by Lavinia Kent
"I didn't know how long he slept."
And didn't that say it all. A father who didn't know how long his son napped. She knew she was being unfair. Most parents in their circle probably had no idea when their children slept. That was the job of the nursery staff, but still, she couldn't help feel the anger. It was easier to feel it for Robbie's sake than her own.
Looking away, Annie tried to find her earlier calm. "I am glad you are here."
"It is good to be home." He sounded almost sincere.
Why have you come? Why now? The season had already started. The questions skipped through her mind. He should be in London. How would the House of Lords survive without him? She smothered a snort at the last thought. "How long will you be staying?”
"At least until the planting is complete. I need to get to know the running of the estate. I am afraid I did not pay enough attention before . . .” He let his voice trail off.
"It is a new life we lead now." If she found it difficult moving from lady to duchess, how must Richard find all the responsibility of the duchy? He made it seem so natural, but perhaps that was just a mask.
"That is what I came home to discuss." Richard walked the rest of the way into the room and sat down across from her. His long legs almost brushed her skirts.
Was he actually going to tell her why he was here? She hadn't thought he'd bother. "Is there something I need to change about my behavior? Discuss can be such an ominous word."
He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. "I certainly don't mean to be ominous."
"I suppose I am simply on edge. It has been rather awhile since we talked."
"You don't count the fifteen words we spoke when I passed through on the way to the Cornish property.”
"I do believe we spoke more than that. There were so many arrangements to be made." She ignored his attempt at humor.
"I am sure you are right.” Richard dropped his gaze, began to tap his thumb against his knee.
They were quiet then for a moment and she wondered if he would leave. It would be the normal thing to do. He had made his greetings – at least almost. He had mentioned Robbie. What more did he need to say?
"God, this is difficult.” He looked up at the ceiling, seeming to admire the plaster roses that marked the corners.
"I don't see why.” Her voice remained flat.
"Georgianna," he said her name with care.
She looked over at him. "Yes?"
"I would like us to begin again."
"I don't understand."
His cool brown eyes lowered to meet hers. "I think we need to begin our marriage again, to forget the past and start fresh."
"I don't understand.” She knew she was repeating herself, but could not help it. Her mind refused to go where he was leading.
"I am tired of living in an armed camp. I believe it is time that you start acting like a wife."
And you a husband? Do you even know how? She bit down on her tongue to hold back the words.
"I would admit that we have both made mistakes in the past," Richard continued, "but I think we need to set them aside and move on."
"You do?" She felt like she was choking.
"Yes. I do not see that it should present any difficulty."
"You don't?" Soon he would think she was a babbling idiot.
"We are decided then. We will start anew as man and wife.” Richard rose as if the matter had been decided.
And suddenly it all crystalized in her mind. She stood as well, ignoring the half-foot of height between them. "No," she spoke the single word with force.
"No?" It was his turn to repeat.
"No. I do not wish to act your wife. I may have no choice in the facts, but I have control of my own actions – and my answer is no.” Without waiting for his response she fled the room, and then the house, finding stillness only when she had reached the far corners of the rose garden.
Chapter Six
Richard could only stare after Georgianna, stunned. That had not gone at all as he had expected. He'd hoped she would be grateful. Hadn't she always acted like she wanted him back? Well, maybe not always. She certainly hadn't wanted him back when she'd asked him to leave after Robert's birth, but ever since she'd seemed to believe they should spend more time together. But maybe that was because of Robert, because of their son. Perhaps she only wanted him to be a better father.
And that was nonsense. He was a proper father. His father had been a proper father and he was the same. Affection was not a necessary part of fatherhood. What was important was teaching a son to be a man, to be a duke.
And that was the core of it. If he'd been less involved in his child's upbringing in the past it was because Robert had always been destined to be a duke and he'd agreed that Paul would be responsible for teaching the boy the lessons necessary.
Now that Richard was the duke that would have to change. He would teach his own son what was necessary.
Granted the boy was not yet three and it seemed a bit early for the task.
So what did Georgianna expect from him?
Georgianna. Would he ever understand her?
When they'd married, he'd thought he'd understood her perfectly – what a joke.
She was impossible.
The answer to everything had come to him on the ride back to the house. They would simply go back to where they had been all those years ago. They would forget everything that had happened and start fresh.
Georgianna would love him again.
It had seemed so simple until he'd walked into this room and seen his wife sitting here, her expression not at all welcoming.
And she hadn't even asked how he'd been. She'd simply been angered that he hadn't seen Robert yet.
He'd thought that she'd forgiven him that night after Paul's death. He knew she hadn't been happy to be sent back to Harsgate, but that his own grief during his brother's burial had stopped him from trying to reach her then. He thought she'd have realized that he'd sent her back to make it easier for both of them.
But now? What did she have to be so angry about now?
Didn't she understand that he was ready now, ready to be her husband with all that entailed?
A low laugh started deep in his throat.
No?
She actually thought she could say no to him?
He would have to show her it was not an answer he was prepared to take.
#
She loved her roses. Annie buried her face deep in the rich blossoms, enjoying the softness of the petals, ignoring the slight scratch of the thorns. Deep red. Pale pink. Glorious yellow. Innocent white. It mattered not.
Her roses never failed her. They bloomed throughout the year. Even in mid-winter the occasional bud might spring forth, spreading beauty and hope.
Hope. She wasn't feeling hope now despite the wonder of the blooms.
How the bloody hell – she let the curse fill her mind – did Richard believe they could just start again, ignore everything that had happened? He was an insensitive boor. Every time she began to trust him he hurt her again.
And this had hurt more than she could have believed. How could he offer her hope when all he gave her was pain?
She could handle his coolness. She'd taught herself to be strong.
If it hadn't been for the wonder of that last night before she'd returned to Harsgate, she might still be strong. The anguish of that last morning could not be forgotten, however.
He had needed her and she had given him her all – only to be sent away, to be paid less attention than the dog.
She would not be hurt again.
Straightening up, she went and sat on the small bench in the corner, surrounded by the towering arbors of blooms. If Richard thought she was going to offer him her heart and soul again he was sadly mistaken.
Being strong would be hard, but she'd done hard things before.
Life was hard.
Steely resolve filled her. It was time to show her husband just what kind of wo
man she was.
Of course, a woman, even a strong woman could always use a little help.
The first genuine smile of the day curved her lips as she considered. It was time to call for reinforcements. She would send letters to her friends. They'd all been through man troubles and could offer advice.
#
It was hard to make peace with a woman who couldn't be found. Annie had asked for a tray last night at dinner and this morning she'd gone to pay calls in the village before he even knew she'd risen. Had she timed her escape for while he was riding?
He'd never thought of his wife as being full of guile, but he was beginning to wonder.
Richard looked up from the estate books and stared out the window at the sunny afternoon. The day was warm for the season and the gardens were already to bloom. Was that where Annie would be found? She'd always loved her flowers and had a magic touch with them. Nobody else had roses blooming in March.
He forced his eyes back to the page before him. The columns of numbers added correctly – as he had known they would. His brother had taken wonderful care of the estates. Richard might have some innovative ideas on planting, but he couldn't fault Paul's management. Everything he examined was well cared for – and profitable. If the numbers were to be believed each year was better than the last.
His eyes felt tired. Paul had never mentioned how well things were going – and Richard had to confess he'd never paid attention to how the larger estates prospered. He wished he had. He'd like to go back and congratulate his brother on what he'd accomplished. The estates had certainly not been running this smoothly when their father had died.
Regret filled him. Regret for so many things. Things that could not be fixed.
But some things could be.
He'd known for years that he needed to reconcile with Georgianna, but only now, after his brother's death, did he understand just how short life could be. He could not wait any longer. It was time he learned to make his wife happy.
But blast, what did Georgianna want?
She wanted him to care for his son.
No, that wasn't quite right. She wanted him to show that he cared for his son.
He glanced at the clock on the mantle. If the boy kept the same schedule as yesterday he should be rising from his nap just about now. What did he do when he got up? Richard tried to remember his own childhood, but beyond toast fingers, soldiers, and being corrected for running through the halls he didn't have many memories of those early years.
Well, there was a simple answer to his lack of knowledge. He would go and find out.
#
Soldiers were definitely involved – they might even be the same soldiers Richard had played with as a child – but the method of play was far from that he remembered. Robert delighted in having the soldiers lined up and then rolling a large ball at them until they lay still on the floor. It was more a game of bowls than of strategy and war. It was hard to mind when a shrill laugh of delight met every fallen comrade.
It didn't matter how many times Richard lined up the little tin men Robert was always happy to knock them down again – and always with that shriek of joy that declared all right in the world. The game should have been boring. If anybody had described it to Richard he would have thought he'd be bored within ten minutes, if not less. Instead, he felt as if he could play for hours. Each time his son patted the rug to indicate it was time to stand the men up again Richard could only smile.
Perhaps Georgianna was correct. Perhaps he had been missing something.
As if the thought had summoned her, she suddenly appeared in the doorway. Had her mouth actually dropped open at the sight of him? He did have the feeling that if he hadn't seen her, hadn't met her eye, that she would have slipped away as quietly as she'd arrived.
"I didn't expect to find you here," she said.
"And here I imagined you'd been searching for hours. I know how you delight in my company.” He tried to keep his tone light, to be clear it was humor and reproach that he sought.
She was silent for a moment and her eyes looked wistful.
"Mama, look," Robert chortled as he sent the ball rolling at the line of soldiers – and then the shriek of glee.
Georgianna's face lit into a smile like he'd never seen. Her skirts swirled as she sank down beside their son. "Do you want me to line them up again, little lamb."
"No. Him.” Robert pointed directly at Richard. The warmth that filled him caught him by surprise.
How could the look of trust on one small face bring so much joy?
Dutifully, he picked up the first soldier, one of Napoleon's best, and placed him in the line of fire.
"I notice none of our own are joining the fray," Georgianna said not meeting his gaze.
"Robert and I reached an agreement. Our men watch from above. I saw enough of those uniforms spread in the mud. I don't even like to see a toy one mowed down."
"Death by giant rolling ball can be devastating – even when they rise again and again.” Her voice was soft and he sensed concern behind the light words.
"Is he always so bloodthirsty?" he asked. "Should I be training him for the army instead of the duchy?"
"Perhaps it would have been best if he'd been a second son, but no. He just likes knocking things down. Build him a tower of blocks or cards and he will take just as much glee in the crash. Nanny assures me it is quite normal in boys, indeed of children his age.
This was going well. Far better than he had expected. Surely, Georgianna must see that they belonged together as a family.
"He is a beautiful boy. You have done well," he said, reaching out to stroke her hand.
She drew her hand back. "I do not know that I have much to do with it. I was gone for far to long. I should have come back sooner."
"You cannot hold that against yourself."
"I do not know why you say that." Her eyes flashed up at him. "I should never have left him to begin with. My dreams were foolish."
Her lips had tensed and he knew a sudden and great desire to brush a finger across them, to soften them. He swallowed, remembering all the things she could do with those lips, all the things he had taught her once she'd outgrown her blushes. Not that she'd ever outgrown them – it was one of the things he had loved about her.
If only he could express how he felt in words. Explain how he truly did want to start again, want to put things back to how they had been those first weeks of marriage – only without his anger and resentment at the situation he'd found himself in.
How did you tell a woman that if you could have chosen you would have chosen her? It was the lack of choice he'd found frustrating.
"Again.” Robert's voice interrupted his thoughts. With a slight grin for Georgianna, he began to line the men up again.
"Dreams are never foolish," he said quietly, keeping his gaze focused on the neat line of tin men.
"They are when they cause pain.” Georgianna stood suddenly, her skirts all a swirl. "I'll leave you to play. I'll visit later when our son is ready for a story."
"No, I came to see . . ."
But she was already gone. Her soft tread trailed down the stairs.
#
What was Richard playing at?
He had never acted this way before – ever. And he'd driven her away from Robbie. She valued these afternoon hours she spent with her son, but today had been too painful, too much a portrait of what should have been.
Blast. She was not going to cry, not even a little.
There was plenty she could do with the extra hours. She could talk to the gardener, plan next week’s menus, write another letter to her friends . . .
Hmmm, that made her think. She'd sent her best friend, Isabella, an endlessly long letter yesterday asking for help. Isabella had dealt with her own difficult duke and Annie could only pray she'd have some advice.
What did a woman do when her husband suddenly offered her all her dreams and she didn't trust him even the tiniest bit. Every time she'd taken a
chance on Richard he'd disappointed her.
She wasn't sure she could risk it again.
Was she was wavering. Had she really just admitted the possibility that she might risk it?
No. She'd locked up her heart and she'd keep it that way. The man didn't even care enough to call her Annie – and she'd told him a thousand times that she preferred it. He didn't really want to start over with her. He wanted Georgianna. Georgianna, the lady, the duchess.
Plain Annie had never been good enough for him.
But, he had looked sweet playing with Robbie. Patience had never been his strong point, but he'd lined up the soldiers again and again without complaint – maybe even with enjoyment.
She wished she understood, but then she'd never understood him. Every time she thought she knew what he was thinking he surprised her – and rarely in a good way.
Would it be unduchesslike to stamp her foot? Annie was afraid that it would be and the last thing she wanted was for Richard to know he had upset her. As long as he thought she was unmoved perhaps she could persuade herself that she didn't care, that it was only when he fastened those dark eyes upon her that she thawed. She refused to feel the abandoned wife any longer. She would never again give him the chance to make her feel like she was worth less than dirty wash water.
She was a duchess and she would behave like one.
Pulling herself as straight as a bedpost she glided down the stairs. She would write more letters, but she would not complain as she had yesterday, instead she would pretend that the world was just as it should be. Perhaps if she managed to pretend long enough, hard enough, it would be.
How in the world did he believe they could start over now?
Even before the thought had finished there was the clatter of a carriage pulling up the long cobbled drive. Who could it be? Richard had not mentioned any guests and she was not expecting anyone from the village.
She hoped there was nothing wrong. Turning back toward the main entry, she sped her pace, her mind beginning to fill with awful scenarios. Could somebody be injured? One of the workmen in the village? A child? The way her day had gone her mind was most open to pessimistic turns. No, none of that made sense – unless there was some problem with the planting and they needed Richard. Surely word had spread and everyone knew that he was home.