“Horatio?”
“Our dog. Horatio is what I should like to call him. It seems such a fine, brave name. And I think he deserves that much after everything he has suffered.”
Adrian smothered a smile. “Horatio it is, my dear. But you are right, we can’t simply leave him here.” He motioned to the stable lad. “Boy, fetch us a rope or some such to use as a leash.”
“Right away, milord.”
“That’s ‘your Grace,’ Robby,” Mr Timmons corrected, bustling back into view. “This gentleman and lady are the Duke and Duchess of Raeburn, and you’ll address them properly.”
Robby gulped. “Sorry, milord, milady. I…I mean, your Grace, your Graces. I’ll get that rope now.” Executing a quick bow, Robby bounded off into the stable.
Adrian made a mental note to leave the lad a nice wage for his efforts.
“And some food, Mr Timmons,” Adrian said, turning toward the innkeeper. “For the dog. A joint of beef or perhaps one of the pies that caused all the commotion. It seems he favours them.”
∗ ∗ ∗
They arrived near the Dorset coast early that evening as the sun crested to its highest peak. Beyond, on the horizon, broad cliffs dropped off in a great hard tumble of rock that angled down toward the ocean. The water itself was a patchwork of blues and greys. Sunlight winking and glittering off the white-capped waves as they rolled to shore. The English Channel in all her majesty and glory.
Breathtaking.
Even without her glasses, Violet could tell how beautiful the landscape was as the coach passed along the coast road that led toward Adrian’s estate. The inland fields were vivid green with bushy clumps of waving grass. Songbirds dived in a merry game from tree to tree, a few trading pretty calls as they filled their bellies with the last grain of the evening. While out across the ocean, their sea-loving cousins keened for fish. Gulls whirling in lazy, sweeping circles, feathery flashes of white against the piercing azure sky.
Horatio perked up, moving from open window to open window on both sides of the coach, pausing in between to hang out his massive head, mouth agape, and watch. Violet was little better herself. Delighted as a child, she thrilled to the invigorating tang of salt air, its scent sweet-crisp in her nostrils.
Violet had been to the seaside only once before, on a visit to her mother’s cousins, the Chesters, the summer she turned eight. She remembered it particularly because Jeannette had not been along on the trip, confined to her bed with the influenza. One sick child in the house, their fretful mother had pronounced, was more than sufficient.
So Violet had been shuffled off to Kent. Instead of being homesick, she had revelled in the adventure. She could still remember the way she had felt then. The freedom, the fun of being allowed to run wild in the surf with the Chester children, Jeff and Sarah. The three of them coming home after long, long hours, sun-baked, clothes stained and dripping, feet and legs caked with sand. The Chesters had not scolded them. Just shaken their heads and sent them off with the nanny for baths and dinner. Even now, the memory of those few short weeks remained one of her very favourites, a place to escape in lazy afternoon daydreams.
Jeannette had been very put out after Violet’s return, decreeing she never wanted to hear another word about the English seashore again. Perhaps that was why she had been so distressed when Adrian informed her they would be spending their honeymoon on the southern coast.
But Violet knew this week away was going to be a rare treat. Even if she would not be able to romp in the waves as she had done as a girl. For that reason, she would have to be very strict with herself, watching every reaction so she didn’t reveal her true self by accident. It wouldn’t do for her to admire her surroundings too excessively. “Jeannette” may have forgiven Adrian his choice of honeymoon locale, but it did not follow she would fall in love with the place.
For the same reason, she would need to dampen a little of her enthusiasm for Horatio. She feared she had nearly given herself away back at the inn. Her twin tolerated animals so long as they did not make a nuisance of themselves, but she would never have fought for an animal the way she herself had done despite Jeannette’s natural abhorrence of such abuse.
Violet reached out and stroked Horatio’s velvety head. He turned his expressive eyes her way and gave her a doggy smile of pure contentment, pink tongue lolling. She smiled back at the animal, her heart lighter despite the weight of her worries.
The coach rolled up a long shell and pebble drive, stopping before a stately Georgian house made of mellow golden stone rising three stories high. Adrian had merely said they would be staying at one of his family’s many country houses. His description had not done the residence justice.
For one, it was huge, forty rooms at least. Sprawled out over the land like a hulking giant. Pane after pane of sparkling window glass glinting in the well-ripened sunshine. The servants’ entrance stood at ground level. A set of elegant double stairs led up around it to the main portico, finished in the Palladian style, complete with columns.
Yet all that faded into insignificance compared to the roses. Hundreds of them clinging to the far side of the house, pink and lush, climbing skyward on tall white trellises as if they meant to touch heaven itself.
Oh, and the fragrance. It was like being bathed in a bottle of the most luxurious perfume ever created. Violet drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, savoring the experience.
It was quite simply the most beautiful, most romantic setting she had ever seen.
Her twin, she thought, was a fool. And not for the first time, Violet had to admit she was glad of the switch.
The coach door opened. Horatio bounded out, releasing a series of joyous barks as he loped to and fro on the drive. She proceeded at a more sedate pace, allowing Adrian to reach in a hand to assist her down the small steps to the ground, swinging her the last few inches with an arm effortlessly looped around her waist.
“Finally here,” he commented after she was settled. “It has been a long day’s travel.” He paused at her silence, as if afraid to voice his next question. “So what do you think, my dear?”
She knew she should not reveal her delight. Her twin would not have been overly impressed with the display of natural beauty. Such things mattered little to Jeannette. But in that moment, Violet could not contain her true feelings. “I think it is simply enchanting.”
His eyes warmed, tiny lines fanning in the corners as he smiled. A dimple popped to life in his right cheek. She fought the urge to trace her finger over it, her heart hitching inside her breast. Love washed through her, crashed like the rough ocean waves she could hear sounding in the distance.
She had lied to him. Her very presence here was a hideous deceit for which she would someday surely pay. But right now she had not a single regret. Right now, he was her husband and he belonged to her.
The look in his eyes changed, lids drooping with sudden desire. She waited to see if he would kiss her, right here in front of the line of servants that had formed at the foot of the main staircase. Over a dozen people waiting to welcome the master and mistress home.
She wished they would all vanish. She wished she and Adrian were alone.
Horatio raced up, inserted his large body between them in an exuberant canine wiggle. He shattered the mood as effectively as a scolding duenna.
Adrian arched a brow of amused resignation. “Shall we, my dear?”
She accepted the arm he extended and let him lead the way.
Adrian introduced her first to the regular caretakers of the estate. The Grimms, an older couple who were the exact opposite of their name, smiling and full of good local cheer. Mr Grimm oversaw the grounds and upkeep on the property with the aid of two assistant gardeners and groundsmen. Mrs Grimm served as housekeeper and cook, with her own staff of two: a parlour maid, Susie, who was too shy to do more than squeak out a greeting, and Cynthia, the kitchen maid, as round and pretty as a freshly picked apple. The remainder of the servants were from Winterlea. Jo
sephs, the coachman. Robert and Harry, the footmen. Mr Wilcox, Adrian’s valet. Agnes, her lady’s maid. And three additional maidservants brought to lend a hand wherever they might be needed: Tina, Nancy and Leah.
Violet forced down her natural shyness. It wouldn’t do to appear frightened in front of the servants. Yet she could not bring herself to don the regal cloak of authority she was certain Jeannette would have slipped on.
Despite her rank, Violet realized servants were people with lives and needs, hopes and aspirations quite separate from her own. At home she had been close to many of the servants, receiving from them the kind of tolerant acceptance and understanding she had failed to receive from her own family. The servants never complained of her quiet, studious ways, never criticized or ridiculed her interest in intellectual matters such as history and languages. They accepted her for the person she was, and in return she had always tried to do the same for them.
Respecting that, respecting her new position as duchess, she did her best to greet each one of them with warmth and appreciation. She accepted their good wishes on her marriage, nodding graciously and smiling.
It soon became obvious they adored Adrian and would do anything within their power to please him. He was relaxed, friendly, yet still in command in a way her father never was with his own people. She knew Adrian had been in the military during the war. A decorated war hero, although he preferred not to speak of it. She wondered if this was how he had treated the men under his command. If they had revered him this much. She suspected they had. Suspected they had been willing to do anything—including offering up their own lives—for him and their cause.
Introductions complete, Horatio made to follow them as she and Adrian started toward the stairs. She turned back, her heart pained when she realized she could not bring him inside. At least not in his present unkempt condition.
“Would one of you see to my dog?” she asked the servants. “He is in need of a bath and a good meal. Then a walk afterward.”
A long moment of silence commenced as all eyes turned to the canine behemoth standing next to the duchess. Each of them calculated the odds of their success in dealing with the beast.
Then Robert stepped forward. A wiry, earnest young man with hazel eyes and close-cropped brown hair. “I’ll see to him, your Grace. I like dogs. We had four big ’uns when I was growing up. Though not as big as him.” He nodded toward Horatio. “Him and me will do, though.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
The footman stepped forward, taking Horatio’s collar in hand. The dog stood, unmoving, obviously reluctant to be parted from her.
She leaned down, smoothed a hand over the dog’s ears. “Go with Robert. You have nothing to fear. You will be cleaned and fed and rested, and I shall see you in the morning.”
Horatio whimpered as if he understood every word she said, unhappy at being separated from his savior. Another long moment passed, then tail down, he acquiesced, let Robert lead him away.
She drew herself up, suddenly aware of what she’d just done. Gushing again over the animal. Had Adrian noticed her rather un-Jeannette-like behaviour? She raised her eyes, found him waiting, watching, no outward sign of suspicion on his face.
She raised her chin. “I should like the same,” she announced. “A bath and dinner as soon as it might be arranged. I feel quite travel-weary.”
Mrs Grimm swung forward, all business, quick despite her wide hips. “Of course, your Grace. All will be to your liking. Allow me to show you to your rooms.”
The housekeeper ascended the stairs. The duke and duchess followed.
Violet had her bath, then let Agnes assist her into a gown suitable for a quiet, at-home meal. The dress was comfortable, a spotted muslin in pale yellow with an overskirt of sea green that her maid declared made her eyes sparkle like jewels.
She joined Adrian, finding him splendidly attired and looking quite elegant in his black evening clothes, worn in spite of the country setting. They shared a few moments of desultory conversation in the parlor before proceeding into the dining room.
Mrs Grimm had gone out of her way preparing the evening meal, Violet noticed, as one sumptuous course after another was presented for their delectation. Tender roast squab with raspberry sauce. Chicken and mushrooms in a delicate puff pastry. Roast beef and creamed baby leeks. Braised whitefish with lemon, capers and dill. Each successive course was served with a lengthy selection of accompaniments, including a cheese herb soufflé and stuffed baby eggplants. There were salads, relishes and breads as well. And for dessert Mrs Grimm had chosen wisely, presenting a simple selection of cheeses and fresh fruit.
Unlike the evening before, Violet ate with a hearty appetite. Consuming more than she usually did mainly because she was so hungry, but also, in part, as an effort to show her appreciation for the culinary effort and skill put forth for her and Adrian’s pleasure. She did her best to sample a selection of as many dishes as she could comfortably manage, finding them all equally delicious.
“Wherever did you find Mrs Grimm?” she inquired, accepting an after-dinner cup of coffee in a delicate china cup. “She is an exceptional cook.”
Adrian ate a piece of Stilton cheddar and a wafer-thin slice of pear. “Actually, she found me,” he explained after he swallowed. “When I purchased this property about four years ago, the Grimms came with it. A fortuitous event, I have always believed.”
“I’m curious, why did you buy this house? It’s not in a likely location for a vacation residence.”
He arched a brow, ate another bite of pear. “Likely for some, unlikely for others. Truth be told, location is precisely the reason I bought it. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, now that the war is over. I used to do some work, confidential work, for the War Office. Owning a house that looks straight out over the Channel toward France offers several distinct advantages. The beach is private and very isolated. It makes for an unparalleled rendezvous point on quiet, moonless nights.”
Violet felt her eyes widen. Was he saying he’d been a spy? How extraordinary, she thought, her mind filling with images of secret messages and clandestine meetings. British spies coming and going by way of Adrian’s beach, probably bearing news vital to the war effort. Adrian’s mother was French. Likely he spoke the language like a native. What a perfect choice he must have been. A trusted, respected ex-officer. An aristocrat who just happened to own a house on the seashore.
She was still digesting the intriguing revelation when he abruptly changed the subject.
“Are you certain I cannot interest you in a bite of this delicious dessert?” he asked.
“No, no, I have eaten far too much tonight as it is. If I consume any more, I fear I will be unable to lift myself out of this chair.”
“Don’t worry. If you find yourself stuck, I will come round and help heave you out.”
“Heave me out? Are you implying I am fat, your Grace?”
“Heavens, no. If anything, you could do with an extra bit of flesh on your bones, comely as they are.”
The relaxed atmosphere, the enjoyable meal and the role she was performing combined to make her bold. “So you would not mind if I increased my girth?” She waited, finding herself suddenly anxious to see how he would reply.
“If you got as round and wide as our esteemed cook, it would simply provide me with more of your beauty to admire.” He smiled, lips curving with slow warmth.
Her own curved in reply, pulse quickening in an unsteady beat. “Be careful,” she murmured. “You know it would only give me reason to shop for an entirely new wardrobe.”
Adrian tossed back his head, roared with laughter.
Coffee consumed, plates cleared, candles snuffed, the evening progressed until soon it was time for bed. They parted at the base of the main staircase, Violet too shy to inquire when or if he might join her. Forcing aside a blush, she retreated up the stairs.
Agnes dressed her in yet another of the scandalous nightgowns. Pink this time, with a scallop-shel
l hem and no lace, just diaphanously thin. She waited in the sitting room that adjoined her bedchamber, perched on a settee covered in watered apricot silk. Ordinarily she would have found the colour charming. Enjoyed the ambience of the room decorated in soothing tones of peach and cream. Tonight her mind was preoccupied with other matters.
Would he come? Did she want him to?
She was still struggling to find an answer when Adrian arrived half an hour later, dressed in the same robe he had worn the night before.
A memory swept upon her. How rich the texture of the brown velvet beneath her hands. How warm and sleek his skin to her touch after he had removed the garment.
She lowered her eyes and held her breath as he drew near.
“Would you care for a game of cards?” he inquired.
Her gaze flew upward. Surely she had heard him wrong? “Cards?”
“Hmm.” He held up the deck in his hand. “It is early yet. I thought you might enjoy the diversion.”
“You wish to play cards,” she repeated, nonplussed.
“Mmm-hmm. Your choice. Hearts or two-handed whist?”
“I…I…Hearts, I suppose.”
“Excellent choice.” He removed a vase of flowers from a round cherrywood tea table that stood near the unlighted fireplace, set the arrangement high on the mantel. He drew up a pair of side chairs, took a seat and began to shuffle the cards. “Come on,” he urged when she failed to move from the settee.
Utterly confused, she masked the unexpected twinge of disappointment that swept through her. Then rose and accepted the seat across from him. She picked up her hand, blinked in dismay at the card’s blurry appearance.
Her spectacles. How could she have forgotten she would need them? He had caught her completely out. If she squinted a little, though, she believed, she could just make out the numbers. At least she had no trouble distinguishing the colours, red from black. She only prayed she didn’t mix up the suits.
“Anything wrong?” He lifted a single dark eyebrow.
“No, simply studying my cards.” Studying them hard, she thought.
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