Chapter 3

Being married, Caroline found within mere minutes, was a rather odd endeavor indeed. All around her, servants attempted to make her feel welcome and part of the household — none more so than Helen Jenkins, the housekeeper.

"Your Grace?"

Caroline jumped when the woman spoke and turned to face her, blood rushing to her cheeks at once.

"I am sorry," she said immediately — more out of habit than because she thought she had done something wrong. She then looked at the table — though cleared she could still spot a few crumbs here and there, and the blush on her cheeks deepened.

"I suppose you want to clean up," she said, her fingers trailing across the wood of the table to rid it of a few crumbs.

"Let me just…"

"Your Grace, please," the woman said with a gentle, kind smile. "It is not your job to clean — and you ought not apologize to me. I was simply wondering if you'd like a spot of tea."

"Oh!"

Caroline laughed softly then shook her head. "I apologize," she said again — though a part of her screamed that the woman had dissuaded her from apologizing at all. She lowered her voice and looked around, her cheeks tinted a deep red.

"I suppose," she admitted now, "that I am not quite sure how to be a duchess."

Though she expected her to be surprised — perhaps even annoyed — a look of concern settled on the older woman's face.

"Oh, my dear," she said kindly and quickly gave Caroline's hand a pat. "There is not much to it, really — you are meant to host dinner parties and lavish balls, support your husband's endeavors — you may even choose a charity to support."

Caroline blinked a few times at this then shook her head.

"I am not sure how to support him," she admitted softly, and Helen sighed.

"We were all quite pleased that the Duke has found himself a wife," Helen chatted pleasantly whilst ridding the table of the last traces of crumbs. "Every house needs a woman's hand, and heavens know — I've tried. But it's not quite the same now, is it?"

"No," Caroline said softly, a smile forming around her lips. "I suppose it's not."

Of course, she wanted nothing more than to ask the woman about the Duke's fearsome reputation, and yet, she found herself unwilling to do so. It was improper, Caroline figured, to ask the help about her husband and his reputation.

No, what she knew of him, she would have to learn on her own.

"Perhaps," she decided rather impulsively, "I will have some tea."

She rose gently then hesitated. Helen, however, did not need any encouragement at all. She moved swiftly, tapping Caroline's wrist in what she supposed was a motherly gesture.

"Come with me, Your Grace," the older woman said with a gentle smile. "I'll show you where the drawing room is."

"Thank you," Caroline said, her cheeks already growing hot. "I do appreciate it."

Caroline followed Helen through the dimly lit corridors of the manor, her steps hesitant as they walked. The air seemed heavy with history, and the walls echoed with the whispers of bygone days. The house seemed rather gloomy — the darkness of the rooms adding a heavy atmosphere to it.

As much as she wanted to, she could not find it in herself to ask Helen about it, however — it simply sufficed, in her mind, that it was what the Duke preferred.

It made absolutely no sense as to why he preferred it, she thought, but who was she to question his judgment?

The fact that she was the Duchess and the new lady of the manor did not even register within Caroline. In her own mind, she was still nothing more than a mere guest.

As they entered the drawing room, Caroline couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. The room was bathed in sunlight, streaming in through large windows that overlooked the sprawling grounds of the estate. The furniture, though elegant and refined, was light and airy, giving the room a sense of warmth and welcome that was sorely lacking in the rest of the house.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she entered the open chamber, her eyes wide with delight. "It is quite beautiful."

"It is indeed," Helen agreed, a tone of amusement evident in her voice.

For the first time since her marriage, Caroline allowed a glimmer of hope to settle in her heart. The drawing room with its illuminating beauty seemed to settle something in her.

"Would it be possible for me to read here?" she asked meekly — not missing the quick flash of surprise on Helen's face.

"Of course, Your Grace," she spoke gently. "After all, you are now the lady of the house."

Caroline smiled at this though there was no true joy to be found on her face.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she said simply before carefully taking a seat on the large sofa. "Would you be so kind as to bring me a cup of tea?"

Helen nodded quickly at this before making her way out of the drawing room, and Caroline sighed deeply, inhaling the fresh scent of the room. It was a bouquet of fresh flowers, she realized quickly, that lent a different smell to this room than the almost musky smell of the rest of the manor.

Soon, Helen returned — armed with a cup of tea and a kind smile. This time, however, she did not spend much time talking. Instead, she disappeared quite quickly once more, leaving Caroline to her own devices.

Alone in the drawing room, Caroline had to admit that she felt like even more of a guest, and she looked around hesitantly, peering around.

After finishing her tea, the drawing room soon lost its mystery, and she reached out for the silver bell atop a large table — ringing it.

A young woman appeared almost instantly, the open look on her face reminding Caroline of Marian, and she could not help but smile.

"Your Grace," the woman spoke, her tone polite, "Mrs. Jenkins sent me to ask if there is anything I can assist you with."

"Thank you," Caroline said immediately, and the girl's brows lifted at the warmth in her voice. "I'd like to be shown to my bedchamber. I have had quite a long day and would like to rest for a while before dinner."

"Of course, Your Grace," the girl nodded. "Please — do follow me."

It was quiet as Caroline followed the girl back through the dark corridors. The chamber the girl led her to, Caroline saw at once, was just as dark and gloomy, and it was with a sigh that she removed her shoes and lay down on the bed — falling asleep almost instantly.

It was already dark outside when Caroline awoke — the sound of the dinner bell reverberating through the chamber. She came to quickly and sat up, her breath racing and her heart beating wildly in her chest.

Dinner. She could not be late for dinner, she realized, and she made her way out of the room — coming to a quick halt as she stared down the first long corridor.

"Where is it?" she whispered to herself, trying desperately to conjure the directions Helen had given her, only to fail miserably.

Bravely, Caroline hurried through the dimly lit corridors of the manor, her steps faltering rather quickly. Each hallway seemed to twist and turn endlessly, leaving her feeling disoriented and anxious. Panic began to creep into her chest as she realized she was hopelessly lost.

Just as she was about to give in to despair, she turned a corner and collided with a solid figure. Gasping in surprise, Caroline stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up to see Benedict standing before her, his expression unreadable.

"Your Grace, my apologies," she stammered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Benedict's response was a curt nod, his eyes inscrutable as he extended his arm towards her. Without a word, he began to lead her through the maze-like corridors of the manor, his grip firm and unyielding.

"I'm afraid I was lost," she tried to explain, but her husband gave no response. Instead, he just kept walking in an almost stern manner.

"I trust that I will get used to it, however," Caroline continued, her voice a mere whisper.

Despite her attempts at making conversation, Benedict remained resolutely silent, his attention focused solely on guiding her to their destination. The silence between them felt suffocating, and Caroline found herself longing for even the briefest hint of kindness from her new husband.

Finally, they arrived at the dining room where the table was set with an array of delicious-looking dishes. Caroline forced a smile as she took her seat, but the sight of Benedict's stoic expression across from her made her stomach churn with unease.

"The food looks quite lovely," she tried once more, and Benedict's head shot up to face her, a hint of amusement evident on his face.

"Yes," he said simply before returning his attention back to the table — her presence seemingly all but forgotten. The tension in the air was palpable, and Caroline found it increasingly difficult to swallow each bite of food, the taste turning to ash in her mouth as she contemplated the bleak prospect of spending the rest of her life in such solitude.

"I suppose we ought to speak," he said suddenly, and Caroline lifted a brow, watching silently as he pushed his plate forward.

"Oh?" Caroline looked at her husband with interest and he nodded, his lips pursed. It was evident, she saw at once, that he was not really interested in hearing what she had to say at all. No — he was simply interested in what it was he had to say.

Nothing else mattered in the slightest.

"I will not expect much of you," he announced so suddenly that Caroline's brows shot up. "You are a Duchess now, and as such, you will be treated in that manner. This…" he gestured vaguely, "is your home, and I hope that in time, you shall come to see it as such too."

Before she could nod or echo her agreement, he continued. "However," he announced, his voice almost stern, "I believe you will understand that I do have a few rules I expect you to follow."

"Rules?" Caroline looked at Benedict, her face mask of surprise. "Such as?"

"You have certain duties as Duchess of Sauton," he continued — not showing in the slightest that he had even heard her interjection. "And I expect you to fulfill those duties diligently and with grace. Furthermore, you are free to come and go as you like but I must ask that you do not bring scandal upon our name."

Caroline gasped in indignation at this, but he merely continued speaking as though her shock was of no consequence to him.

"You will leave me be," he said sternly, a frown furrowing his brows and darkening his face. "When needed, I shall approach you for anything I may need, but you are not to run to my study with every little thing. Furthermore, I expect you understand that we will sire an heir at some point — after all, that is the purpose of marriage, is it not?"

"I certainly do not…" Caroline attempted once more to interject, but Benedict did not allow it. Instead, he stood, his face still a stoic mask.

"That will be all for now," he announced with certainty. "After dinner I usually take my tea in the study as I do have some work to complete — but you are welcome to withdraw to the drawing room."

With this, he left wordlessly — leaving Caroline alone at the dining table for the second time that day. She shook her head now, a frown deepening between her brows.

"It is utterly ridiculous," she muttered to herself, irritation building in her. "How dare he? How dare he give me a list of rules and not even give me the opportunity to discuss it?"

There was no use, however, and she knew this much. Benedict Yeats had made it quite clear that he was the head of the house, and his wife was meant to obey.

She would have no choice — she'd forever be no more than a specter in the grand Yeats manor. At this thought, Caroline lifted her chin and pursed her lips. For the first time in her twenty-two years of life, she decided, she would not merely accept her life. She'd change it. How, though, she did not know — at least not quite yet.