Henry whined, sensing her distress, and she scratched his head.
“It’s all right, old boy. It’s just you and me as it always is.”
She pulled her carpetbag up on the bench and unlatched it long enough to tuck her spectacles carefully inside. Her fingers deftly undid the bow of her bonnet and relief swamped her as she pulled it from her head. Last, she kicked off her slippers, propping her feet on the opposite cushion.
“See?” she said to Henry. “Just divine.”
She leaned her head back, and Henry settled on the bench beside her, his head in her lap. She had not slept at all the previous night. When she’d left Ashbourne in the drawing room, she’d returned to her rooms prepared to let sleep take her, but it had refused her, her mind awash with possibilities of what was to come.
She had always seen her future as a spinster. It was an obvious enough occurrence. She’d never seen herself trapped in a marriage of such coldhearted regard though. Absently, she stroked Henry’s fur. There was nothing to be done about it. She’d just have to make the best of it.
Her other hand settled on her stomach. When children came, it would be different surely. She would be consumed in the raising of them. Ensuring they had proper tutors and governesses. Teaching them the things her sisters and she had done. There were so many adventures to be had when one was a child. She smiled for the first time in days at the memory of her escapades with her sisters when they were but children.
She closed her eyes, the smile still lingering on her lips.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but as she’d been utterly exhausted, she wasn’t surprised the rocking of the carriage did not wake her. She woke when the cadence of the wheels changed, and she found them turning.
Sitting up, she rubbed sleep from her eyes and scrambled to pull her spectacles from her carpetbag. Shoving them on her face, she peered out the window.
The sun was a fading light in the distance, sparking bursts of orange and yellow through the perfectly straight line of trees that bordered the road.
No, they were on a drive. This must be Ashbourne Manor.
In the distance, she could just make out the delineation between land and what must have been ocean. The sun was fading, but surely that expanse of darkness just beyond her line of sight was water.
“We’ll need to explore it in the morning,” she whispered to Henry, belatedly realizing he was no longer next to her.
She searched the small confines of the carriage to find him sprawled on the opposite bench, blinking lazily at her. She smiled and returned her attention to the window.
The carriage slowed even more, and she heard the distinct sound of gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the carriage as they must have entered the proper drive of the manor house. Finally, they turned, and the manor house itself rose up before her. The sun struck it at an angle, casting its features in varied spaces of light and dark. She was surprised to find the house rather Palladian in style with a sweeping arch in the center of the main house flanked by two wings on either side disappearing into the fading light.
She pushed her feet into her slippers while her hand went for her spectacles and hastily tied her bonnet in place. Finally, she wrapped Henry’s leash comfortingly around her hand as the carriage rolled to a stop, and the door snapped open with the precision of a well-trained servant. She pushed to the door, steeling herself to see Ashbourne as surely he would have arrived before her, only to find the jowly, stern face of what could only be the butler.
“Your Grace,” he said with a small bow of his head.
It took her a moment to realize he referred to her. It was going to take an age to get used to her new title.
“Allow me to welcome you to Ashbourne Manor. We wish you much happiness and congratulations on your union, and we look forward to serving you.” The words were spoken with a deep timbre of sobriety and polish. He straightened. “I am Stephens. It is my honor to introduce you to the rest of the staff.”
She moved her gaze from the butler to see the line of servants spilling down the front stoop, all perfectly ironed and standing at attention. There were several footmen and maids, perhaps a cook and a stable lad, and at the very top, a smallish woman who was likely the housekeeper. The light had nearly gone now, and the line of servants were mostly undefined blobs of black, and a wave of uneasiness overcame her at such unfamiliarity.
She swallowed it down and attempted a pleasant smile. “Thank you all,” she said as loudly as she could as the housekeeper was quite some distance away.
Henry gave a bark then, startling some of the maids in the line, and Eliza quickly stepped down so they could see he was harmless. She ignored the butler’s proffered hand. If her new husband was not there to help her alight, she required no assistance at all. Henry dropped down beside her, eliciting a giggle from one of the maids.
Eliza stepped back. “Henry, say hello.”
Henry dropped to the ground in a regal sit before raising his front paws to wave at the line of servants. More giggles erupted.
“Henry, say thank you.”
Henry dropped his front paws and dipped into a low bow. The giggles turned to laughter, and she didn’t miss the butler attempting to hide a smile.
The trepidation of unfamiliarity eased somewhat with the hope that she’d made a good first impression. She allowed her gaze to drift, taking in the rest of her surroundings, but she didn’t see Ashbourne anywhere.
She could ask Stephens if he’d arrived, but she didn’t wish to appear eager. Instead she allowed Stephens to bring her up the line of servants, introducing her and Henry as they went. When she arrived at the housekeeper, a Mrs. Donnelly, the exhaustion of travel and unfit sleep overcame her.
She smiled tenderly at the woman. “Mrs. Donnelly, it has been an excessively long day. I wonder if I could have a bath brought up to my rooms. I’ll take my evening meal there as well.”
Mrs. Donnelly nodded quickly. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll have the footmen set it up immediately.”
Eliza turned to Stephens. “Stephens, Henry is in need of a good run. As I’m not familiar with Ashbourne Manor, and it’s growing dark, could you please advise on the best place where I may take him?”
Stephens showed her the way as the servants disassembled to begin unloading the trunks. She was brought to a large expanse of open green to the west of the manor house, and she unclipped Henry’s lead.
“Have at it, boy,” she said, scratching his head.
He took off the instant he realized he was free, streaking out across the green lawn. He circled her several times until he fell at her feet panting. Stephens brought him a dish of water that he lapped up immediately.
“Thank you, Stephens,” she said.
The air whipped at her as she stood there, and her eyes drifted toward the blackness she’d seen from the carriage.
“Is that the ocean over there?” she asked the butler.
“Indeed, it is, Your Grace.” He seemed not at all perplexed by her question.
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” she nearly whispered, her eyes mesmerized by the darkness, hoping to form some sort of shape out of its inky blackness.
Stephens said nothing, and she called to Henry to follow her.
Ashbourne Manor was not at all what she’d expected. She’d heard rumors that houses located along the shore were fraught with mold and moisture, but Ashbourne Manor was resplendent in marbles and gilded metals. Sconces were lit along the length of the vestibule, illuminating the vast expense of the central staircase that swept up to the balcony of the upper floor. Rooms dissolved to her left and right, and the corridors disappeared into darkness.
There was no sign of Ashbourne.
She turned to Mrs. Donnelly who stood waiting to take her things.
“I should like a tour in the morning,” she said.
Mrs. Donnelly hesitated the barest of degrees, and had Eliza not been looking directly at her, she may have missed it.
“
Yes, of course, Your Grace,” the small woman said.
Ashbourne should have been the one to guide his wife about the estate, and he should also have been the one to introduce her to his servants. It needn’t matter. She was looking forward to a long soak and a good meal.
Henry trotted along beside her as Mrs. Donnelly took her up to her rooms.
“These are not typically the duchess’s rooms, but His Grace said to give you a suite facing the ocean,” Mrs. Donnelly explained.
Eliza started at the mention of Ashbourne, but Mrs. Donnelly was already opening a door and disappearing inside.
Eliza stepped in behind her to find herself ensconced in luxury. The floors were covered with thick colorful rugs, the walls hung with a delicate cream paper, and opposite the door, the wall was alive with windows. They were dark now and most had their drapes drawn, but she knew what she would find come daylight.
She paused just inside the door to take it in, anticipation tingling at her fingertips. The light here would be resplendent, and there was a beautiful desk pressed just under the windows in one corner. She could set up her watercolors there. A sofa was already positioned in front of the fire, and Henry sniffed it out dubiously before deeming it acceptable and scampering up onto it.
“Excuse us, Your Grace.”
She jumped at the voice behind her and tripped aside as a parade of footmen carried in a great copper tub and steaming buckets of water. Mrs. Donnelly placed a stool and some fluffy towels beside the fire to warm, just within reach of the copper tub.
“I shall return momentarily with your supper,” she said as she followed the footmen out.
The door closed softly, and finally, Eliza was alone again.
She sighed in relief, reaching up to tug at her bonnet’s bow. She was shed of her clothes within minutes and gingerly tested the bath water with a single toe. Finding it more than comfortable, she slipped inside the great tub, allowing it to swallow her up. She laid her head back, closing her eyes against the exhaustion.
She soaked for some minutes before turning to scoop up the pad of soap Mrs. Donnelly had left. Carefully, she tugged at the remaining ribbon in her hair, letting the mass dip into her bath water as she began scrubbing the road dust from her person.
When the sharp knock came minutes later, she didn’t hesitate, anticipating what delicious food Mrs. Donnelly had hopefully brought.
“Enter,” she called, passing the pad of soap up her arms and inhaling the scent of roses.
“I do hope you’re hungry. Mrs. Donnelly has sent up a reputable feast.”
She shrieked and dropped the soap at her husband’s voice. She scrambled to both sink in the water and cover herself at the same time.
Henry bounded off the sofa at her scream and trotted over to Ashbourne with a soft growl.
“Ah, yes, Sir Henry. I had concern you had not been fed as well.” Ashbourne ignored her completely, scooping up a rounded pottery dish from the tray and placing it on the floor. “The stable lad assures me this is the best combination for a healthy hound. I do believe there’s even a duck bill in there, old boy.”
Henry pounced on the bowl of food before Ashbourne had it set fully on the floor.
Finally, he straightened and turned, bestowing her with an innocent smile.
“Shall I help you finish your bath before we sup?”
* * *
He had every intention of making this as enjoyable for her as possible, but the moment he saw her in the tub, soap clinging to her bare shoulders, her waves of lush hair loose about her, he realized he’d made a grave mistake.
He turned to the tray of supper he’d brought up for them, hoping to distract himself.
“I believe Cook has prepared an entire hen for us. Her gravy is remarkable. I really have had nothing like it.” He kept his voice as even as possible, though the last thing he was thinking of was gravy.
He wondered how soft Eliza’s skin must be. What it would be like to trail the soap along that same bare shoulder, take in the deep scent of her as he washed her hair. He straightened away from the table.
There was no reason why he shouldn’t after all.
He went to rolling up his sleeves and made his way over to where she sat frozen in the tub. He’d discarded his outer garments upon his arrival. He was lucky he’d made it there so far ahead of her and the carriage. He’d had time to instruct Cook on what to prepare for their supper and to have the footmen carry up the sofa from the sewing room below. It was the most generous sofa in the house, and he hoped Henry enjoyed it.
He bent beside the tub, fisting his hands along the side when all he wished to do was wrest her from the tub and carry her to bed.
Her eyes were wide, and small rivulets of water made their way down either side of her face.
He reached up, unable to help himself, and pushed back a lock of hair. He didn’t miss her nearly imperceptible flinch.
He paused for a moment and then carefully extracted his hand.
“Are you able to see or would you like me to fetch your spectacles?”
He thought the question would soothe her, but she reared back in the tub.
“I can see. It’s things far away that are out of focus.”
He studied her face. He hadn’t been this close to her in the light, and he enjoyed being able to drink her in. Her eyes were just a touch too small for her face, and her nose came to a gentle hook. Her lips were overly thin, but he recalled all too clearly how they tasted.
He reached behind him for the pitcher Mrs. Donnelly had likely left.
“Shall I help you rinse your hair?”
She shook her head so violently sprays of water shot from her head.
“No, you mustn’t.”
He paused. “But did you not request I visit your rooms every evening? It was part of the arrangement.” He kept his tone light. It wasn’t confrontation he sought. There was something about this agreement she had made that was important to her, and he wanted to fulfill every expectation she had until he could figure out what it was she truly wanted.
Her hands fluttered in the water as if she wanted to pluck the pitcher from his hands, but then she must have realized how exposed it left her and scrambled to get her hands back in place.
He regretted the loss of the glimpse but tried to keep his eyes on her face.
“I did, but this is not what I had in mind.”
He smiled gently. “I see. What is it you wish me to do?”
The question was unfair, but he couldn’t help it.
She paled, and he set aside the pitcher to stand.
“How about this?” he asked as he positioned himself behind her. “You’ve had a long day of travel, and you must be starving. If I help you to rinse your hair, we can enjoy the meal Cook has prepared that much more quickly. That seems practical, doesn’t it?”
She hesitated, but she’d turned her head just the slightest to follow him about her.
“Yes, it does,” she replied.
He picked up the pitcher from his new position. “Tip your head back.”
She did as he asked, and carefully, he poured the warm water from the pitcher, moving slowly so each part of her hair was rinsed clear of soap. He tried not to think about how it felt to have her long locks fall through his fingers or how it made him want to coil a fistful of it in his hand as she writhed beneath him.
He finished quickly after that thought sprang through his mind and stood, pacing away from the tub.
“Are you able to reach the towels?” he asked, politely looking away.
“Yes, thank you.”
He heard splashing behind him but kept his gaze on the small table where he’d lain the food tray. He pulled the metal domes from the plates and steam wafted up. He set them aside and drew out the napkins and cutlery, setting the table with exquisite care. Because as long as he focused, he wouldn’t think of his wife behind him, the towel caressing her naked body, finding all the hidden places he wanted to find.
With hi
s tongue.
He coughed and reached for one of the wine glasses on the tray, quickly filling it before downing a swallow.
The noise of the towel was replaced by rustling, and he knew she must have donned her nightdress.
“You may turn about,” she finally said, and of course, he spun about as quickly as would seem normal.
She’d not only donned her nightdress, but her dressing gown wrapped so tightly around her he worried it would cut off blood to her head.
He gestured to the table behind him.
“Let us eat then.”
She eyed the table as if it were a monster of fairy tale origins ready to gobble her up. He sat, pulling a napkin onto his lap and reaching to fill her glass. Eventually, she made her way over, taking the seat opposite him.
They ate in silence for several seconds before he realized she wasn’t eating at all. She merely pushed her food around on her plate.
“Are you not hungry?” Concern surged through him. Had the journey made her ill? Had something else happened to upset her?
Her fork clattered against the plate at his question, but she recovered it quickly.
“No. I mean yes.” She shook her head. “I am hungry.” But she didn’t take a bite of food.
“Then what is it?” He reached across the table to place his hand over hers, but she snatched her hand away before he could touch it.
He looked up, and her gaze had him straightening. Her eyes were ferocious. Her jaw taut. He prepared himself for the retribution he so rightly deserved for what he had said.
But no words of scorn and admonishment came. Instead, she asked him something far worse, so cutting his heart clenched in his chest.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” The words were guttural with emotion, and they stopped him dead.
His lips parted, but no sound emerged as he couldn’t break his gaze away from hers. There was no sadness in the question, no pity. She wasn’t trying to play his emotions with theatrics. She was utterly serious, which meant she asked the question from experience.
She wasn’t used to people being nice to her, and when someone demonstrated such attention, she found it fearful.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 11