The Duke and the Wallflower

by Clever, Jessie

  “I wasn’t aware that my arrival had caused such a flutter in Glenhaven.”

  Mrs. Longbottom laughed. “Oh, of course it did, Your Grace. There isn’t much that happens here in the village, and it’s such a wonderful reprieve when news comes down from the manor house.”

  “Are you from a family in London then?” Mrs. Fletcher adjusted the gown on her lap, picking up a needle with careful dexterity.

  “My family is the Darbys, and my brother is the Duke of Ravenwood.”

  Mrs. Fletcher nodded politely as Mrs. Longbottom gave her a hopeful smile as if whatever Eliza had to say would be the most interesting thing she would hear that day.

  Eliza continued as it seemed she would be the one doing the talking that morning while the seamstresses applied their needles to the gowns in their laps.

  “I have three sisters as well. I’m about in the middle of the lot of them.”

  Mrs. Longbottom looked up expectantly. “How lovely. Will your sisters be coming to visit this summer, or are they already wed with families of their own?”

  Eliza couldn’t help the way her heart squeezed at the thought of Viv and the family she should have had by now.

  “I hadn’t thought of it, if I’m honest. There wasn’t much time to discuss it before we left London.”

  She thought back to the anguish and tears that had been her departure from London, and while she could say things had gotten better, there was still a finger of doubt that needled at her. It was clear Dax had no intention of a love match, but after his reaction to her desire for a room for her watercolors, she wondered if it weren’t something more. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said Dax were jealous or perhaps fearful of her keeping something from him. It was a preposterous idea, but she just couldn’t seem to shake it.

  She sipped her tea, determined to enjoy the company of the mother and daughter seamstresses.

  “I do hope they can make it. The shore is such a lovely spot to be in the heat of summer. Although I must say, the winters can be quite trying.” Mrs. Fletcher’s smile suggested she knew too well just how trying.

  “Have you lived here your whole life?” Eliza eyed the tray of sweets Mrs. Fletcher had placed next to her. She’d never been one for biscuits and such, but her stomach was feeling a bit growly that morning. Dax was correct in trying to get her to eat more for her breakfast, and she would do well to remember that in future. Life at the shore meant a great deal of activity more than she was used to.

  “Oh yes. We grew up at the manor house actually. My father was the steward there, you see. We had the cottage just off the main drive by the livestock paddocks.”

  Eliza pushed herself up in her chair at this bit of news. “Truly? So you must have known Ashbourne when he was small.”

  Mrs. Fletcher shook her head ruefully. “As you probably know, His Grace came to the manor late in the previous duke’s life. I was already married to Mr. Fletcher and setting up shop here when His Grace arrived at the manor.” She stopped in her precise stitches to flutter a hand as if remembering the moment as clearly as when it happened. “Oh, it caused such a stir. A young lad up at the manor house. We were all so happy for the duke. He had always been kind to his staff and generous to the village. It was so wonderful to see him granted such happiness.” She set down her fluttering hand. “And the duchess. Such a lovely lady. It was something out of a fairy tale.”

  Eliza could picture it, a young Dax whose arrival had been heralded with such grandeur and happiness.

  “Was he an adventurous child?” She wasn’t sure why she asked the question, but something about the wildness of the cliffs and the untamed nature of the ocean had her wondering what a young duke-in-training would do with such an environment.

  Mrs. Fletcher and Mrs. Longbottom shared a laugh.

  “His poor nanny. There was nothing she could do to keep him from trouble. He was always a spirited one.” Her eyes dimmed slightly at the end of her sentence, and she quickly picked up her needle to resume sewing.

  Eliza’s grip on her teacup tightened at the sudden change of mood.

  “I can imagine how lovely it would be to grow up here. I’m so glad he brought me here for the summer.”

  The smile returned to Mrs. Fletcher’s face. “Oh, as are we. We were oh so worried His Grace would never find love after what happened.”

  The biscuits and tea turned to a lump in her stomach, and Eliza had to set down her teacup to prevent herself from spilling it.

  “Do you speak of the humiliation he suffered?”

  Mrs. Fletcher let out a breath. “It was so much more than the humiliation. His heart suffered so. We never thought he would love again.”

  Her smile was over bright, and Eliza had to look away, anxious fingers clawing at her throat, threatening her breath.

  “Oh?”

  Mrs. Longbottom was the one to shake her head now.

  “He was just so in love with Lady Bethany. We never thought he would recover from it.”

  And there it was.

  The doubt she had sensed lurking solidified and suddenly she could touch it, taste, feel it.

  It wasn’t that Dax didn’t want to fall in love. It was that he couldn’t. The damage Bethany had wrought was lasting and true, and he’d never recovered from it. He had thought Eliza capable of betrayal because he knew nothing different. She swallowed against the realization.

  Mrs. Fletcher was right. She just didn’t know the truth of it, but Eliza did.

  She folded her hands across her stomach, refusing to let her realization show.

  After all, did it truly matter?

  Dax was kind to her. He showered her with attention and showed great affection for Henry. Did it matter that he would never love her?

  She didn’t know.

  Mrs. Fletcher cut the last of the thread on the gown in her lap and stood, shaking it loose. It fell to the floor in a cascade of deep forest green with carefully placed cuffs and a generous curve to the torso.

  Eliza shook her head, both at the beauty of the simple gown and its unrealistic proportions.

  “It’s lovely, Mrs. Fletcher, but it’s much too large. I should never hope to fill it out.”

  Mrs. Fletcher and Mrs. Longbottom shared a laugh and a knowing glance.

  “I think you will be surprised, Your Grace. You are sure to swell more than you ever expect. It’s like that with all new mothers though. You just don’t know what to anticipate.”

  Eliza had been about to stand, but she stopped dead at Mrs. Fletcher’s words.

  “What is that?” she asked, her mind racing ahead of her, sorting through the seamstress’s words.

  “I grew ever so much with Nancy here. I was just a little sprite of a thing before.” She laughed. “I was quite the sight.”

  “It was the same for me.” Mrs. Longbottom stood and shook out her own gown, a near replicate of the green one but this one was in a deep shade of lilac with a gorgeous row of flowers trimmed along the hem and cuffs. “I was a little wraith of a thing carrying my two big boys. I never thought I’d be capable of it. But somehow our bodies just know what to do.”

  Eliza finished standing, putting her hands firmly across her flat stomach.

  “I think there’s been a mistake, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m only here for the ball gown.”

  Mrs. Fletcher laughed and laid a hand on Eliza’s arm.

  “I know that, dear. But even I can tell just by looking at you, a babe will soon be on the way, and you’ll be needing to let your gowns out.” She waved carelessly as she bustled her way through the shop toward a row of ribbons. “Just be sure to come by before heading back to London this fall. We’ll alter these gowns and any others you need for the growing babe.”

  * * *

  Eliza was suspiciously quiet on the ride back to the manor house.

  She wasn’t very talkative when they had supper on the terrace or walked Henry in the gardens before retiring for the evening. It was as though she were not quite present,
but somewhere deep in her mind where something made her both happy and sad at the same time. He wondered just what had gone on in Mrs. Fletcher’s shop.

  That night when they made love there was an earnestness to it that hadn’t been there before, as if Eliza had taken her inner struggle and brought it out as if it were something she could physically wrestle with. Her kisses were ardent, her caresses deliberate. And when they finally fell asleep, her arms were locked tight around his torso.

  She was like that for several days following, and every time he chanced a glimpse of her walking in the fields with Henry or striding along the beach, her feet awash with the waves, he thought for the briefest of moments she was someone else entirely.

  It didn’t help that Mrs. Fletcher’s gowns had transformed her. When he’d gone to fetch her that day at the shop, he hadn’t expected she’d be outfitted with a new gown immediately, but there she had been, resplendent in a forest green gown that lit up her complexion. It also fit properly, and for the first time, he didn’t fear she would fold in half in a strong breeze.

  Now she roamed Ashbourne Manor like the mistress he knew she was always meant to be. Henry trailed at her feet, and her wild hair commanded the wind as if it were made for such things. He wasn’t sure what had happened to the wallflower he had married, but he suspected she hadn’t changed at all. It was simply how he viewed her that had changed.

  The ocean and the shore had cast a light on her that had never before had opportunity to let her shine. She did here, brighter than she ever would in London. Here she was mistress of all the wind and sea spray she touched. Here she was home.

  The thought sent shivers down his spine. He had long given up trying to refute Sebastian’s warning for he knew now that it was Eliza herself that could slay him. Beauty was such a flimsy weapon. He should have realized.

  The realization only drove him to be more diligent when it came to his emotions. While he enjoyed her company, craved her kisses, and genuinely took interest in her pursuits, he steeled his heart against it. He kept his focus on the livestock and the breeding plans. He met regularly with Sheridan to ensure the health of the crop that would be needed to meet their feeding requirements, and he made routine inspections of the entire estate to ensure any necessary repairs were made immediately.

  But his nights were still for Eliza.

  He had made a bargain with her after all, and he was a man of his word.

  As much as he wished to remain aloof, he could not when he held Eliza in his arms. They were beginning to learn each other’s nuances, manners, and thoughts. Their lovemaking grew richer, deeper, more poignant. It was after they had made love though that he was truly in danger, when Eliza would lay her head on his chest and tell him of her childhood, the antics of her sisters and brother, and the time spent getting the family dog to sit at the table like a human.

  It made it difficult to concentrate as he sat at his desk that morning going over the wheat yields from the previous years as they projected what should be planted in rotations for the following year. His wife had taken Henry off in search of a place to work on her watercolors as the morning had proved a bright and considerably pleasant one. He’d watched her disappear over the fields, her wide brimmed hat flopping as the wind played with her braid.

  The sweep of domesticity that overcame him at the sight made him want to wretch, but at the same time, it was as though he’d been given a prize he couldn’t quite believe he’d won.

  A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up just as Stephens entered bearing a silver tray with a card atop. The clock hadn’t even chimed ten yet, and it was terribly unfashionable for calling hours. At the sight of the card, his stomach churned, knowing whomever it belonged to was not here for a social purpose.

  Stephens bowed and extended the tray. As soon as Dax fixed eyes on the name scrawled across it, the blood drained from his head.

  Lady Bethany Danvers, the Marchioness of Isley

  “Lady Isley has requested an audience. Shall I tell her you are in?”

  Dax stared at the card, years of hurt and betrayal crashing through him.

  He stood with resolution.

  “Please show the lady to the front drawing room.”

  Stephens bowed in departure and slipped out the door. Dax took a few moments to collect himself before starting the trek to the front of the manor house. He had several minutes to gather his thoughts. He’d had seven years to think about what he would say to Bethany should he ever see her again, and his mind rattled with the possibilities.

  Words of accusation tripped over his tongue, and his hands shook with the pent up anger he’d carried for so long.

  But even as all of this simmered inside of him, a single thought stilled his progress, and he stood silent in the corridor.

  Why had she come now?

  She’d had seven years to make amends. Why was she suddenly here today?

  He knew word of his marriage had likely spread throughout the ton, and he knew from personal account it had spread through the village. But Isley had not occupied the adjoining estate in nearly a decade, preferring instead the title’s main country seat in Derby.

  There could only be one reason Bethany was here now, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.

  She stood facing the windows opposite the door when he entered. Her gown was simple but exquisitely cut. His body reacted to the silhouette of her figure as he knew she had expected it would. Her golden hair was pulled up under a small hat and hung in sweeps of curls about her face.

  And God, her face.

  He hadn’t forgotten a single detail of it.

  When she turned to him, her chin was tilted slightly up, giving her a woeful expression anyone would find endearing.

  But not him.

  “Bethany.” He spoke the single word as if he were sighting a rat.

  “Dax.” The word was breathless and coaxing, but he stood his ground.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, Dax.” Her voice was suddenly filled with tears, and his suspicions grated along the back of his neck like nails. “It’s too terrible.”

  He thought for a moment something had happened to Isley. The man may have betrayed him, but once upon a time, they had been friends, childhood friends, and those were always the most precious.

  “Why are you here, Bethany?” He asked again, putting more ice into his voice.

  She took a step toward him and faltered as if sensing he was dangerous. “Oh, Dax, I heard about your marriage, and I had to come. It’s just too awful.”

  He flexed his fingers. “Bethany, I’m sorry if you feel my marriage was a slight against you—”

  Now she did come closer, sweeping forward in a rush of bows and flounces, her beribboned reticule bouncing against her arm.

  “Oh, Dax, it isn’t that at all. It’s just that—” Her words were cut off by a sudden flow of tears.

  He didn’t want to succumb to her machinations, but her cheeks were wet, her breath hitching. Bethany was a good liar, but she was not a good actress.

  He took a hesitant step forward. “Bethany, what is it?”

  She studied him through her tears. “I didn’t want to marry Ronald, Dax. I didn’t want to. My father—”

  The last of her sentence was lost in a rush of tears, and something inside of Dax broke. Seven years of pent up rage evaporated, and he stepped forward, taking Bethany by the shoulders.

  “Bethany, what are you saying?”

  When she looked up, her lower lip trembled, and her chest hitched on another sob. “Isley made a better offer for my hand, and my father accepted it. I didn’t know until it was too late. I refused, Dax, and he forced me to go to Gretna Green to have the thing done.”

  She dissolved in another fit of tears, and without thinking, he pulled her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest.

  Her father had accepted another offer for her hand?

  His mind reeled, scrambling to find purchase on a rea
lity that no longer existed. One question still lingered though, and he eased her away from him.

  “But why are you here now?”

  He thought she would crumble into another fit of tears, but oddly, she seemed to gather herself.

  “I had always thought—” She shook her head. “It’s sounds so silly when I say it. But I had always thought there was still a chance for us as long as you remained unwed.”

  He looked into her eyes, shimmering with yet more tears, and he searched the lines of her face, the set of her chin, the focus of her gaze. He found nothing. Nothing there that warned him. Nothing there that suggested what she told him was not the truth.

  A yearning buried so deep beneath the hurt of betrayal bubbled up inside of him. Once he would have done anything for this woman. Once his body had ached for her. There had been a time when he couldn’t have imagined a future without her.

  Bethany.

  She had always been there, and she still was there, in the most golden memories he had of his summers in Glenhaven.

  Bethany.

  He didn’t see the kiss coming because his thoughts had run away with his consciousness, but when her lips touched his, memory exploded through him. His eyes drifted shut of their own accord as he tried to reassemble the flashes of memory her touch sparked within him.

  He had been so young, so in love. The future had been a vast openness of possibilities.

  She gathered the lapels of his jacket in her hands and pulled herself up on her toes to deepen the kiss.

  This was all he’d ever wanted. Bethany. His Bethany. Coming back to him. This was redemption. This was everything.

  At least it might have been once. But not anymore. Because now he had Eliza.

  Only too late did he register the sound of Henry’s growl.

  He shoved Bethany away from him, violently severing their kiss, and his gaze flew to the door.

  Eliza stood there, her braid unraveling across one shoulder, her wide brimmed hat limp. Henry stood by her side, his ears back, his teeth showing beneath a snarling lip.

  “Eliza.” He stepped forward, which was a mistake.