Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

“ I did not ask if you played,” Alexander said, sitting next to her on the wide pianoforte bench as Madeleine’s hands hovered over the instrument.

She toyed with a little tune. “I am not entirely proficient with the pianoforte, but I am with the harp.”

Her husband blinked, raising his brows. “The harp? Well, you must demonstrate for me.”

“May I have some sheet music?”

“You may.” He gave her a low chuckle, standing up to approach one of the cabinets lining the walls.

She watched him rifle through before he pulled out a sheaf of papers, turning to her. “These were some of my mother’s favorites.”

Madeleine had already spotted the harp resting in the corner, right below the window.

Outside, she was presented with a view of the lake at the back of Silverton Hall. A swan glided over the surface, its feathers as white as snow.

She picked up a sheet and brought it over to the stand Alexander set up for her. Lowering herself to the harp on a small stool, she placed her fingers just so.

“My mother liked ballads,” he told her after a moment. “She played them the most. I think… well, part of me believes she played them to reconcile her heart’s loss. Her marriage to my father was not one of love. Their marriage is why I never envisioned it for myself.”

“But you care for the duchy,” Madeleine said. “I can see it when you speak of it. You are proud of whatever it is you have done, as if it has been… a project, of sorts.”

Alexander laughed. “A project indeed, yes. I—I care for the duchy I have inherited from my father. He squandered it terribly, and I put a lot of effort into rebuilding it, into making Silverton what it is today. It prospers greatly beneath my influence. As for marriage…”

“You did not think it part of your inheritance? To be expected to be married?”

“Of course, I knew I would have to do something to continue my line. However, I suppose, rather foolishly, I had hoped to not have to worry about it. At least not for quite some time.”

Madeleine laughed quietly. “You envisioned yourself an old Duke, eyeing up the young debutantes when you realized you did not have an heir, and needed one.”

Alexander looked wounded. “Duchess! Do not speak so lowly of me.”

“I only jest,” she said playfully. “However… I imagine it is still a requirement. You have a wife; you must…” She swallowed. “You must have heirs, too.”

“Is having a child something you imagined for yourself?”

“I have not let myself give it a lot of thought,” she admitted.

Her fingers still ran over the harp, wondering how they forgot about playing and found solace in talking instead.

“Sometimes, as you say, it is a wound too tender to touch.”

“Why?”

“Why can you not speak about your mother?” she countered. “There is pain is discussing the things we think we cannot have.”

“Why do you think you cannot have children?” he pressed.

Madeleine sighed, dropping her hands from the harp. “Lord Kins—Donald was not a husband who wanted me,” she admitted. “Over time, I resigned myself to a lonely, solitary life. No children, no husband to warm my bed at night.”

“Did I not show you enough last night that you are mine, wife?” Alexander asked, a hard bite to his voice. “Did I not warm the chambers for you, or do you need a reminder?”

He stepped closer to her, moving away from the pianoforte to stand over her. She was suddenly aware of how close she was to the fastening of his breeches.

“You did,” she murmured, lifting her gaze. “But before that, I was partially glad other women kept my former husband away from me, so I did not have to endure his cold presence. But… sometimes I told myself, during those lonely nights, that I might have at least borne him a child so we might share a life together, even if the lord of the manor was absent from that life.”

Alexander’s gaze faltered as he brought over the pianoforte stool, sitting before her.

“Kinsfeld did not treat you well,” he said. “He may not have hurt you physically but there is pain of the heart. Pain that burrows deep, and darkens, and festers. You could have hardened from those cold shadows, Madeleine, but you rose from them. You burned your way out of them.”

“With only your help,” she whispered in a moment of vulnerability but Alexander was already shaking his head.

“No,” he insisted. “For I remember the spitfire woman who pestered the patrons of the Golden Hand. I remember the woman who insisted on investigating with me, not taking no for an answer. I remember your defiance. For that, I do not believe it was only with my help.”

Madeleine’s heart softened as she gazed at her husband.

A swell of emotion rose in her but she did not have the urge to cry. She more felt inclined to slip onto his lap and take him inside herself as she had in the parlor but her body still ached from such strenuous coupling when it was a new thing for her.

“Thank you,” was all she could whisper.

“I am not your armor, nor your weapon,” he reminded her, casting her mind back to what he had told her at the previous ball.

That her jewels and dresses— they were her armor.

“You may be my shield,” she teased.

“Perhaps. But I think you do not need one as much as you believe.”

Madeleine smiled down at her hands before lifting her head. “Do you wish for heirs?”

“I…” he hesitated. “I think we should play, should we not? I wish to show you somewhere later today, and I do not want to miss sunset.”

“Sunset is hours away.”

“Regardless.”

She tried to sigh as his defenses went back up. However, there looked to be a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away from her to settle his hands over the pianoforte.

He would not speak of his mother or his own thoughts for his future. She gained a little at a time. Perhaps for now that was better than nothing.

Wordlessly, Madeleine began to play the harp. Moments later, as if he knew the music by heart, Alexander joined in.

Together, they let a lyrical ballad play between them, as if it might speak for them when words were not sufficient.

Alexander’s heart had been heavy ever since he had dared to brush against the topic of his mother with Madeleine. He should have known she would have asked further, would not have been content with light answers.

There had been relief in discussing Maria Prestwick, the late Duchess of Silverton, but that came with great pain and reminders of what he had lost.

His wife continued playing even when he left the music room, overwhelmed with emotion. It had been years since his mother’s beloved sheet music collection had been played.

He blinked, and an image flashed into his mind.

His mother’s body rested in his arms, her eyes fluttering.

Alexander forced the thoughts away and walked to the kitchen, finding Mrs. Turner. “Is everything prepared for this evening?”

“Almost,” she answered, turning to him. She frowned when she looked at him. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

“Quite.” Turning on his heel, he walked back to the main part of the manor.

Sometimes, walking through these halls was traumatic enough.

The library, especially, where?—

He shook his head. His wife was proving to have a way of turning his mind towards the very things he fought not to think about. The Raven’s Den, Silverton Hall, and his marriage—they should be his only focuses.

So why did he keep drifting back to the thought of her tending his wounds, both physical and emotional? He was piecing her back together after the damage that bastard, Donald, had wrought upon her. Why not the same for him with his grief?

For now, Alexander forced the thoughts to rest and went to find Madeleine. One of the maids reported her to be in the library, and he found her curled up in an armchair, a glass of wine on a table next to her. A book was open in her lap, and her eyes were so focused on the book she did not notice him enter.

Amused, he walked around the room, merely watching her. Her engrossed reading fascinated him. He had never seen her read so intently before.

“ The Traveled Map of a Cartographer ,” Alexander read aloud, picking a random title from the shelf.

Madeleine jumped, her book falling shut with her finger just catching her page.

“Alexander,” she laughed. “I did not see you.”

“Not for quite some time, no.” He met her gaze, his expression soft. “I enjoyed watching you read. Your… your eyelashes catch the sun when your eyes are downcast.”

Madeleine flushed. “Are you here to read with me?”

“I am actually here to take you for the sunset surprise I mentioned. It is a small carriage ride away, and I spent many moments admiring you. We must make haste at once.”

Madeleine moved into action, her movements fluid.

“Am I dressed appropriately?” She glanced down at her pretty pale blue gown with puffed sleeves and silver trim on the neckline and sleeves.

“You look perfect.” He stepped closer to her, cupping her face. “However, where we are headed, you are far too overdressed.”

“I can change?—”

“Madeleine.” His voice was low, teasing. “I mean, more precisely, that you will not be needing any clothing at all once we sit down.”