy the remainder of my evening. But worry not, for I will not be alone. At least there are those who know how to show me the respect I deserve.”
He pushed her through the door, the weak light of the candle lighting up a small room with a tiny window that contained only a small bed as the only form of furnishings. There was no commode, only a simple bucket where she could relieve herself.
“Oliver,” she whispered. “May I at least kiss our son goodnight?”
He snorted. “No. The boy is weak enough already. He does not need you fawning over him any longer. That will be the next thing we will improve; the way you coddle the boy. But I do not wish to discuss it now. I have more entertaining matters to attend to.” He let out a cough as he closed the door, leaving her in darkness, and locked the door behind him.
Caroline sobbed as she crawled across the unfinished wooden floor and felt around for the low bed. On it, she curled up into a ball and wept.
As her ears adjusted to the silence of the room, she could just make out the muffled noises of the party below. Her husband would make excuses for her, and the guests would accept them without a single thought for her.
She stood and walked over to the window. No moon or stars winked in the sky. Just as her life, it had been cast in darkness.
Chapter Two
Caroline put all her weight into the hoe one last time and the dirt broke. Finally. She had been working on the tiny garden outside her family home all afternoon, but the drought had made working even this tiny plot difficult. There would be no harvest this year, and her father raved inside the house, the last of their money spent on spirits.
The sound of a horse approaching made Caroline turn, and a faceless man rose up, his roan lifting its hooves regally, as if proud to carry the man who sat upon his back.
“You, girl,” the man called out, “I would speak to your father.”
Before she could respond, her father stumbled out the door. “Ah, Your Grace, you came!”
“Of course I came,” the man said with a snort. “I said I would, did I not?”
Her father rubbed his chin. “I suppose you did at that. Please, come in.”
The man looked at her expectantly—how he looked out her without eyes, she did not even wonder—and she rushed up to grab the reins as he dismounted. He gave her an appraising glance up and down, and Caroline could not help but shiver. She had a bad feeling about this.
She stood, holding the reins of the horse as if she had nothing better to do. Inside, voices muffled by the closed door, her father and the man talked. Then the door flew open, and her father walked out, wearing a smile large enough to split his face.
“We are saved!” he shouted.
Caroline looked at him with shock. “We are? Did this man bring rain?”
Her father gave her a stern look. “Of course, not, child. He is paying off all our debt, and we will own the deed to the land. Just think! I will own my own house and land!”
Suspicion crept into Caroline’s mind. “In exchange for what?” she asked.
The man then stepped from the door. “For your hand in marriage, of course,” he said. Then his facial features came into focus, and Caroline screamed.
Caroline woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She had not dreamed of the day her father had traded her for the small cottage and the land on which it sat, not since the last time Reginald had locked her in the room. However, the fact she had experienced the dream before did not take away the horror of it.
The first rays of the sun shone through the window onto the bed, providing a little warmth, though she felt cold inside. She had cried herself to sleep, worried about her son. Reginald had not returned once he locked the door, not that she had expected him to, of course. Many a nights she had dreamed of leaving Blackwood Estates, taking Oliver with her. The two would escape into the night and find residence elsewhere, and maybe she would find someone to love her.
Those dreams did not come last night, however. Perhaps it was evil of her to imagine another man in her life, for she was a married woman. Granted she was treated with contempt, but perhaps that was the expected life of a Duchess. Her father had never struck her mother at any point in Caroline’s upbringing, but perhaps her mother was as good at hiding such horror from her daughter as Caroline was at hiding it from her son.
She looked down at her wrinkled gown. Margaret would have a difficult time ironing out the creases in the material, but the woman never made a complaint. If anything, she looked upon Caroline with sadness. Not pity, thankfully, but at least she did feel sorry for Caroline, although they never discussed what both knew was the truth of her marriage—her husband was a tyrant.
She shivered as she thought of her wedding night. It had been nothing as she had imagined. He had demanded she remove her clothing, and he flung her on the bed and went about his duty as a Duke—and as her husband. Their intimacy was anything but intimate, and when he was finished, he left her alone in the bed.
Later, finding out she was with child, he had merely sniffed, but he continued to have his way with her whenever he felt the urge, until the doctor had informed him it would be unsafe to the baby she carried. Reginald had not been happy at the prospect of not having his desires satiated, thus he went in search of other means in which to do so. And although she had tried to appease him over the years, her smiles were never returned and her attempts at affection were rebuked.
The one relief she had was a set of her own rooms, a sanctuary of sorts. A smaller room had been set up for Oliver, but as soon as he was what the Duke deemed of an appropriate age—that being two years—the boy was moved to his own room. It was as if her son had been torn from her, but she hid her sorrow and visited him as often as the nanny would allow.
If that could have been the worst of her time in Blackwood Estates, she would have been relatively happy. However, many nights had been spent in the room where she was now. For what reason depended on the Duke’s mood. If Caroline
did not smile at a man, Reginald would grow angry, accusing her of being rude and unsociable. If she did smile, and Reginald was in one of his tempers, he would accuse her of horrible things. The problem was knowing which rule to use in which situation, for his judgment of her would vary from one time to the next.
At other times, he would comment that she disgusted him. This latter was his favorite topic of conversation when they had no guests to stay his tongue. It was the reason she enjoyed when they hosted various functions, for then he typically kept his comments about what he thought of her to himself.
Coming of age in her small village, the looks of men—both married and not—convinced her that she was at least attractive. Her dark hair and blue eyes caused more than one girl to despise her, although she never did anything to bring about their hatred. Perhaps she should have advocated for herself more, but she had not liked being disagreeable to anyone.
The sound of footsteps made her sit up and wrap her arms around her bent knees. She trembled with fear as the key turned in the lock, and when the door opened, Reginald entered, his hand covering his mouth as he coughed. A lingering illness, or so he had said, that he was unable to shake.
“Reginald,” Caroline said as she stood, “I would like to apologize.” She could not bear another strike of his hand or the lashing of his tongue. Whatever she could do to appease him, she would.
“Remove your clothes,” he commanded.
She did as he asked, and as she worked the tiny buttons that ran down her back, she feared he would grow angry once again because she moved too slowly. However, he did not. Instead, he studied a piece of brown cloth that he had carried in draped over his arm, a sinister grin on his face.
When she finally removed the gown, she stood shivering before him in her shift.
“The shift, as well.”
She opened her eyes widely but did as he bade. Was he planning on performing his husbandly duties on her after so long? The thought of that made her sick, and soon she stood before him, bereft of clothing, her arms wrapped around herself to not only keep her warm but to hide her shame.
“Put that on,” he said, tossing her the cloth. It was a plain dress made of burlap. She had not owned anything so poor even when she was a child.
When she finished donning the dress, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the hallway to stand in front of a small mirror that hung on the wall. “Do you know what I see?”
“No,” she whispered. She attempted not to wince at the hold he had on her arm, the bruises left the night before still tender.
“A woman of low class who has been given the opportunity to be a Lady,” he said with a sneer. “It seems as though she does not appreciate what she has been given, so today, you will work as the peasant woman you are!”
“Reginald,” she begged, “I can explain about last evening.” She continued to plead with him as he marched her down the hallway.
He said nothing, but as they passed his bedroom, what was left of any hope Caroline had disappeared. For standing there was Miss Mary French, her long red hair flowing down her back and devoid of any clothing. In her hands was a large necklace of glistening jewels, larger than anything Caroline had ever received.
Hot tears burned down her cheeks as she was led outside. At least the servants had the decency to turn away as she and Reginald walked past, but no one dared intervene. Work was difficult to come by for many these days, so no one was willing to set in to give aid, for they knew the only outcome would be dismissal, and she did not blame them for their hesitancy.
They came to a stop in front of a large sectioned-off square of dirt, and Reginald released her arm. “I want this soil turned by sundown, or you will remain in that room all week.”
She nodded as she wiped the tears from her face. How ironic that she would be working a small plot of land even after she married one of the most influential men in the area.
“I understand,” she replied. Then she glanced around. “Where are the tools?”
He snorted. “You will use your fingers. I suggest you get started now; time is slipping by.”
Caroline looked over the area with concern. “All of it? With my hands?” she asked, shocked that he would make such a demand of her.
“All of it.”
Her humiliation deepened when she went to her knees just as Philip, the family’s gardener, came around one of the far hedges and stopped to stare.
“Hurry, now,” Reginald said. “You are no longer a Lady. You will return to your roots and conduct yourself in the way of your parents.”
The words hurt more than ever. Her father had died three years earlier, her mother not two months ago, and she had not been allowed to attend either of their funeral services. For her, that had been worse than the beatings, worse than being locked in that room, and he knew it.
She glanced down at the ill-fitting dress and gasped. “This dress is much too revealing!” she said in a hushed tone. The truth was, if she was not careful and she bent over too far, her bosom would fall right out! Was he devising another reason to be angry with her?
“I assumed you enjoyed the admiration of men,” Reginald said in his haughty tone. “You, gardener!” he called out. “Come here.”
The man hurried over, his long, dark locks concealing most of his face. Caroline had not realized it before, but she did not remember ever seeing his face, at least not all of it. He always kept his hair so that it came to just below his shoulders, but rather than pull it back as was the fashion, he allowed it to hide his features.
“Your Grace,” Philip said with a bow.
“See to it that my wife remains here all day working. I do not want her to rest, nor should she eat or drink. I have business to conduct in town and need someone to keep an eye on her.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the man replied with another deep bow. “I will not falter to uphold your command.”
The Duke gave the man a sniff and then turned and marched away.
With tears running down her face, tears she could not dam, she leaned over and began to claw at the hard soil, pain shooting up her arm as a fingernail caught on a pebble and attempted to pull away.
She worked without stopping, and a short time later, she looked up at the window and pursed her lips. Miss French stood looking out the window as the Duke came up behind her. He kissed her neck and then led her away. Although his affairs had been known to her for so long, having the adulterous woman mock her caused a new feeling to come over Caroline.
So, the man had not gone into town yet, more than likely needing to satisfy his cravings beforehand. At least it was not Caroline who had to see to that, for the idea made her ill.
For the first time in years, she was no longer scared. No, her fear was now overtaken by anger.
Chapter Three
Philip Butler stood at attention, his heart going out to the young woman left in his care. At the age of four and thirty, he had seen horrible things in his life. However, this had to be among the worst he had encountered. No woman should be treated in such a disgraceful manner, regardless of her station in life. Even women of the lower class were not treated as work animals in the manner the Duke demanded of his wife.
Employed by Reginald Hayward for four months, Philip was thankful for the work and the wages it paid. However, in that short time, he had seen what the Duke had done to the innocent beauty now on her hands and knees digging in the soil.
It was well-known that the Duke was unfaithful to his wife, for he flaunted his mistresses, adorning them with fine clothes and jewelry. Too often, Philip had stumbled across the man performing acts that were meant for private and shared by man and wife.
Yet, this was not the only reason Philip despised the man. He had heard the manner in which the Duke spoke to his wife, the sharp tongue he used with her was sickening, and he had witnessed the man strike her twice. The second time it had happened, Philip had bit on his lip so hard to keep himself from screaming at the man that he drew blood.
According to the house servants, the beatings were a common occurrence, and knowing this only fueled the disgust Philip had for the man.
A woman of such beauty should be held in high regard, or so he thought. And the Duchess was truly unique. Her face seemed sculpted by the finest artist; her eyes sparkled with a light that could have filled a dark night. Her body was shapely, especially in the dress she currently wore; although he refused to stare. Such a beauty did not deserve to be scrutinized with lust but only with respect.
The Duchess stopped digging and straightened her back as she wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead.
He reached into his pocket and produced a kerchief. “Please,” he offered.
She narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced toward the house. “I must refuse,” she said in a low tone. “His anger…” Her words trailed off, but she did not need to say them aloud for him to know what she meant.
A sound came to his ear. “Listen.”
She glanced around, confusion written on her features. “I hear nothing…”
He held up a single finger to silence her and quickly walked away, moving along the side of the house. Pushing through the shrubbery, he peeked between two branches. His ears had not deceived him. A trail of long red hair disappeared into a waiting carriage followed by the Duke. Within a few moments, the carriage pulled away and disappeared down the drive.
“May you never return,” Philip whispered after the pair, and then he turned and headed back to where the Duchess was back at her tilling.
“Here, drink and cool yourself,” he said, handing her a leather pouch that hung from his boxcloth braces where they were attached to the front of his pants. It only held a small amount of water, but it was enough to quench his thirst when he did not wish to stop and ladle water from the barrel behind the shed.
The woman’s eyes widened with fear. “I cannot disobey my husband,” she said in a shaky voice.
“He is gone,” Philip replied, motioning the pouch toward her once again. “Of course, I cannot report what I do not see.” He set the water on a rock beside her and turned as if looking off toward the shed. “It is such a lovely day. I don’t suppose rain will be coming judging by those clouds.”
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