Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

L ater in the week, Eliza stood in the morning room, surrounded by the soft light filtering through the lace curtains. Mrs. Hayes, the housekeeper, flipped through a ledger, her demeanor composed as always.

"Your Grace," Mrs. Hayes began, her tone professional. "We've listed the household linens here. It's important to keep track, especially with the seasonal changes. I have also suggested new purchases for the guest rooms. I will need your approval."

Eliza nodded, trying to focus. "I'd like to go over the inventory with you. I need to learn these things."

Mrs. Hayes smiled warmly. "Of course, Your Grace. It's a good idea to be involved."

They continued discussing the household matters—cleaning schedules, dinner arrangements—until Eliza's attention was drawn to a movement outside the window. She glanced up, and her breath caught.

Anthony was back from London.

He walked briskly across the courtyard, his expression unreadable, his dark coat emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders. Eliza's heart skipped as she watched him, a mix of emotions swirling within her. Relief. Anxiety. Hurt.

As he approached the doorway, their eyes met. For a moment, it was just the two of them, the connection they once had flickering to life. But just as quickly, it vanished. Anthony's gaze remained distant, and without acknowledging her further, he turned and entered the castle.

Eliza's shoulders sagged, the sting of his coldness sharper than she had anticipated.

Mrs. Hayes, ever observant, cleared her throat gently. "Is everything all right, Your Grace?"

Eliza forced a smile. "Yes, fine. Let us continue."

Mrs. Hayes gave her a sympathetic look. "If you ever need to talk, I am here."

Eliza's smile wavered. "Thank you, Mrs. Hayes. But we should focus on the review."

They resumed their work, but Eliza's thoughts lingered on Anthony's cold gaze. The castle, so grand and welcoming at first, now felt vast and lonely.

Eliza had just finished reviewing the accounts for the kitchens when Mrs. Hayes leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Your Grace, there's something you might want to be aware of. It seems the estate manager, Mr. Stoppard, has been at odds with the head gardener. A disagreement about the new plantings for the east garden."

Eliza looked up, intrigued. "What sort of disagreement?"

Mrs. Hayes glanced around, as if ensuring no one else could overhear. "Well, it appears Mr. Stoppard prefers more traditional English flowers while the gardener has been eager to introduce some more exotic varieties. The gardener claims that the Duke himself approved of his choices during his last visit, but Mr. Stoppard insists otherwise. It's caused quite a stir among the staff as you can imagine."

Eliza considered this for a moment. The east garden was one of the more visible parts of the estate, seen by all visitors as they approached the castle. She could understand why Mr. Stoppard would want it to reflect a traditional English garden. But if Anthony had approved the more exotic plants, then the gardener was simply following orders.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mrs. Hayes," Eliza said. "I will look into it."

Mrs. Hayes gave her a knowing smile. "I am sure you will handle it skillfully, Your Grace."

Eliza returned to her tasks, but her thoughts kept straying to Anthony. She had not seen him since he returned, and the brief eye contact they had shared in the hallway still lingered in her mind.

The tension between them felt like a heavy weight, and she could not help but feel that if they were to have any chance of making this marriage work, they needed to talk.

Making up her mind, Eliza decided to take a proactive step. She would go to Anthony's study and discuss the issue with the gardener. It was a legitimate reason to approach him, and perhaps it would open the door to a more meaningful conversation.

Gathering her courage, she made her way to the study, her heart pounding in her chest. She knocked lightly on the door then pushed it open when she heard his voice.

Anthony was seated at his desk, surrounded by papers. He looked up, a flicker of light crossing his face before it was replaced with his usual cool demeanor.

"Eliza," he greeted her, his tone polite but distant. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to discuss something with you," Eliza began, trying to keep her voice steady. "There's been some disagreement between Mr. Stoppard and the head gardener about the new plantings in the east garden. I thought it might be best if we resolved it together."

Anthony leaned back in his chair, "I trust Mr. Stoppard to handle such matters. There's no need for you to involve yourself."

Eliza's resolve wavered, but she pressed on, "I understand that, but I thought it might be helpful if we?—"

"Eliza," Anthony cut her off, "I have a great many things to attend to. If Mr. Stoppard needs guidance, he knows where to find me."

The dismissal stung more than Eliza wanted to admit. She had hoped this would be an opportunity to bridge the gap between them, but Anthony's tone made it clear that he wasn't interested in anything of the sort.

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before nodding curtly. "Of course. I am sorry to have disturbed you."

Without another word, she turned and left the study, her heart heavy with the realization that Anthony truly wanted nothing to do with her.

As she walked away, she could not help but feel the growing distance between them, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

Mrs. Hayes was waiting for her in the hallway, her expression concerned as she saw Eliza's face. "Your Grace, is everything all right?"

Eliza forced a smile though it did not reach her eyes. "Yes, Mrs. Hayes. Everything is fine. Thank you for your help earlier."

The housekeeper hesitated, clearly sensing that something was amiss, but she did not press the issue. "Of course, Your Grace."

Anthony sat in his study. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, the warm glow doing little to dispel the tension that had settled in his chest. He tried to focus on the estate accounts spread out before him, but the numbers blurred together, his mind unwilling to cooperate.

His thoughts kept straying to Eliza—how she had looked when they arrived at Redfern Castle, her eyes wide with awe as she took in her new home.

He wanted to brush off her beauty, the way she carried herself, and the way her presence affected him, but it was impossible. Every time he thought of her, he felt a pull he could not quite explain; desire, frustration, and something deeper that he wasn't ready to confront.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his brooding.

"Come in," Anthony called, his voice gruff with impatience.

The door creaked open to reveal the butler.

"Your Grace, dinner will be served shortly," he announced, his tone as neutral as ever.

Anthony barely looked up from his papers. "I am not hungry. Inform the Duchess that she should dine without me."

The butler hesitated, his gaze lingering on Anthony for a moment longer than necessary.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he replied before turning to leave.

The door clicked shut, leaving Anthony alone once more. He tried to return to the estate accounts, but his concentration was shot. With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the papers aside and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

His mind replayed the events of the past few weeks—their hurried wedding, the tense carriage ride to Redfern, not to mention back at the coaching inn…

His member hardened instantly at the memory.

God, he wanted her so much.

He was not the man to deny himself pleasure like that, but he had a feeling that if he pursued things further with Eliza— his wife —things would get messy. And he bloody hated messes.

The sound of footsteps outside his study door made him tense. A moment later, there was another knock, this one softer and more hesitant.

Anthony cleared his throat and drew the chair closer to the desk, trying to calm down the throbbing pain of his arousal.

"Come in," he called, already regretting it.

The door opened just enough for Mr. Stoppard, the estate steward, to poke his head in.

"Your Grace," he began cautiously, "I understand you have a great deal on your mind, but I feel compelled to speak."

Anthony suppressed a groan. "What is it, Stoppard?"

The steward stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "The staff… they are concerned, Your Grace. About the Duchess, that is. She has been trying to adjust to her new role, but…"

"But what?"

Stoppard cleared his throat. "There's a growing unease, Your Grace. The staff wishes to see you and the Duchess happy. They have noted your absence at meals and… other occasions."

Anthony clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his temper in check. "I appreciate the concern, but my relationship with the Duchess is my own affair. The staff would do well to remember their place."

Stoppard did not flinch. "Of course, Your Grace. But it is not just about appearances. There is a genuine concern for the Duchess' well-being. She is new to this role and could benefit from your guidance."

"My guidance? Mrs. Hayes has been running the household for years; I am sure that she will assist the Duchess with her new role."

Stoppard's expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but it is not about playing a part?—"

Anthony's temper flared. "Stoppard, you are aware of how much I have to deal with right now. Please, enough of this. And just to be clear, I am well aware of my responsibilities, but I will handle them as I see fit."

Stoppard bowed his head slightly. "As you wish, Your Grace. But please, consider the effect your actions have on the Duchess. She is trying her best under difficult circumstances."

Anthony stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "Thank you for your concern, George. Now, if you will excuse me, I need some air."

Without waiting for a response, Anthony strode past the estate manager and out of the study, his mind a swirling mess of emotions.

The man was right, of course, but that only made Anthony angrier. He did not need to be reminded of his failures as a husband, not by Stoppard or anyone else.

As he walked through the castle, his steps quick and purposeful, he tried to clear his head.

He could not stop thinking about Eliza.

He found himself at the entrance hall, his gaze drawn to the grand staircase that led to the upper floors.

Eliza was somewhere up there, likely preparing for the dinner he had just refused to attend. The thought of her sitting alone at that grand table, surrounded by servants, only made him feel worse.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, the butler appeared again, his expression carefully neutral.

"Your Grace, our cook, Mrs. Turner has prepared a special dinner for you and the Duchess. She was hoping you might join Her Grace."

Anthony's grip on the railing tightened. "Tell Mrs. Turner that I have already made it clear—I will not be joining the Duchess for dinner."

The butler hesitated, clearly reluctant to press the matter, but Anthony's tone left no room for argument.

"Very well, Your Grace," he said before retreating.

Anthony turned away from the staircase and headed for the front door, determined to escape the confines of the castle. He needed to get away, to clear his mind, to forget about the woman he had married and the feelings she stirred in him.

He had just reached for the door handle when he heard a voice behind him.

"Are you leaving?"

He turned to see Eliza standing at the foot of the staircase, her expression betraying confusion and hurt.

She was dressed for dinner, her hair perfectly arranged, and yet there was a vulnerability about her that made Anthony's chest tighten.

"Yes. I am going out," he replied, his tone harsher than he intended.

"Out? Where?" Eliza's voice wavered slightly, but she stood her ground.

"It doesn't concern you," he snapped.

Eliza's eyes narrowed, the hurt replaced by anger. "You have only just returned from London."

"I am aware of that, thank you. Do not wait up for me."

Without another word, Anthony turned on his heel and walked out the door, the sound of it slamming shut echoing in the empty hall.

He did not look back, did not allow himself to think about the look on Eliza's face. All he wanted was to escape the suffocating tension, the guilt that gnawed at him every time he looked at her.

But as he mounted his horse and rode off into the fading light, Anthony could not shake the nagging thought that no matter how far he rode, he could not outrun the turmoil that raged inside him.

Or the woman he had left behind.