Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

“ H ere you go, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.” Margaret smiled up at Mrs. Lancaster as a fresh pot of tea was laid on the table. The kindly lady turned away, adjusting one or two things on the table as she made her way back toward the door.

Left alone, Margaret looked around the room. Like the rest of the chambers in this house, it was both beautiful and faded. The duck egg blue wallpaper lined with damask swirls, was almost indistinct from the cream molded door frames that desperately needed a lick of paint.

Though the staff had kept the house perfectly clean, the ornaments and silver buffed to a shine, even the ornaments, much like the décor, were out of fashion and old. They gave the distinct impression of being unloved, too. Margaret could not imagine Theodore walking through this room and admiring the impersonal landscapes or cold silver plates.

Looking between the paintings, it struck Margaret that there wasn’t a single portrait in the room. There was no smiling face to look down on her, though hint of a family member who was cherished enough to reincarnate in paint on the walls.

The whole room was… impersonal.

Margaret’s eyes flicked from the walls to the head of the table. Oddly, the place hadn’t even been made up for Theodore. Instead, his chair was pushed into the table, the table left bare, with all the food placed around Margaret for breakfast.

Sighing, Margaret reached for none of it as she waited for something else to happen in this room.

Surely, Theodore will come for breakfast?

Yet he did not. The next time the door opened, it was once more Mrs. Lancaster, with Betsy and Yates behind her. The three of them carried bowls of fresh food, far too much than could be expected of Margaret to eat.

“What is all this?” Margaret whispered in astonishment as the trenchers were placed down onto the table.

“The master was unsure what you liked, Your Grace, so he was insistent we made as much as possible,” Mrs. Lancaster said with a smile.

Steaming bowls of fresh smoked fish, loaves that had just been baked, and exquisitely carved fruit were placed down in front of Margaret’s wide eyes.

“Erm… and where is the Duke?” Margaret murmured.

All three of the staff members halted. Margaret thought she saw Betsy and Yates exchange uncertain glances, but Mrs. Lancaster’s response was much smoother.

“He is taking his breakfast alone in his study.”

“In his study?” Margaret repeated, a little louder than she had intended. Betsy nearly dropped a napkin she had picked up in surprise, leaving Yates to snatch it from the air quickly. “And… did he give a reason for this?” Margaret worked hard to keep her voice quiet and at a normal level, despite the irritation bubbling away beneath the surface.

Now he is to avoid me? Am I to eat every meal alone because my husband can stand the sight of me so little?

“No, Your Grace.” Mrs. Lancaster looked dutifully pink and embarrassed. “Ring the bell if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” Margaret forced a smile, though it didn’t even last until the housekeeper reached the door, with Betsy and Yates hot on her heels.

I cannot live like this. Every meal alone? No, it shall not be born.

A sudden rage seemed to pierce through Margaret’s body. She had to change things. She had to make clear to Theodore from the off that she would not dance to his tune all the time.

“On second thoughts.” Margaret stood. The scraping of her chair was loud in the room as the staff turned back to face her. “Could you all do me a big favor please?” She picked up her plate, cutlery and napkin. “Would you help me transfer all these trenchers to my husband’s study please?”

Betsy’s jaw dropped and Yates smiled, somewhat mischievously.

“I… erm…” It was Mrs. Lancaster’s turn to stumble over her words now. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Your Grace?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain. Yes please.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Lancaster gave the nod and together, Betsy and Yates hurried forward to assist.

All the trenchers and plates were gathered, along with serving spoons and the table mats on which they all rested. Margaret led the way toward Theodore’s study. Though she had not been welcomed into that particular room when on her tour, she had seen the door often enough to know what was behind it.

She was tempted to stride straight into the room without knocking at all, but she also had a feeling that to do so would cause outrage, and an argument she had now wish to have. She knocked lightly on the door and waited.

“Yes?” Theodore called from within.

She took that as her welcome cue and opened the door. Far from hovering in the doorway or even hesitating to take in the view of his study, she marched straight in. She walked all the way toward a vast oak desk behind which Theodore sat, then laid her plate down with the cutlery and napkin.

Following her lead, the trencher of smoked fish was placed on top of a stack of papers, just as the bread, jam pots, and various other assorted plates were shuffled around the desk. Finally, the teapot was placed down by Mrs. Lancaster who looked most ill at ease as she struggled to find a free space amongst the papers.

“Will that be all, Your Grace?” she addressed Margaret in particular with this question.

“Yes. Thank you.” Margaret smiled just for her.

Seeming to have a shared silent agreement, Mrs. Lancaster, Betsy and Yates all scurried from the room as quickly as they could, shutting the door lightly behind them.

Margaret flicked out her napkin and rested it on her lap before she dared to lift her gaze to meet her husband’s eye.

Theodore might as well have had the trencher full of smoked fish dumped in his lap from the surprise on his face. His face was a little wan, the jaw slack, and he sat upright in alarm. He had discarded his tailcoat, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his arms, much as they had been the night before.

Trying to ignore the flash of attractive skin, Margaret cleared her throat and gestured to the feast she’d ordered arranged on his desk.

“What is this?” he asked tartly.

“It’s called breakfast. Have you never partaken of it before?”

He held up a single plate that had already been beside him, with a rather measly looking cob of bread on it.

“My study is off limits to you. I thought I had made it clear that this is my space in the house –”

“You said I was not allowed to change it. I am not changing it by being in here, am I?” she added with a tone of innocence. “Or do you prescribe to that weird view that I shall somehow poison the air by being in here? A woman in a man’s study. Oh, what a notion!” she declared with heightened drama. “Shall I keel over and faint with shock just to fulfill your expectations of women?”

“This is my room.” He leaned forward sharply.

“You have already said that.” She served up some of the smoked fish on her plate. “If you did not wish me to be in it, then you should have come to the dining room and shared breakfast with me there.”

“Surely the fact I did not come shows you exactly what I thought about taking breakfast with you.”

“Do I disgust you so much?” She deepened her voice. She realized a second later she must have startled him, for he had leaned back in his seat. His mouth even opened and closed as he worked his mind, struggling to know what to say to her. “I am not here to be ignored as much as you do the ornaments on your mantelpiece.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with her, though she pushed on.

“I am content with what you said last night. I will make little demands on your time, and I will not expect you in any way to be a husband.” She sat taller in her seat, well aware that he was now fidgeting uncomfortably in his own chair. “I will, however, expect you to be a half decent human being. That starts with sharing one meal a day with me.”

“One?”

“Yes, one.” She reached for the bread next. As well as adding to her own plate, she also added to his. His brows knitted together in response, but he didn’t object. “You may pick which meal it will be.”

He cocked his head to the side as she began to eat. When he said nothing, the silence seemed to invade her mind. It was as if a cloud of darkness was invading her very person.

In order to shake the feeling, she looked around the study.

Strangely, this room was just as impersonal as the rest, though there were even signs here that items had been removed. There were spaces on the walls where paintings should have rested but had been taken down. Where there were shelves for books, merely books labeled ‘Accounts’ and the ‘Estate’ sat.

Even the way that Theodore had laid his tailcoat over the back of a chair was excessively neat and organized. Not a thing was out of place, and it had been made cold and impersonal by his treatment of it.

In fact, the only messy thing in the room at all was her, and the presence of the breakfast crockery which had been placed haphazardly on neatly stacked sheaves of paper.

“Do we have an agreement?” Margaret asked after a minute or so of silence where she was aware of Theodore just staring at her.

“Why ask me this?” His voice was hard like flint again.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, would you give your act of sharpness a rest?”

“An act!?” he spluttered, sitting forward in alarm.

“In case you had not noticed, I will not be sent running by your sharp tone. I will not be quelled like a mouse. Neither will I be ignored.” She met his gaze. “So try a manner other than ignorance or sharpness. I do not wish to live with either of them for the rest of my life.”

Theodore slumped back in his chair. She seized on his change of manner in an instant.

“Ah, have you realized like me that forever is a long time to spend hating one another?”

“I didn’t say I hated you.” His voice wasn’t as sharp as it had been before, but it was neither soft nor kind. It was just… impassive.

“Then act like it.” She motioned toward him. “Partake in one meal a day with me, and you will have your freedom. I will have my own, too, and yet neither will I have to be completely alone. Do I have your agreement?”

He tilted his head to the side once more, apparently dwelling deeply on her question.

Seeing she was not going to get an answer any time soon, she reached for a discarded teacup of his own and topped up his drink as she did her own. She sat there sipping her tea and eating her fish as she waited for him to response.

“With this silence, I might as well be back in that dining room.” She huffed, rather loudly.

“Fine.” His tone was still sharper than she would have liked it to be.

“Was that your agreement?” she asked, leaning forward.

“It was.” He reached for the smoked fish trencher and added some of the haddock to his own plate, no longer looking her in the eye. “If it will give me the rest of the day to myself, then you have your wish. One meal a day we shall share.”

She smiled broadly. Satisfied with one victory, she hid that smile behind her teacup.

“You’re perhaps not quite as meek as I thought you were,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her, yet she responded anyway.

“I would have thought the night we met you would have seen I was no mouse, Theodore.”

He halted and looked up at her. For a second, she could have sworn she saw a trace of a smile on his lips, but then it was gone.

“Breakfast. That is my choice. Tomorrow, we shall share breakfast again,” he said with finality.