That is until he said, “Do you intend on standing at the door and staring at me or is there something you want?” without looking up from his work.
Cecilia sighed, the short-lived endearment now gone. “I only wish to ask if we will be lunching together so that when I speak to Mrs. Caplin, I can have her inform Mrs. Bradley.” She felt pride that she remembered both women’s names and spoke them as if she had known them for years rather than a single day.
“You interrupted my work to ask me about lunch, which will not be for several hours yet?” he asked in a snappish tone. “Cecilia, I realize that today begins a new chapter in your life, but I must be able to put bread on the table and clothes on our backs, so if you please, I need quiet in which to work.”
The dismissal was clear in his tone and Cecilia felt a pounding behind her temples and had to force herself to loosen her jaw. Wonderful first day, indeed.
With a shake of her head, she decided to leave the man to simmer in his own juices and headed out to the gardens. Fresh air would ease the fury that was attempting to rise in her; it always did. How she missed the gardens at Brightstone Manor. Hours and hours growing up had been spent in the gardens helping in the required tasks, much to her father’s ire. Eventually, he had put his foot down but relented when she asked to at least give the men who worked with the flower beds a few proposals on the flowers she preferred and how they should be arranged. Now that she was older, however, she wondered how the gardeners had put up with her arrogance at telling them how to complete their required tasks.
After retrieving her hat, she made her way through one of the large rooms out onto a small veranda with a wide set of stairs leading down to a stone path. Several men were bent over different beds or set about pruning the expanse of tall hedges that snaked the gardens. Cecilia found the layout of the area almost a maze, a labyrinth of sorts, and it delighted her to no end.
One particular man was on his knees weeding a lush flowerbed filled with Pink Williams, and Cecilia felt drawn to it.
“Might I assist you with your task?” she asked the man.
He looked up at her, gasped, and then jumped up and gave her an awkward bow. She wondered why he had not been in attendance with the other servants when she arrived, but then it came to her that only the household servants had come to greet her. It was then that it occurred to her how many people were employed in all of Bantry Estate.
“Your Grace,” he said, though they had yet to be introduced. Despite the man had not met her yet, Cecilia imagined everyone knew her, if not by sight, at least through description by this point, although she had only been in residence a day.
“What is your name?” she asked kindly.
“George, Your Grace.”
“Well, George, I would like to help you in some way. Can you tell me where I might find a pair of gardening gloves and perhaps something to sit upon while I work?”
The man’s eyes went so wide that Cecilia worried his face would disappear behind them. “I-I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he managed to sputter, “but that wouldn’t be right. I can’t allow you to do what’s for me to be doin’. T’wouldn’t be right.”
“I am sure it will be fine. I am quite capable in gardening. I did some of the tasks myself back home…that is, at Brightstone Manor.”
The man shook his head emphatically. “No, Your Grace. I mean no disrespect, but I mean to keep my position. If’n His Grace orders me to let you do some of the work,” he balked at this, “I’ll do so, but I can’t be lettin’ someone such as yourself dirty her hands with manual labor, no matter what she did before becoming a Duchess.” He bowed deeply. “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace.”
Cecilia breathed out heavily in frustration. As if she would need Benjamin’s permission to trim a few flowers or pull a few weeds! She was a Duchess; did that not account for anything?
Rather than becoming angry at a man who was only doing what was expected of him, she nodded her head at him and stalked off to find whatever outbuilding would house the necessary items to spend her day as she pleased. It was her right, if nothing more.
The small shed was located in the far back part of the garden, hidden behind a row of large hedges. She would have missed it if not for the thin gate that had been set at an angle so it would be hidden from most people walking past it. Inside she found what she needed. A pair of gloves, much too large for her small hands but protective enough to suffice, a pair of snips, and a small patch of carpet. She also found a small bucket that would do well for her to carry any clippings she trimmed or weeds she pulled.
A bed of peonies called to her, and she dropped the carpet on the ground and knelt down beside the bed. The gardens were well-maintained, but weeds did not wait until the day assigned for weeding to grow, and soon she was bent over, much like George had been, pulling the unwanted sprouts and cutting off any dead flowers, both of which were few but still in existence.
The work was very satisfying, and Cecilia enjoyed the smell of the fresh earth and the sweet fragrance of the flowers. The sun was not overly bright, but her hat kept off whatever rays that shone down on her; she could not have herself freckling. She giggled as she thought of her mother’s admonishments whenever she had gone out without a wide-brimmed hat. Now, her mother would have been proud she remembered.
“What on earth are you doing?” came a stern voice from behind her, making her jump in surprise.
She turned to see Benjamin towering above her with a glare that should have seared her skin. “Oh, Benjamin, you startled me,” she said, trying to suppress the startlement and then the anger that followed. “I wished to do something constructive with my time and decided to work on one of the gardens.”
The man looked handsome in his well-tailored coat that fit nicely on his frame, not to mention the leg muscles that filled out his breeches. She could not help but feel a bit of attraction, even if it was for a brief moment, until his face puckered with contempt. “We have people to do such tasks,” he snapped. Evidently his mood had not improved since she saw him earlier in the study. “Apparently I need to remind them that they should be doing this work and not the Duchess of the house.”
Panic rushed through her. It had not been her intention to cause trouble with the poor men who tended the gardens. “When I spoke to George and asked him if I could help, he told me that it would not be proper. This was my decision, so it is not his fault, but mine.”
“Be that as it may, the man needs to know his place, and you, my wife, need to know yours!”
“Please,” Cecilia begged as she stood and pulled off the gloves, “if I stop immediately, will you leave it at that? There is no need to discipline the man when I am the one to blame.”
Benjamin seemed to consider this. “Very well, I will not punish him for your misdeed. You certainly have a defiance about you that needs to be curbed. I will say this.” He pointed a finger at her much like her father had on many occasions when he wished to chastise her. “We have a party we will be attending Friday evening next. I hope that this…transgression will be the last one I must endure. I do not wish you to cause me any embarrassment.”
Cecilia lowered her head meekly, though she fumed inside. “You have my word; I will do what I can to act the model lady.”
“Good,” he replied firmly. “See that you do.” And with that, he turned and walked back toward the house.
Once he was out of sight, Cecilia sighed heavily. She would have to apologize to George, for she did not trust her husband to leave the poor man be. Any step out of place would be seen as an affront to Benjamin’s dignity, but she believed the fault had been her own.
However, despite her feeling of remorse, she felt that familiar sense of rebellion grow inside her, that defiance that she could never shake, even from childhood. The man treated her no better than the servants with his firm speech and commanding presence. Even if he filled out his breeches nicely.
Chapter Seven
The next week passed with few further i
ssues, as Cecilia did what she could to please her new husband. It was not an easy task to be pleasant to a man she held such animosity and who she simply did not like, let alone love, but she had to do what she could to keep the peace in the house. He would likely take out his displeasure on the servants, with a few choice words for her, and, as the new Duchess, she preferred to keep her new home under some sort of semblance of calm, even if it was a facade.
Her daily meetings with Mrs. Caplin went well enough, and although the woman had a tough exterior, Cecilia soon learned that she also had a gift for patience. Her instruction was clear and concise and Cecilia found that, as a lady, she did not need to give as much input into the daily running of the house as she was at first led to believe. Mrs. Caplin was a capable woman and had everything in hand by the time Cecilia met with her, and Cecilia found few of the woman’s recommendations unsatisfactory.
“Mrs. Caplin,” Cecilia had said at one point, “I realize that you added beef to the menu for Tuesday, but I was thinking it would be a nice change to have mutton for dinner that night. What do you think?” In all honesty, Cecilia could not have cared less if they had roasted a slug for their evening meal; what she wished to do was see how much her opinion mattered when it came to such matters.
“I am certain that can be arranged,” Mrs. Caplin had said.
Cecilia was unsure whether she should be surprised or pleased, for both plied for her attention. However, she was pleased to realize that she had at least some opinion and that that opinion would be taken into consideration. Well, even perhaps more than consideration; it was accepted without hesitation on the part of the housekeeper.
Now it was just after three on the day of the party at the house of Lord and Lady Drameda. Cecilia could not believe how quickly the time passed as she readied herself. Benjamin had made it clear that they would be leaving at precisely seven to arrive at the party by eight and that Cecilia was not to be late.
“If you cannot be ready for something as small as a simple event at Sharply Estates, I cannot imagine how you will ever host such an occasion here at Bantry.” He had stared down at her with a sternness that made her shiver, but his eyes held something she could not identify, something that made her breath catch. Whatever that something was, it lessened the bite behind the words, whether the man realized it or not.
“I may not have an exorbitant amount of experience as one such as yourself might have, but I know what is required of me,” she had told him with her chin jutted forward. “You need not worry about me.”
He had thrown his head back and laughed at those words. “Trust me, I do not worry about such trivial matters.” He had narrowed his eyes at her, the mysterious emotion behind his eyes replaced by a coldness that tore through her chest. “Very few make such mistakes more than once, and those who do, learn how harsh I can be.” Then he had stalked out of the room like some puffed up pheasant showing off his tail feathers. It took all Cecilia could do not to stick her tongue out at his back.
Cecilia had bathed earlier to give her hair time to dry before Angie was to style it, wrapping her honey locks in strips of cloth to help add some curl to her otherwise straight hair, and then napped so she would be rested up for the late festivities. A dress hung in the wardrobe for the occasion, a gift from Benjamin. He still had not come to her bed, and she was glad, though for some odd reason a small part of her wished he would. Whether it was to get the whole affair over with or because she found him handsome, she did not know. However, regardless of the reason, and regardless of whether she wished it to happen or not, one day it would be a requirement, and resigning herself to that was all she could do.
“Are you excited about tonight?” Angie asked as she ran a brush through Cecilia’s now-dried hair. It had taken all week for Cecilia to get the woman to open up to her, and now they could at least have a decent conversation, even if Angie still refused to not use Cecilia’s given name, even in private. However, Cecilia did get her to address her as Madam rather than Your Grace, which lessened the formality somewhat.
“But what if I misspeak in front of Mrs. Caplin?” Angie had fretted on more than one occasion. “If I make a mistake where she can hear me, she’ll dress me up one side and down the other.”
Cecilia had turned to the woman and took her hand. “I assure you, if Mrs. Caplin was to attempt to discipline you for filling my wishes, then I will simply tell her to mind her own business. I should have some sort of authority over what people call me—I am the Duchess, after all.”
This had made Angie relax visibly, and Cecilia was glad.
The pull of the brush brought Cecilia back to Angie’s question.
“I am both excited and nervous at the same time,” Cecilia replied. “I may not be able to keep down even a morsel of food, my stomach is in such turmoil.”
“I know you worry about if you’ll fit in with the other nobles or not,” Angie said, “but let me tell you, I’m thinkin’ you’ll have no problem whatsoever. I know we haven’t known each other long, but from what I’ve seen so far, I believe you to have better manners in your little finger than most have in their whole being.”
Cecilia smiled at this. “I am not sure about that, but thank you for your encouragement.”
Several hours later, Cecilia was able to finally take one final look in the tall mirror. Before her stood a woman who possessed Cecilia’s hair and eye coloring but little much that resembled the woman she typically saw looking back at her. Angie had set her hair into a beautiful chignon, taking hours to heat a curling rod to create thin curls that were pulled back atop her head with a ribbon. Cecilia’s attempt to create those curls had been a disaster. Had she not slept while wearing the wrapped strips, it might have been a bit more successful, but if Cecilia was honest with herself, even then it would not have looked as lovely as what Angie created, especially with the small white flowers interspersed throughout to finish off the hairstyle.
The gown Benjamin had purchased for her was like no other Cecilia had ever worn before. Made of a deep-blue muslin with a white underskirt, the sleeves were puffed at the shoulders but tight from there to points at the top of her hand. Angie, seeing Cecilia’s uneasiness at the low neckline, had suggested she wear a lace fichu; however, if Benjamin had not included such an item—he had also purchased underclothes for her, which had turned her face a deep crimson when she found them in a separate box—then it was clear he did not wish her to wear it.
Yes, the woman who stood reflected back at her now was different somehow, even a week into her marriage. She looked a Duchess more than she realized she ever could. Now to see that she acted as one, as well.
***
Carriages lined the drive of Sharply Estates, the home of Lord and Lady Drameda. Although the house itself was not as large as Bantry Estate, it was no less impressive with its peaked roofs and massive pillars lining the front of the house. Several bushes had been skillfully sculpted into a variety of shapes, the most impressive a large steed raised onto its back hooves in the grassy area inside the ring surrounded by the drive. Those Cecilia found most interesting and wondered if any of the gardeners at Bantry Estate had the skills to create such art. If so, perhaps she could make a request of a similar sort to be crafted for her to admire on a daily basis.
It took several minutes for the Thornbrook carriage to reach the front of the line. As they waited their turn to alight, Benjamin, who had remained quiet for most of the carriage ride over except for a few inconsequential attempts at light conversation, turned to Cecilia and said, “You look beautiful this evening, by the way.”
His words took Cecilia by surprise and it took her several moments before she realized she was being rude. “Thank you,” she replied as heat seared her cheeks. “And I meant to thank you for the beautiful gown. I have never owned anything quite so exquisite before.” The low neckline made her a bit nervous, but she made no comment about it.
Benjamin, however, did. “You will certainly draw eyes with it, no doubt. With
half your cleavage on display, I image you will gain all sorts of admirers.”
Cecilia gaped at him. Had he done this simply to test her? With what she had learned during the short time they had been married, she should not have been surprised. “And since you purchased this exact gown for me, I imagine you intended it as such.”
He glared at her but said nothing more, and Cecilia sat back into the seat feeling more than a little self-satisfied to have spoken her mind. Sometimes men needed to be put in their places. Even a Duke.
The carriage rolled forward once more, and when it stopped, a livered man opened the door and helped Cecilia alight. Benjamin followed behind, all evidence of any worry or annoyance now gone. Instead, he wore a broad smile as if he had been wearing it since before leaving the house.
When he offered her his arm, she took it and they made their way to the front door. Cecilia was glad there were no steps to climb; the skirts had attempted to trip her up more than once when they left Bantry Estate, the long staircase she had admired upon arriving at her new home now a burden in such clothing. If there was anything she did not wish to have happen, it was to make a fool of herself by stumbling on her skirts and landing either on her face or on her bottom in front of people who would be looking for any mistake she made. The idea that her first impression as a Duchess should result in such a debacle kept her focused on every movement she made.
The foyer was filled with people, and Benjamin pushed his way to the far side to place himself closer to the door. Cecilia remembered that, as a Duke, he would be among the first to enter because of his place in the line of nobility, which was both a blessing and a burden. The former because they would one of the first couples to enter the ballroom; the latter because they were now waiting furthest from the front door and fresh air. Not much time had passed and the press of so many people in what typically would have been a seemingly large space made Cecilia feel ready to push her way back to the front door or to open the doors to the ballroom herself to allow any sort of air to flow past her.
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