Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

A knock sounded at the door, and Max straightened up, rigid with a feeling that was not quite fear but leaned into dread.

"Husband," Caroline said, poking her head around, "what do you think of an archway between the drawing room and the music room? The music room is too large, and the drawing room is not large enough for when we have guests. Passable for an intimate house party, but nothing greater. I have drawn a few designs for your perusal."

She strode in and slapped a considerable stack of drawings onto his desk.

"I was thinking we might begin by the end of our honeymoon, so if you could let me know your thoughts before… say, five o'clock, I would appreciate it," she added and left again before he could think of any reply.

It had been almost three days since he had laughed at her proposal to help him, and he had spent at least two of those regretting his actions. He had regretted it immediately, in truth, for he had not been laughing at the idea, but at the notion that she was asking to help him . But she had made certain that he really felt punished in the aftermath.

At least once an hour, she knocked and entered with some suggestion, trivial request, or basic question. And she seemed to know just when he was getting engrossed in his work, shattering his concentration with expert precision. What was worse, he was now anticipating the knocks and the disruptions, making it twice as difficult to concentrate on difficult accounts and letters that required delicate thought.

Groaning, he picked up the first drawing, astonishment almost making the interruption worthwhile. She has a gift for artistry.

The designs were intricately detailed and annotated, as well formed as any architect he had ever had to deal with. Indeed, it seemed rather a waste that she was clearly using her talents to annoy him. The only silver lining was that he was learning more about her, quite by accident.

Putting the drawing back, he took a breath and tried to find where he had been up to with the ledger of rents he had been working through. All the while, his ears were pricked for the sound of footsteps in the hallway and another interrupting knock on the door.

Twenty minutes later, a jarring sound pierced through the wall and ricocheted through his skull. The scream of a bow grating on violin strings was discordant and unbearably loud.

"You cannot be serious," he grumbled, his eye twitching as another intolerable note screeched out, jolting jaggedly into the most horrendous attempt at a song he had ever heard.

He was up and out of his chair in seconds, marching out into the hallway, only to halt outside the room that bordered his study. He did not bother to knock, pushing the door open with frustration boiling in his blood. The moment the door swung open, however, the awful violin music transformed into the sweetest, most rousing tune. A ballad he knew well, played to perfection. The sort of music that would help him concentrate, not annihilate any focus he had.

"What are you doing—thinking of running away to join an orchestra?" he growled, narrowing his eyes at Caroline.

It did not help matters that she looked utterly beautiful in a day dress of the palest lavender, her face a blushing picture of innocence as the golden afternoon sunlight cast a hazy halo around her. She drew the violin out from under her chin and set the bow on the music stand in front of her.

"The maids are cleaning the music room," she explained quietly. "Mrs. Whitlock said this room was not occupied and was once used for musical endeavors because of the excellent acoustics, so I thought I would practice for an hour or two."

He drew in a steadying breath. "Why were you playing badly if you play well?"

"I was tuning the violin," she said with that same feigned tone of docility. "Did I disturb you? Goodness, I did not even think. Was the song not to your liking? I could play something else if you prefer."

He clenched his hand into a fist and put on a tight smile. "I would prefer it if you chose another room for your amusements. You are the Duchess of Harewood—tell the maids to return later. Or play badly again and they will hurry out of their own accord."

"Oh, I could not do that. I should hate to distract them from what they are doing," she said, and though she tried to hide it, he saw the fleeting curve of a grin on her lips and mischief glinting in her eyes.

She knew exactly what she was doing, but with no way to prove it, he could not protest or argue. After all, he was the one who had told her he did not need her help, implying that she ought to find something else to entertain herself with.

"Very well. Play at your leisure. I think I might take a walk," he said.

She set the violin down and hurried to his side. "Then, I shall take a walk with you. It is a beautiful afternoon. A touch cold, but nothing we cannot survive."

"If you are walking, then I will return to my study," he insisted, his brain itching with the infuriation of it all.

"Oh, then I will return to my playing," she said.

It was the closest he had ever come to losing control of even the last thread of his patience, for he knew that no matter what he said, she would either be interrupting him, distracting him, or disturbing him in one way or another.

Perhaps, a walk will placate her.

"Let us walk then," he said, offering his arm.

Caroline took it with an eager smile, practically pulling him out of the makeshift music room and down the stairs. But when they reached the front doors, she grabbed his greatcoat before he could take it, and put it on herself. It was far too large, of course, but she rolled up the sleeves and hitched up the length of it as if it were a ballgown.

"Did I not mention that it is raining?" she asked. "I do not have any of my cloaks—I have no notion of what has happened to them, but all of my belongings have been put away, and they are not there."

Max closed his eyes, praying to the heavens for a dose more patience. "Why did you not say so? Mrs. Whitlock could have ordered some or could have taken you into town to purchase some."

"I saw no need," she replied. "I have been using your greatcoat for all of my walks. Although, I can see the inconvenience, now that we are walking together. You do not mind, do you?"

He expelled a slow breath. "Not at all. I am not made of sugar—a bit of rain will not hurt." He opened his eyes. "You wear it, and I will have the cloaks sent for."

"Oh, thank you." She weaved her arm through his once more and pulled him out into the chilly drizzle of a not-so-beautiful afternoon.

They took the long way around the manor, passing through the crooked wooden gate that led into the ornamental gardens. They were not as neat and pristine as the walled gardens of Westyork, nor as charming as the gardens at Greenfield House, but he had come to like them very much during his time at Harewood Court. There was an ancient feeling and a wildness to these gardens that suited him, allowing him to separate his mind from his work whenever he strolled through them.

Barely anything was in bloom, but the enormous, gnarled, ancient apple tree in the center still bore a late fruit or two.

"Will you pick me one?" Caroline asked, approaching the tree with an expression of awe.

Max peered up at the extensive boughs. "The apples are too high. I will pick you one in the spring."

"Of course," she said, her voice thick with disappointment. "If you do not think you can climb that far, I understand."

He knew he should not bite at the goading hook she was dangling, but he had spent his entire childhood climbing the trees of Greenfield House. Much of his adulthood, too. And the boughs were wide and thick and sturdy, thinning only at the very top. An easy climb, but not ideal with the rain slicking the bark.

He turned to her. "If I fetch you this apple, will you promise to stop disturbing me when I am at my work?"

"Disturbing you?" She looked genuinely bewildered.

So, she is a gifted thespian as well as a talented violinist, an exemplary artist, and a rather knowledgeable architect.

The last one still surprised him, for her annotations had been painstakingly thought out, including angles and diameters and necessary materials.

"Caroline, you said it yourself—I had no opportunity to ensure all my work was complete so that we might have a true honeymoon because I did not know I would be getting married. As such, I cannot afford to be distracted by constant interruptions," he said, trying his best not to be gruff. "If I misjudge or make a mistake on one thing, there will be consequences."

Her pretty eyes widened in horror. "For me?"

"No, not for you," he replied wearily. "There will be consequences for the good folk who rent the cottages and the farmland, and for the household staff, and the estate as a whole. Everything I do is for this dukedom, and for the earldom that used to be mine. And I cannot do any of it if you are knocking on my door every half an hour."

"Oh…" Caroline's expression transformed into one of contemplation, her gaze turning toward the manor. "I did not mean to be a nuisance."

You did. Do not lie.

"I am not calling you a nuisance," he said instead, "but if you could cease from now on, I would be grateful. If you can promise me that, I will pick that apple for you."

Caroline smiled at him. "No, thank you. I no longer have a taste for apples."

Right there and then, she shuffled off Max's greatcoat and handed it to him. The misty rain coated her in a slick glaze within seconds, her raven dark hair catching tiny beads that resembled glittering diamonds, her pretty muslin dress beginning to mold to the shape of her.

He hurried to try and put the coat back on her, but she refused.

"I shall have tea with Mrs. Whitlock, I think," she said, walking off to the manor and letting herself in through one of the nearest French doors.

And as the door closed behind her, and the rain continued to soak right through to Max's skin, he realized she had given him no answer about leaving him to his work. Indeed, it rather felt like her rejection of the apple meant she had no intention of ceasing her antics.

By the following afternoon, Max's patience was a thing of the past. Something he remembered having but could no longer grasp.

Rather than intrude on his work as she had been doing with her endless questions and suggestions, Caroline had decided to just remain in his study. She had been there when he had gone to begin his daily duties, seated in an armchair that she must have had someone move into the corner of his sacred space, and could not be encouraged to move.

"I will not be a bit of a bother," she had told him brightly, waving two thick books in his direction. "I shall just sit here, quiet as a mouse, studying astronomy and botany at my leisure."

He had been wary, and rightly so.

Within half an hour, she had begun to murmur aloud to herself, not loud enough that he could hear what she was reading, but loud enough to be every bit a bother to him. An hour later, the murmurs had been replaced with gasps of astonishment, each rustling turn of the page riling him.

But then she had quietened, and he had been lulled into a false sense of peace, carrying on with his work and thinking that, actually, it was not so unpleasant to have silent company.

"If I may, husband, have you considered the archway?" she had asked a few hours later.

"I do not think it would be wise," he had replied absently. "We are unlikely to have any sort of gathering that would require that amount of space, and if we were to, the ballroom would suffice."

"The ballroom is not fit for purpose," she countered. "It is falling to pieces."

"It is crooked," he corrected. "That is the difficulty with an old manor. Sometimes, things begin to lean."

She had gone quiet again, but after luncheon, the murmurs and gasps and even some humming had returned. Max bore it as well as he could, telling himself that everyone studied differently. He and Anna liked absolute peace and quiet, but his brother preferred to have company, chatting as he learned.

Though, I wonder if you will keep quiet about this.

He had yet to hear from Dickie, and though he had written to friends in London, asking them to inform him if Dickie surfaced there had been no news there either.

A scream suddenly shivered from the corner of the room, so loud and startling that Max dropped the sheaf of statements that he had been toiling through. They fluttered away from him, spreading in all directions across the floor, swept completely out of order.

"Enough!" Max barked, sweeping stressed hands through his hair.

Caroline jumped at the rebuke. "There was… a spider."

"What?"

"A spider. It crept out of the pages. I did not mean to scream."

He cast her a dark look, uncertain of whether to believe her. "Well then, you ought to proceed with knocking an arch through the wall."

"Pardon?"

"To overcome one's fear, one must immerse oneself in the fear. The walls are bursting with spiders, Caroline. I shall send for an architect and laborers at once. We cannot delay. By the time it is done, you will be at peace with the spiders, no longer jolting at every creeping crawl you feel across your skin." He jumped up. "Come, let us proceed with this together."

She seemed to shrink into the armchair, but Max felt very little satisfaction. He had not meant to alarm her, but she was maddening, and a man only had so much patience to give. Sometimes, he had to fight fire with fire.

"I have changed my mind about the archway," she mumbled.

"But you were so determined."

She nodded. "I have lost my taste for it."

"Have you lost your taste for these games you have been playing?" he countered. "I enjoy a jape as much as anyone, but when I am at my work, I have no choice but to be serious. Perhaps, we could apportion a time for japes? Would that suit you? From noon until one o'clock on Tuesdays, we could put buckets in doorways. At four o'clock on a Thursday, we can leap out at one another. Saturdays, we can?—"

"No one wants my company," she interrupted, her brow creasing as she stared down into her lap. "I have nothing to occupy myself because no one wants to come here, and I have been prohibited from seeing those that I would visit. Some of my friends have not even replied to my letters. And though I adore Mrs. Whitlock, it is not her responsibility to be my sole companion." Her voice faltered. "When you said I could do as I pleased, I imagined great plans and adventures, but they are not plans one can do alone."

In one fleeting display of the truth, Max understood. Caroline's annoying behavior was not childish, it was desperate. The actions of someone who could not bear to face another moment of solitude in a strange house, abandoned into the care of a man she did not know by those closest to her.

She is lonely. Max savored his solitude because he had not had much of it in his younger years, but he could see how someone who relished company and had probably never been alone for any considerable length of time might struggle.

"Let us have our meals together—breakfast, luncheon, dinner," he blurted out. "Let us apportion those times to have discussions, avoid arguments, make plans, and get to know one another better. No japes. Few japes, anyway."

Caroline's face brightened, her beautiful eyes shining and a smile almost gracing her lips. She seemed to realize that her response might be too enthusiastic, and quickly dropped her gaze, shifting her shoulders in a small shrug.

"That would not be completely terrible," she mumbled.

But Max had not been oblivious to that unmistakable look of excitement and found it so endearing that even if she was silent for the rest of the afternoon, he had a feeling he still would not be able to concentrate.