Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

T he next morning, Simon sat at the long, polished dining table for breakfast. An elaborate spread had been prepared by the staff, filled with all manners of jams, breads and sausages. It was an entire family’s worth of food, yet he had been served it on his own. He glanced at the empty seat across from him, his expression hardening.

“Jameson,” he called out in a gruff voice, who appeared immediately. “Where is the duchess? She is expected to join me at the breakfast table.”

It was highly unacceptable for a wife not to show up to breakfast, and the husband to eat on his own. If anything, they had to maintain the standards of propriety. He felt it a disrespect that she had failed to show.

“Your Grace,” he began with a slight bow, “the duchess is attending to the baby and will not be joining you for breakfast.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as he placed his napkin beside his untouched plate. “Very well,” he replied curtly.

He had half a mind to summon her here, but then paced himself, knowing it would only lead to an argument, as she scarcely understood the faults in her own actions. He did not want it to disrupt his own peace, and therefore, begrudgingly, agreed to have breakfast alone.

But his patience was running thin as the rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Lunch and dinner came and went, and Harriet’s place remained conspicuously vacant.

His irritation did not go unnoticed, as Jameson glanced over at him with his apologetic expression, his hands folded together in front of him.

“Let me take a wager,” Simon began, “the duchess is busy with the baby once again?”

“Yes, Your Grace. She has not left the nursery all day. It appears that the baby had a restless night of sleep, and has been irritable all day.”

Simon locked his jaw. “That would make two of us,” he muttered under his breath.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace? I am not sure if I caught that,” Jameson said.

“Never mind,” Simon rose from his place at the table, discarding his napkin to the side and smoothing out the creases in the front of his shirt.

He was going to have to sort things out for himself. He marched up the sweeping staircase and down the hallway to the nursery, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. He knocked once before pushing the door open, finding Harriet sitting in a rocking chair with Catherine in her arms.

“Harriet,” Simon said, his tone brooking no argument, “we need to talk.”

Harriet looked up, seeming exhausted. “Eliza, please leave us,” she said to her maid, who quickly exited the room, casting a concerned glance back as she closed the door.

Once they were alone, Simon closed the door behind him and turned to Harriet. “It is exceedingly rude of you not to join me for meals. Your absence is unacceptable.”

Harriet’s eyes flashed with anger as she rose from the chair, still holding Catherine. “Rude? I am taking care of a baby, Your Grace. A baby that is not even mine.”

“And it is not mine either. But that does not excuse you from your duties as my wife,” he argued.

“My duties? You speak of duties while I am left to care for this child alone. I don’t have time to sit and dine while Catherine needs constant attention.”

Simon opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of a loud growl coming from Harriet’s stomach. Upon realization, she turned a shade of scarlet, embarrassed.

“When was the last time you ate, Harriet?” he asked, his tone softening slightly.

Harriet looked away, “I am not sure. All my attention has been spent on Catherine, and I must have forgotten to take my meals for the day.”

Immediately, he felt bad for being so strict about her absence at the dining table. It surprised him, since he was not one to retract his thoughts about a matter so quickly.

He stepped closer to her, feeling a strange sense of worry occupying him. The woman was frail enough already, and not eating would make her even weaker. He could not have that, for then his reputation would be of a man who did not adequately look after his wife’s nutrition.

“You need to take care of yourself as well. You cannot care for the baby if you are unwell,” he began.

She might be someone for whom he did not have feelings, but he was not a cruel man. Unneeded suffering like this should be avoided at all costs.

“You say that, but in practice, the balance is difficult to achieve,” she admitted, showing a tinge of vulnerability.

“Eliza,” he called out to the maid, who appeared promptly. “Take the baby from the duchess, and make sure that she is kept from crying. Inform the cook to prepare something for the duchess immediately.”

Then, he took Harriet’s hand and began to lead her out of the nursery.

“Catherine needs me—” she protested as he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit.

“Enough,” he said, his voice ringing with finality, “Taking care of yourself is part of your responsibility. It is not something that you are expected to take lightly.”

Harriet’s vexation flared. “You cannot just command me to?—”

“Stay put and do not talk back,” Simon interrupted sharply.

Harriet simmered down, accepting her defeat. He had left no room for an argument.

A quick meal was served, the aroma of freshly cooked food filling the room. Harriet stared at the plate before her.

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” he asked, annoyed by her impertinence. “You must be famished. Why are you not eating?”

“I am not sure if I have much of an appetite, Your Grace,” she maintained stubbornly.

“Then what would compel you to grow one?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “since starving yourself all day has not done the job.”

“Firstly, it would help if you do not command me to eat, as if I am nothing more than a staff worker under your salary. Just as you do not like to be commanded, I share the same preference,” she said.

Simon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “This is not about commands. It’s about common sense. You cannot continue to ignore your own needs.”

“Do not presume to lecture me on common sense, Your Grace,” she shot back, “I am fully aware of my needs, but I am also aware of my responsibilities. Responsibilities that seem to have fallen entirely on my shoulders.”

Simon’s jaw tightened. “And what do you think I have been doing? I have been searching for a solution to this unexpected situation. I am trying to find out where Catherine came from.”

“You at least have the luxury of leaving the house, of not being tethered to a crying baby day and night. I have had no choice but to adapt, and I am doing my best. This situation… is a lot for me to handle, all at once,” she argued.

“I do understand,” Simon replied, his tone softening despite his irritation. “And the first step to any sort of solution is for you to nourish yourself. Please, I insist you do.”

Their gazes locked together in what felt like a silent battle of wills. Simon was not sure what Harriet saw in his eyes that made her relent finally, but she tore her gaze away and then took a small bite from her plate.

“Are you appeased now, Your Grace?”

“Exceedingly,” he muttered, sarcastically. “Now, finish up the entire meal. I shall have the butler keep a check on you, so do not try and be sly. He will let me know if you do not eat.”

He stood up, and turned to take his leave when Harriet called out from behind him.

“And where is it that you are going?” she demanded.

Simon paused, looking back at her. “Since you left me to dine alone, I thought it only fair you should do the same.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the duchess to fume in silence.

Harriet was no stranger to taking her meals alone. It was what she had done for the majority of her stay at the estate.

But somehow, this particular meal was tinged with a certain lonesomeness that she could not quite place. The duke had made her come down to the dinner table, but him leaving abruptly made her feel a certain despondence.

Then again, could she expect anything different? He was right that she had not performed on her wifely duties by leaving him unaccompanied for his own meals. This was him just returning the favor.

Despite not having eaten all morning, she could scarcely get down another bite of her food. Her mind kept thinking back to Catherine — she had been left in the care of Eliza, whom she trusted, but what did she know about soothing Catherine?

“Duchess, please take another bite,” Jameson’s voice startled her.

She looked up at him, a fork firmly clasped in her hand. “Has His Grace sent you here to supervise me?”

He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “His Grace has merely given me orders to ensure that you eat your meal properly. However, you have barely taken a bite in the last ten minutes.”

“I see,” she said.

While some women might see his insistence as care, she could not help but see it as an imposition. She disliked being commanded to do anything, which was precisely what this felt like.

Harriet made a decision and dropped the fork on the table.

“Tell His Grace that I have finished eating,” she said, rising from her place, “In a manner that I see fitting.”

“But Your Grace—” Jameson argued, but she was already on her way upstairs to her chambers.

It was a small act of defiance, but she wanted to send the message loud and clear that she was not someone who could be ordered around like a servant.

Sure enough, Jameson must have relayed the news to the duke because it was not long until there was a knock on her door, and Simon came barging in.

“Do you extract some form of joy by being this way?” he asked her, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

“Whatever are you referring to?” she replied, playing coy.

“By not listening,” his frustration leaked into his voice, “Perhaps I should have expected this. You are the youngest born of three sisters, are you not?”

“I am glad at you remember,” she smiled, “At least you know something about me.”

“Well, I should tell you that I am the eldest born. It does not sit well with me being defied like this.”

Before she could respond, he gestured for one of the maids to bring in a tray full of food.

“Come, sit,” he said, pointing at the place on the sofa next to him.

Reluctantly, she agreed.

What happened next was something that she could have never imagined. He took a spoonful of the food, and brought it over to her mouth. “Eat.”

“Your Grace...” heat rose to her cheeks.

“What? I understand that you dislike being commanded, but this is no command. It is your husband, feeding you with his own hands. Now tell me, what sort of wife would you be if you denied it?” His words were calculated.

Harriet knew exactly what he was doing. He could not stand that she disobeyed him, and so, to make sure that his command was met, he was playing a tactic that she could not refuse.

Her duty as a wife forbade it.

Begrudgingly, she opened her mouth and took in the spoonful of food.

“See? Now that was not so hard, was it?” his tone was sarcastic, but a triumphant smile played on his lips. “Let's do the other one now.”

“Please — no need,” she stopped him hastily. “I shall eat on my own.”

Still blushing, she took in a spoonful and then another. All the while, he smirked, having gotten his way.

“Do you always derive such pleasure when you get what you want?” she replied, taking in another spoon.

“Am I not supposed to?” he asked back. “There is scarcely a better joy in the world.”

“I can tell how much it means to you, considering that you were willing to feed me yourself,” she replied, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Careful, though. If someone were to see you, they might just confuse it for a romantic gesture.”

His expression faltered for a fraction of a second, and she smiled to herself.

Finally, she had gotten to him as he had to her. Two could play at this game.

“Romance is the pastime of fools,” he said, clearing his throat. “I act merely out of duty, which is expected of a man of my stature.”

“I see that you also have a penchant for speaking of yourself quite highly,” she commented.

“It has served me well so far in life,” he maintained. The pride of a duke was never to be challenged, and he was testament to that. “I do not see why it has to change.”

“But surely there is a fine line between confidence, and egotism.”

“As far I am concerned, they are both different sides of the same coin,” he shrugged. “In fact, it is something you should learn from me.”

“Learn from you?” she repeated, aghast. The last thing she wished for was to be more like him. “I would never wish such a fate upon myself.”

If her comment irked him, he did not let it show. Instead, he seemed to ignore what she had said entirely and continued on.

“You are the duchess — and I am not sure you understand what that role means. As inconvenient as it is, you represent me and therefore your behavior should be befitting of a duchess,” he noted.

“Then, I am on the right track. Am I not? I refuse to be ordered around like a servant. Surely, such disrespect is not befitting of a duchess,” she replied.

“That does not apply to me. If you wish to be a dutiful wife, then you should learn to listen to me.”

A dutiful wife, she groaned internally at the thought.

“I suppose that you chose the wrong person to marry, then, Your Grace. I have always believed that a marriage should be a union of equals,” she nodded.

He stared at her for a moment, perhaps surprised by her words.

“And what would your mother have to say about that?” he asked, after a long moment. “Surely, the countess was quite calculated in how she made our match possible. It is surprising that she did not teach you that a good wife is always submissive to her husband.”

Harriet pressed her lips in a thin line. “I should ask you a similar question, then. What would my mother think if she was to know that my husband had not returned home for almost a year, and only came back when it was urgent. I have kept the details of our relationship private.”

This seemed to surprise him. “Are you being truthful?”

“Yes, I have made several excuses on your behalf, never letting my own family know.”

Simon seemed almost impressed by that, but then his expression changed to something darker. “You make it sound as though I had done you some grave injustice. Need I remind you that you were well looked after in my absence.”

“As I said to you before, it is not that I lacked the resources. But more so…”

“Romance?” he turned her words back on her, “Surely, you are grown now. Notions of romance are only for girlhood. You should know that I am a practical man who does not concern himself with such things.”

Harriet tried to hide the disappointment on her face. It felt unfair that she was destined to a loveless marriage, while others around her had been partnered up with men who adored them.

“As you say. A practical union,” she replied after a while.

“I am happy that we are finally on the same page,” he said, and then got up. “Now, I shall leave you to finish your food. Have a good night, duchess.”

“As should you, duke.”

The door slammed behind him, and Harriet was left pondering over what he had just said.

A practical marriage, fit for rational individuals.