A laugh startled out of Kate’s throat at the incongruous comment. The Blaylocks were delightfully vulgar and oddly charming, all at the same time. She could scarcely believe them related to Ravenwood at all.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. This is my great-aunt, Mrs. Havens. And as you’ve already surmised, I’m…” She hesitated.
On the one hand, it felt queer to be constantly referred to as Her Grace instead of by her name. On the other hand, this was Ravenwood’s house and Ravenwood’s family, and perhaps she ought not be too quick to dispense with formalities without her husband here to guide her.
“I’m the new duchess,” she said instead. “I’m afraid I am still getting used to the role.”
“What’s to get used to? I’m sure my cousin takes care of absolutely everything,” Mr. Blaylock said teasingly, then shot a pointed look at his mother. “That’s Papa’s doing, you know. Always saying you’d make a horrid duke and you’ll never live up to your father—”
“Old history,” the elder Mrs. Blaylock hissed. “And not something that should be discussed with the new duchess.”
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “She ought to know who she’s speaking with, don’t you think?” He leaned toward Kate and lowered his voice. “I’m second in line for the title, third once you do your duty. We live in Shropshire. It’s a small country cottage, but you’re welcome anytime. Ravenwood’s like a brother to me. A distant one. It’s my father he can’t stand. Can’t say I blame him. Whenever Father has too much drink, he likes to remind the room at large that he’s one bad shellfish away from becoming duke.”
Kate clapped her hands to her mouth in horror. Poor Ravenwood!
“No, no, we’re used to him spouting off,” Mr. Blaylock assured her. “It’s just his way. That’s why Father hasn’t been allowed on this property since the moment Ravenwood reached his majority. Where is the blighter, by the way? Never say he’s too busy with paperwork to share a meal with his family.”
“I…” She shot a desperate glance at Aunt Havens, then nearly sagged in relief when a familiar brunette walked in the front door.
“Cousin!” Lady Amelia handed her pelisse to a footman, then bussed cheeks with the Blaylock family. “I have just informed the groundskeeper that yes, you may do a spot of fowling after luncheon.”
The younger Mrs. Blaylock’s mouth fell open. “How did you—”
“Lady Amelia knows everything,” Mr. Blaylock interrupted with a laugh. “She probably sensed a weight difference upon our carriage axles and deduced the presence of a sporting gun on board for flushing partridge. How do you do, cousin? Isn’t married life grand?”
“It is indeed,” Lady Amelia agreed. “You must be starving. If you’ll follow me to the dining room, lunch will be served shortly. And never you fear—neither fish nor strawberries shall be present at the table.”
Kate’s face heated as her stomach twisted. Lady Amelia was no longer mistress of this house, yet she had ordered the staff. She had chosen the menu. She had known what should be served and not served, and at precisely what time.
Meanwhile, Kate had spent the morning peering out a picture window like an insipid child awaiting Father Christmas. Just because she’d been looking forward to seeing her husband and meeting new people.
Kate swallowed. The moment the Blaylocks left, she would dedicate herself to learning everything she could about running the estate.
Her throat went dry. The prospect suddenly seemed overwhelming.
She took her place across from her husband at the table. Or would have, were he present. He had not left the grounds—her morning vigil by the front window ensured she would have noticed a departure—and he, too, must be suffering hunger pangs by now.
Which could only mean he was avoiding the party on purpose. She hesitated. Were his cousins too “common” for his taste?
She frowned. Despite the Blaylocks’ country vulgarity, they were family. Ravenwood’s conspicuous absence dishonored himself as much as it did his cousins.
Not that she should have expected otherwise. He rarely presented himself in society as anything less than a holier-than-thou sovereign, and was operating precisely as advertised. She bit her lip.
Now that she was his duchess, would he expect her to follow his example and eschew contact with individuals of lesser status?
Her stomach tightened. If he was too good for his own cousins, he no doubt despised her associations with musicians, artists, and those who aspired to be such. In avoiding the lower classes, he was missing out on getting to know the largest percentage of the country he loved so much.
Well, Kate would not adhere to such an edict. Instead, she would do as Lady Amelia did, and treat the Blaylocks—and all people—with empathy, respect, and unflagging politeness.
Aunt Havens, who had spent decades married to a parson, conversed freely with all parties at the table without batting a single eyelash. As a midwife for most of those years, Aunt Havens had seen everyone in Maidstone at their best and their worst, and treated them all the same.
That was the example Kate had grown up with, and the one she intended to follow.
It might not be a duchessy attitude, but it was the only course Kate could take and still live with herself.
She threw herself into the conversation as if it were one of the many dinner parties she’d hosted at her townhouse over the years. She told amusing anecdotes, inquired into each Blaylock’s individual hobbies and aspirations, and listened with a genuine smile on her face to let them know how pleased she would be if they continued to stop by for visits.
After they quit the dining room for a promenade out-of-doors, however, she quietly asked the butler whether her husband was indeed hard at work in his office.
“No, your grace,” Simmons answered, his eyes thoughtful. “His grace has spent the past few hours in his garden.”
In his garden? Kate was so nonplused by this explanation that the butler returned to his post before she could think of anything else to say. She turned around to discover Lady Amelia watching her in silence.
Kate raised her chin. “Am I missing something? Something else, I mean?”
“I’m afraid you might be,” Lady Amelia said softly. “Ravenwood’s garden is his private sanctuary. Only he has the key.”
“Ravenwood…has a secret garden?” Kate repeated uncomprehendingly. “Why is he there instead of here?” She shook her head. “I suppose a duke can do as he pleases.”
“Not often.” Lady Amelia’s expression was gentle. “My brother doesn’t just feel uncomfortable around his cousins. He feels uncomfortable around people. All people.”
Kate stared at her. Ravenwood? Uncomfortable around people?
“He hates the attention,” Lady Amelia explained. “Of being expected to say or do the right thing in all circumstances. And yet, as duke, it is his duty to stand out in Parliament, mingle in society, and converse at dinner parties. He forces himself to do so for as long as he can, but occasionally it becomes too much, even for him, and he seeks a moment of peace alone in his garden. He’ll make himself known before our cousins leave. Ravenwood would never shirk his duty entirely.”
Kate’s eyes widened in belated understanding. Ravenwood didn’t hate commoners any more than peers. He hated being forced to interact with people. All of them.
“Getting him to attend the charity auction took every wile at my disposal,” Lady Amelia confessed. “I doubt even I will be able to convince him to attend another public event for a very long time.”
Kate’s cheeks heated as she compared her quick judgment of Ravenwood’s absence today with the conversation they had shared the day before. She had demanded his presence at her upcoming event without a single thought to how he might feel about attending. She had assumed any disinterest would be due to the inferiority of the persons involved, and dismissed any reluctance as ducal hauteur.
In reality, she had invited him to attend his worst nightmare.
Not ju
st attend… Sit in the front row. Speak with his peers. Sponsor the performers. Make a public spectacle of himself.
And he had said yes. For her.
Her breath caught.
She followed Lady Amelia to the door, but hesitated before joining the others for a promenade.
The only thought in her head was Ravenwood. She wished she could go to him. Thank him. Tell him he needn’t worry about entertaining guests in the future. She wouldn’t put him through it. If he needed his space, she would give it to him.
Even if it meant being lonely, herself.
“Your grace?” The butler’s voice was low, his eyes kind. “The staff is on standing orders to answer every question you might pose of us and to grant every request. If you like, I shall have a footman escort you to his grace’s private garden immediately.”
Kate shook her head, throat tight. “No, thank you. When he wishes me to know where it is, he will invite me himself.”
Chapter 10
From that moment forward, Kate spent every waking moment learning everything she could about managing the Ravenwood household. These were the skills her husband valued. By mastering them, he would come to value her, too.
There was just so much to learn. The estate was twenty times as large as her little townhouse had been. The grounds, even larger.
A sleepless week flashed by. There were so many servants, so many rules, so many ways for things to go wrong. But she could do it. She had to. This was her life now. And the most obvious way to impress her husband.
Kate rubbed her face. She would prove herself a worthy duchess if it killed her. She smiled grimly. It might.
She had barely slept these past several days. due to long hours of interviewing the staff and everyone they interacted with. She did her best to learn and memorize everything she could. Ravenwood was worth it.
He deserved a wife he could be proud of. Kate wanted to be someone he could be proud of. She wanted to be important. Not to the estate, but to him. She wanted to be missed.
Even half as much as she missed him.
The running of Ravenwood House was a great deal of work. Learning the inner workings was even harder. Kate didn’t mind work—in fact, she thrived on it, which was one of the main reasons she’d started her museum—but this was different.
Ravenwood House was supposed to be her new home. Yet she awoke each morning with the sensation of living in someone else’s house. She rubbed her forehead and stared at her piles of notes.
While he spent his days in his office and his nights at Parliament, she’d begun journals. She kept records of staff, schedules, duties, and restrictions, much the same way she kept detailed notes of every object’s history and provenance in her antiquities museum. The thought made her miss her old treasures all the more.
This was someone else’s house. Ravenwood’s, to be precise, even though he was rarely here. But their home was meant to be Kate’s as well. She shouldn’t have to feel so out-of-place and lonely.
There must be something that could be done.
Ravenwood had his secret garden. Thus, there was no reason why she could not have a small corner of this enormous manor to call her own. A few antiquities. A cozy hearth. One tiny room in all this vastness where she could finally feel like she belonged.
Ever since the butler’s pronouncement that the staff had been explicitly ordered to grant any request she might have, Kate had been unable to quit the idea from her head.
She wouldn’t nuisance Ravenwood with such an insignificant request. He was responsible for some sort of parliamentary committee that was swallowing every spare moment of his time. The greatest favor she could do for him was to suss out an appropriately unassuming little room as far from his office as possible, so as not to bother him when he was at home.
It took days to walk every inch of the estate, evaluating each potential chamber in her spare time. At last, she found the perfect parlor in the rear of the property. It was the smallest, emptiest, most out-of-the-way room in the manor, making it uniquely perfect as a space to call her own.
She clasped her hands together and twirled about the little gold-and-white room with a smile. She’d settled on Egyptian, just like the sitting room in her old townhouse. In fact, she had sent for every object in that very room. The crates would be arriving at any moment. She grinned.
If she couldn’t go home, she would simply make a new home right here.
The only item in the otherwise vacant parlor was a family portrait upon the far wall. She gazed at the family in the portrait. ’Twas not difficult to pick out the previous Duke of Ravenwood. He looked almost exactly like her husband.
A man who confounded her expectations at every turn.
The portrait looked less than twenty years old. Normally, Kate was fanatical about historical accuracy when she themed a chamber, but in this case, she intended to leave the painting exactly where it hung. It would be the centerpiece, the key difference between her previous Egyptian sitting room and this new one.
The old townhouse had belonged to Kate. This new home, she shared with her husband. She liked feeling that he would be a part of her special room as well.
He was exactly what she’d always believed him to be. Proud. Arrogant. Intelligent. But he was also so much more than that. So much deeper. She hadn’t imagined him to possess many secrets, much less something so romantic as a private garden.
If she’d begun to like him before, she was positively fascinated by him now. She just wished there was more opportunity to spend time together. Learning about his estate did make her feel closer to him, but it was no substitute for the man himself.
Until recently, she had believed life was always easy for a duke. She now realized his had been no easier than her own. They had both lost their parents at a young age. But where Kate had been taken in by the most kindhearted, loving people she could ever imagine being blessed with, Ravenwood had spent his formative years desperately proving himself better than the uncle who wished him dead in order to inherit.
He’d overcome that, obviously. In spades. He’d also mastered his own shyness to such a degree that Kate hadn’t even suspected he possessed the trait. Much as she never would have imagined him toiling in a garden.
He was the most unpredictable man she had ever known. A puzzle for her to unwrap and put together. Her heart thumped at the idea.
She had never felt awkward amongst groups of people, large or small, but anxiousness now plagued her when she thought of her husband. What must he think of her? She did not know. Wasn’t certain she wished to know.
Did he even wish to spend more time with her? Or was she simply one more name in the long list of people he’d feel more comfortable without?
She stared down at her journals and their pages of notes. Her fingers trembled. She would not be doing all of this if some part of her hadn’t decided to avoid an annulment at all costs. Now that she had Ravenwood, she didn’t want to let go.
She had hundreds of friends, thousands of acquaintances, but the only opinion that truly mattered, the only person whose respect she most desired…was his.
Perhaps once she proved herself Lady Amelia’s equal in the management of this estate, he would want her as his wife, rather than simply be shackled to her. Perhaps someday, they could be partners. She bit her lip.
They still had not consummated their marriage. He hadn’t so much as knocked upon her bedchamber, much less kissed her, since that night. A week was perhaps not a terribly long time, but to a bride who spent every night staring at their adjoining door, it had felt like a lifetime.
She knew she had disappointed him. Their compromise had ruined his life as much as it had ruined hers. But it didn’t have to be terrible indefinitely. She was learning the estate. Starting to feel at home. She took a deep breath. Soon, she would make him proud.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. “Your grace? Where would you like these crates?”
Joy filled her at the sight of her carefully wrapped treas
ures. “Set them against that wall until we can retrieve what’s inside. Have you a hammer? Yes, perfect. Go ahead and open the lids. That’s one of the pharaoh’s chairs! They’ll go over there, please. Be on the lookout for carvings. You found the crate of scarab vases? Wait for the lion’s paw tables first. Those will go over here. Oh, the papyri! Please mount them on the walls opposite the windows.”
The footmen rushed to do her bidding. Every corner of the room would soon have history to feast her eyes upon.
She bounced on her toes. This many people, this many moving parts, was absolutely invigorating. Excitement coursed through her. She loved decorating, loved history, loved rediscovering ancient treasures. This parlor wouldn’t be a mirror image of her old sitting room—it would be even better.
“Kate? Kate?” Aunt Havens dashed into the room, eyes wide. Her voice was high pitched and desperate. “I can’t find the dog!”
The footmen froze in unison, their brows furrowing with confusion.
Kate ignored them and forced herself to smile. “Don’t be concerned, Aunt. You know how he likes to hide under beds. This house is a positive treasure trove of new hiding spots for him. He’s perfectly fine.”
Relief washed across Aunt Havens’ face. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m being foolish.”
Kate gave her a heartfelt embrace. She held onto her aunt a moment too long. “Where’s your embroidery? If you work on that for a while, I’m sure he’ll turn up. You know how he hates to be ignored.”
Aunt Havens chortled. “True, true. I will do exactly that. Thank you, my dear.”
Kate kept the merriest smile she could firmly in place until her aunt disappeared down the corridor.
It was a bad day, that’s all. Everyone was entitled to one now and again.
The move hadn’t been any less stressful on Aunt Havens, so it was little wonder she should have a momentary relapse.
Weeks had passed since she’d last mentioned the dog. Months, perhaps. Kate straightened her spine. Aunt Havens was getting better, not worse.
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