Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

" Y our Grace, the menu for this evening's dinner requires your approval," Mrs. Potts said, her round face creased with concern as she held out a sheet of paper.

Adeline stared at the list of dishes, the French names swimming before her eyes. After three weeks as Duchess of Holbrook, such tasks still felt foreign to her.

"I'm sure whatever you've planned will be lovely, Mrs. Potts," she offered, managing a small smile. "You've yet to disappoint."

The cook furrowed her brow. "But Your Grace, His Grace always insists on reviewing the menu personally. He's quite particular about?—"

"Then perhaps you should seek His Grace's approval," Adeline interrupted, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from her voice. "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to assist you."

As Mrs. Potts curtsied and hurried away, Adeline sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

Every day seemed to bring a new reminder of how ill-suited she was for this role, how short she fell of the exacting standards set by her husband.

Husband .

She still needed time to get used to the term. For their… whatever she and the Duke had was far from a proper union.

One night, a sudden crash startled Adeline from her sleep. Concerned, she rose and wrapped a thin robe over her nightgown before venturing into the corridor to investigate.

As she approached Edmund's bedchamber, the door swung open unexpectedly. She collided with a solid, bare chest.

"Oh!" she gasped, stumbling back.

Strong hands steadied her. "Adeline?" Edmund's voice was husky with surprise.

She looked up, her breath catching. Edmund stood before her, shirtless and glistening with sweat, clearly just returned from a late-night ride.

"I heard a noise," Adeline explained, acutely aware of his hands still on her arms, the thin fabric of her nightgown and robe doing little to mask his touch.

Edmund's eyes darkened as they swept over her, lingering on the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts beneath the delicate lace.

"Likely just a servant," he murmured, his thumb absently rubbing circles on her arm.

Adeline shivered, heat pooling in her belly. "Yes, I should return to my room," she managed.

He nodded, finally releasing her. As he stepped back, his arm brushed against hers, eliciting a soft gasp.

Their eyes met, the air crackling with unspoken desire.

For a moment, Adeline thought he might kiss her. Instead, he straightened, his face once again an impassive mask.

"Goodnight, Duchess," he said stiffly, before disappearing into his bedchamber.

Adeline leaned against the wall, her heart racing, more awake than ever.

The word still felt strange, almost laughable. In the weeks since their wedding, Edmund had been little more than a ghost in her life. They shared meals in silence when his work didn't keep him closeted in his study, and exchanged the barest of pleasantries when they happened to cross paths in the manor's vast corridors. He was unfailingly polite, impeccably correct in his behavior—and utterly, maddeningly distant.

And yet, despite his coldness, Adeline couldn't deny the effect he had on her. Each rare moment in his presence sent her heart racing and made her skin tingle with awareness.

She found her eyes drawn to the strong line of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his perfectly tailored coats. More than once, she'd caught herself daydreaming about their kiss in Lady Alderton's stables, wondering if his lips would feel as warm, as demanding, if he were to kiss her now.

But such thoughts were foolish, she reminded herself sternly. Edmund had made it clear that theirs was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. Her wayward feelings on the matter were irrelevant.

Shaking off her melancholy thoughts, Adeline made her way to the library. At least there, surrounded by the comforting smell of leather and paper, she might find some respite from the constant reminders of her inadequacy as a duchess.

As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with two of the maids, their heads bent close together in whispered conversation.

They sprang apart at the sight of her, curtsying hastily.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace," the younger of the two, Sally, said, her cheeks flushed. "We didn't see you there."

"It's quite all right," Adeline replied, about to continue on her way when she caught the tail end of the other maid's mumbled comment.

"… least she could do is cover them up. It's unseemly for a duchess to be walking about with her face all…"

Adeline froze, her hand unconsciously rising to her cheek. The maid's words, so carelessly cruel, struck her like a physical blow.

She opened her mouth, though whether to reprimand the girl or to flee, she wasn't sure.

Before she could speak, a deep voice cut through the tense silence. "I beg your pardon, Mary? I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Adeline turned to see Edmund striding towards them, his gray eyes stormy with barely contained fury. The maids paled, bobbing deep curtsies.

"Y-Your Grace," Mary stammered. "I-I didn't mean… That is, I was just saying?—"

"You were just saying," Edmund interrupted, his voice dangerously soft, "that my wife, your mistress , is somehow lacking in appearance? That she should hide herself away like some shameful secret?"

"No, Your Grace, I?—"

"Silence." The single word, spoken with quiet intensity, was enough to make both maids flinch. "Let me make something perfectly clear. The Duchess of Holbrook is to be treated with the utmost respect at all times. Any member of this household who fails in that duty will find themselves seeking employment elsewhere. Is that understood?"

The maids nodded frantically, murmuring apologies before scurrying away. Edmund watched them go, his jaw clenched tight, before turning to Adeline.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Adeline stared at him, her heart pounding with surprise and something dangerously close to hope.

When she finally found her voice, it came out as little more than a whisper. "Why?"

Edmund's brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

Adeline took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Why did you defend me? I thought… that is, you've made it clear that our marriage is one of convenience. Why should you care what the servants say about me?"

For a moment, something flickered in Edmund's eyes—an emotion Adeline couldn't quite place. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask of polite indifference.

"You are my wife," he said matter-of-factly. "The Duchess of Holbrook. No one has the right to disrespect you, regardless of the… nature of our union."

Adeline nodded slowly, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment his words caused. Of course. It wasn't about her, not really. It was about maintaining the dignity of his title, of the Holbrook name.

"I see," she murmured. "Well, thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate your intervention."

Edmund inclined his head, a hint of awkwardness in his posture. "Yes, well. If you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to attend to."

As he turned to leave, Adeline found herself reaching out, her fingers just brushing the sleeve of his coat. "Your Grace, wait."

He stilled at her touch, turning back to face her with a questioning look. Adeline's breath caught in her throat as she realized how close they were standing. From this distance, she could see the golden flecks in his gray eyes, could smell the faint, enticing scent of sandalwood that clung to his skin.

"I," she began, suddenly unsure of what she wanted to say.

Thank him again? Ask him why he really defended her? Beg him to look at her, truly look at her, and see the woman beneath the title of Duchess?

In the end, she said none of those things. Instead, she simply offered him a small, genuine smile. "I hope your correspondence goes well."

For a moment, Edmund's carefully controlled expression softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes.

"Thank you, Duchess. I hope you enjoy your time in the library."

With that, he was gone, striding down the corridor with his usual purposeful gait. Adeline watched him go, her heart racing and her skin still tingling where she had touched him.

Perhaps, she thought as she continued on her way to the library, there was hope for them yet. It might not be the passionate love affair of her girlhood dreams, but maybe, just maybe, they could build something real between them—something based on mutual respect and understanding.

It wasn't much, but for now, it was enough to kindle a small flame of hope in her heart.

A fortnight had passed since the incident with the maids, and Edmund found himself rising with the sun, as had become his habit. He dressed quickly and quietly, intent on escaping to the stables before the rest of the household—specifically Adeline—stirred.

As he made his way down the grand staircase, he paused, his gaze drawn to the portrait of his parents that hung in the entrance hall. His mother's kind eyes seemed to reproach him, and he could almost hear her asking, "Edmund, darling, why are you running from your wife?"

He shook his head, banishing the thought. He wasn't running, he told himself. He was simply… maintaining a necessary distance. It was better this way, safer. He couldn't risk letting Adeline get too close, couldn't bear the thought of being hurt again as he had been with Joanna.

The cool morning air was a welcome relief as he strode towards the stables. His mount, a spirited black stallion named Midnight, nickered softly in greeting as he approached his stall.

"At least you're always glad to see me, old friend," Edmund murmured, running a hand over the horse's sleek neck.

Hours later, as he returned from his ride, he was surprised to find the manor in a state of barely contained chaos. Servants rushed about, their faces pinched with worry, and he could hear raised voices coming from the direction of the kitchens.

Frowning, he handed Midnight off to a stable boy and made his way towards the commotion. As he approached the kitchens, he was brought up short by the sight before him.

Adeline stood in the center of the room, her honey-brown hair escaping its pins and her cheeks flushed with exertion. She was covered in flour, her elegant day dress utterly ruined, but her green eyes blazed with determination as she addressed the assembled staff.

"Mrs. Potts, I need you to take inventory of what supplies we have left," she was saying, her voice calm but authoritative. "Thornley, please send word to our suppliers in the village. We'll need to restock as quickly as possible."

"But Your Grace," Mrs. Potts protested, wringing her hands, "Lord Tarlington is due to arrive for dinner in mere hours! How can we possibly?—"

"We'll manage," Adeline said firmly. "Sally, fetch my sewing kit. We'll need to mend these tablecloths at once. And someone must clean up this mess before our guests arrive."

Edmund watched, amazed, as the staff sprang into action at her commands.

Gone was the uncertain, hesitant woman he'd grown accustomed to seeing at meals. In her place stood a true duchess, every inch the mistress of Holbrook Manor.

As the initial flurry of activity settled into a more organized hustle, Adeline finally noticed Edmund's presence. She straightened, a hint of defiance in her posture, as if daring him to criticize her handling of the situation.

"Your Grace," she said, inclining her head slightly. "I apologize for the disturbance. There was an incident with a delivery cart. Several crates of provisions were destroyed, along with some of our best linens. But I assure you, everything will be in order before the Earl arrives."

Edmund found himself at a loss for words. He had assumed, in his absence, that Adeline would flounder in her role as Duchess. Instead, she had risen to the challenge magnificently.

"I see," he managed, finally. "You seem to have the situation well in hand, Duchess. Carry on."

Was it his imagination, or did a flash of disappointment cross Adeline's face at his lukewarm response? But before he could contemplate it further, she had turned back to the task at hand, issuing more instructions to the staff.

Edmund retreated to his study but found himself unable to concentrate on his correspondence. His mind kept drifting back to the scene in the kitchen, to the competent, commanding woman Adeline had revealed herself to be.

It was unsettling. He had married her, expecting a decorative, if somewhat flawed, ornament for his arm at social functions. Instead, he was discovering layers of her that he hadn't anticipated—layers that both intrigued and frightened him.

As the day wore on, Edmund found himself drawn back to the common areas of the house, ostensibly to check on the preparations for the dinner. In reality, he was seeking glimpses of Adeline as she efficiently managed the crisis.

He watched from doorways and around corners as she mended tablecloths with deft fingers, rearranged floral centerpieces to hide imperfections, and soothed the frazzled nerves of the kitchen staff with kind words and reassuring smiles.

By the time the Earl of Tarlington and his wife arrived, the manor was in perfect order. If their guests noticed anything amiss, they gave no sign of it.

Edmund found himself watching Adeline closely as she greeted their guests, noting how she had carefully styled her hair to partially obscure the scars on her cheek. The effort touched him in a way he hadn't expected, an admiration for her resourcefulness, and a twinge of something like regret that she felt the need to hide.

As they moved to the dining room, Edmund couldn't help but notice the grace with which his wife carried herself. She had transformed from the flour-covered, harried woman of the afternoon into every inch the elegant Duchess of Holbrook. Her gown, a becoming shade of deep blue, complemented her eyes and skin tone perfectly.

"I must say, Your Grace," the Countess of Tarlington remarked as they took their seats, "your home is absolutely charming. The floral arrangements are particularly lovely."

Adeline smiled, though Edmund noticed how she angled her face slightly, keeping her scarred cheek in shadow. "You're very kind, Lady Tarlington. I'm so pleased you're enjoying them. I find there's something so uplifting about fresh flowers, don't you agree?"

As the first course was served, the conversation flowed easily. Edmund found himself increasingly impressed by Adeline's ability to engage their guests. She listened attentively, asked thoughtful questions, and offered witty observations that had even the usually taciturn Earl chuckling.

"I hear you've been implementing some new farming techniques on your estate," the Earl said, turning to Edmund. "Crop rotation, was it?"

Before Edmund could respond, Adeline chimed in, "Oh yes, and it's been quite successful, hasn't it, Your Grace? I was reading just the other day about the benefits of nitrogen-fixing crops. Fascinating stuff, really."

Edmund blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized Adeline had taken an interest in the agricultural techniques used on the estate.

"Indeed," he said, recovering quickly. "We've seen a remarkable improvement in soil fertility. But tell me, how have your own crops fared this year?"

As the Earl launched into a description of his estate's yields, Edmund found his attention drawn back to Adeline. She was listening intently, her green eyes bright with interest. But even as she nodded along, he noticed how she subtly raised her hand to her cheek, as if to shield it from view.

The pattern continued throughout the meal. Adeline was charming and engaging, her wit and intelligence on full display. Yet, there was always that underlying current of self-consciousness, the little gestures and movements designed to keep her scars hidden from view.

It stirred something in Edmund's chest, a feeling he couldn't quite name. Pride in her accomplishments, certainly. Admiration for her resilience and grace under pressure. But also a growing sense of… protectiveness? A desire to tell her she needn't hide, that her scars were simply a part of who she was, not something to be ashamed of.

But of course, he said nothing of the sort. Instead, he watched and listened, increasingly aware of the remarkable woman he had married.

As the dishes were cleared away, the Earl leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. "I must say, Your Grace, you've outdone yourself this evening. The meal was exquisite, and Her Grace is absolutely delightful company."

Adeline blushed prettily at the compliment, ducking her head in a way that once again obscured her scars. "You're too kind, my lord. We're simply happy to have you and Lady Tarlington with us this evening."

Later that night, as their guests departed, Edmund found himself lingering in the entrance hall. Adeline stood nearby, bidding farewell to the Earl with a warm smile that made something twist in Edmund's chest.

As they stepped back into the manor and the doors closed behind them, Adeline turned to him, her eyes bright with triumph and fatigue. "Well, Your Grace," she said, a hint of a challenge in her voice, "I trust the evening went well?"

Edmund nodded, struggling to maintain his aloof demeanor. "It was… satisfactory," he conceded, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth. "You handled the crisis quite well, Duchess."

A small smile played at the corners of Adeline's lips. "High praise, indeed, coming from you," she said, a teasing note in her voice that both thrilled and alarmed him.

For a moment, Edmund was tempted to say more, to acknowledge the impressive feat she had accomplished. But the memory of Joanna's betrayal reared its ugly head, reminding him of the dangers of allowing anyone to get too close.

So instead, he simply inclined his head. "Good night, Duchess," he said, his voice gruffer than he had intended. "I'm sure you must be tired after such an eventful day."

As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of the disappointment that flashed across Adeline's face. It struck him like a physical blow, and he found himself pausing, half-turning back towards her.

But the moment passed, and her expression smoothed into polite indifference. "Good night, Your Grace," she returned softly. "Sleep well."

As Edmund made his way to his chambers, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed something important, some opportunity that he couldn't quite define. But it was better this way, he told himself firmly. Safer.

Even if the thought of Adeline's smile, of the competence and grace she had displayed throughout the day, lingered in his mind long into the night.