Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Duke was already sitting at the table when she came into the dining room the next morning, as were her parents. She had slept badly, tossing and turning. She couldn't get it out of her mind that the gentleman was just down the hallway. That he was lying in the guest chamber, only metres away from her.

"Good morning," she said, in a bright voice, sitting down.

"Good morning," said the Duke, sipping his tea. "I hope that you slept well."

"Never better," she lied, rubbing her neck. "Like a dream."

"Hetty," said her father slowly, a spoon hovering over his boiled egg, "we should talk. About what can be done to procure a divorce for you."

Straight to it, she thought, ruefully. Not even a chance to make the usual small talk.

She shrugged, picking up a piece of toast, and smearing it liberally with gooseberry jam. "What is there to say about it?" Her knife scraped against the dry bread. "We all know that they do not like to give them. That it is a hard road to go down, which is the reason why people usually do not."

Her father cleared his throat. "His Grace and I have been discussing it, at some length," he continued. "We believe that the best course is to appeal to the Ecclesiastical Court. If we can prove Frank Blackmore's desertion was intentional, then we just might have a case against him."

Hetty put down her toast, turning to her father. "The Ecclesiastical Court? But they rarely give divorces in favour of the woman. I do not know of any, at all …"

"There has been one," said the Duke, gazing at her steadily. "Not a good track record, but there is precedent. We would try to obtain the divorce on the grounds of desertion and procure a settlement for you, from your estranged husband. Either the return of your entire dowry or something similar."

Hetty stared at him. The use of the term ‘we' rankled her. It was as if he and her father were in cahoots, and she was just tagging along for the ride. The fact that her father had placed all of his trust in this man, who he knew nothing about, rankled her too. Duke or not, he was still a man, but her father was blinded by his title and could not see clearly, at all.

Papa had done no background checks on this gentleman. For all he knew, the Duke of Warwick could be secretly insolvent or be hiding any number of dark secrets. She was irritated that after the experience with Frank Blackmore, that her father would take such a chance, so quickly. To place all of his faith in this man, to solve the problem of her.

Her mother had pointed out that most men were honourable and respectable. But even though she knew many who were, she could not feel the truth of that, any longer. For her, all men felt like a threat. It was an instinctive, deeply felt reaction.

"Even if such an action succeeded," she said slowly, gazing at the Duke, "there would still be a considerable delay before I was free to marry again, with the posting of bans …"

"I have thought of that," he interrupted, his green eyes gleaming. "If we are successful, we could travel to Gretna Green or some other place in Scotland where a quick marriage is possible. That would circumvent the need to post bans, and thus delay proceedings."

She gazed at him, open-mouthed. He truly had thought of everything. And once again, she wondered why he was so eager to marry her, despite it all. She was an abandoned wife, a pariah. If a motion were presented before the court and were successful, she would be a divorcee, which was even lower on the social ladder.

And he was a duke. A peer of the realm who could marry anyone.

She kept gazing at him, prickling with suspicion. It made no sense. Why would he choose her when he could have a lady who was unblemished, free of scandal? Perhaps he was secretly insolvent. He had mentioned the return of her dowry, or a settlement. Did he need money? Was he so eager to wed her because he would get her dowry, the same way that Frank had got it?

But underneath the suspicion, rising like lava, was a small excitement. She didn't want to marry him – not at all – but she didn't want to be married to Frank Blackmore anymore, either. If she managed to procure a divorce, then she would be free of her estranged husband, forever. And more than that, if they could get the return of her dowry, justice would be done.

Frank thought he could walk away from me without any consequences , she thought fiercely. He thought he could take my money and run. I want to show him that I will not lay down and play dead. I will not be treated this way.

The Duke was looking at her expectantly. As were her father and mother.

"So be it," she said, her resolve glowing within her like a fire. "Let us take him to court and show him that he cannot get away with it."

Her mother clapped in delight. Her father beamed. The Duke kept gazing at her steadily, not outwardly showing any emotion. But those impossibly green eyes of his were glowing with pleasure.

They all thought that she had consented to marry the Duke if it became possible. But she knew differently. It served her purpose to try to get the divorce. In the meantime, while they waited for proceedings to commence, she would quietly continue her search for the best convent.

It was still her intention to take the veil. But she would have to be surreptitious about it, from now on. If she could enter a convent as a free woman, legally unencumbered by her past, then so much the better.

She knew the possibility of success was remote. But now, she was fired up, and she had to try. At the very least, Frank would be publicly held accountable for his actions. The world would hear the full truth of what he had done to her.

Frank will pay , she thought bitterly. He will pay for the suffering he has caused me.

***

Hetty glanced sideways at the Duke, as they walked in a stilted fashion down the garden path. He was quiet, not saying much at all. It was her mother, who had suggested this walk together after breakfast was finally over, and the plan was put in place to go ahead with trying to get a divorce.

Hetty turned around, feeling eyes upon them. The kitchen curtain was twitching slightly. She smiled to herself. It would be Mama, proud as punch that her poor suffering daughter had at last consented to being courted by a duke.

She could almost feel her mother's longing, that this dark part of their lives be swept away. That the slate be wiped clean. In Mama's mind, the answer to the problem of a man was always another.

Her smile twisted. She did not think that way at all. The problem of Frank could not be solved by the Duke of Warwick. It was up to her alone to procure her happiness.

Suddenly, Della came rushing out the back door towards them. Hetty squatted down, her arms wide as the small, golden dog came running to her.

Della leapt on her, trying to lick her face in a frenzy of excitement. Hetty laughed delightedly, caressing the dog.

"Oh, you are a darling," she crooned. "My little joy …"

"How long have you had her?" asked the Duke, smiling down at them.

"Della is four years old," she said, laughing harder as the dog eagerly licked her hands. "We got her from a farmer who lives close by." She smiled, remembering. "I was the one who chose her. There were six puppies, all squirming over their mother, trying to feed. But Della popped her head up and came to me. I knew then that she was the one."

"They are a joy, aren't they?" he said, leaning down and petting the dog. "I have three house dogs, in addition to the hounds that are kept for hunting. My mother always liked Scottish terriers, and so the three I keep are that breed."

"What are their names?" she asked, gazing at him.

His smile widened. "There is Atlas, who is a grouchy fellow, but is partial to a tickle under the chin," he said. "Caesar, who is a big softie, always wanting cuddles. And the last is Athena, who is like the mother hen, always nipping and growling at the others to keep them in line."

Hetty laughed. "They sound like they are quite a pack," she said. "Pets are a joy. I sometimes think that Della understands me more than anyone else. She is the one who comforts me if I am feeling low." She hesitated. "It was hard for me to leave her when I married. Do not tell my parents this, but I thought I would miss her more than I would even miss them."

He gazed at her steadily. "Your secret is safe with me."

There was a tense silence as they gazed at each other. Hetty was the first to look away, her heart pounding.

At that moment, Della sprinted off, leaping and barking down the garden path. A bird was flying low that had captured her attention. To Hetty's dismay, the dog nudged her way through a hole in the back fence and sprinted off into the field in hot pursuit of it.

"Della, no!" she cried, running down the path.

But the dog did not even look back at her. She was sprinting harder, now, barking excitedly at the bird.

The Duke was by her side. "We should go after her," he said.

Hetty nodded. Without another word, she pushed open the gate, and they were running through the field, calling the dog's name. It took them five minutes before Della finally stopped, panting hard.

"No," scolded Hetty, leaning down and scooping her up. "You are not allowed to run off by yourself. You could get lost."

Della whined, not liking her mistress's tone.

"Perhaps we should give her the opportunity for a longer walk," said the Duke, staring at them both. "She is probably feeling a bit housebound. It cannot hurt."

Hetty hesitated. They were already far from the house. But after a moment, she nodded, putting the dog back down. Della yelped delightedly, sprinting off again, and they commenced walking, following her path.

They were almost to the apple tree. The Duke smiled, staring up at the old tree and its low branches, heaving with fruit.

"What a delightful spot," he said, gazing up at it. He reached up to a branch, picking two apples, and handed one to her, before sitting down near the trunk, taking a bite of his own.

Hetty hesitated again, but shrugged, sitting down beside him. She took a bite of her apple. It was juicy and delicious, as they always were from this tree if a little past its prime. The only sound was munching for a moment.

"Is this your father's land?" he asked, swallowing a bite as he gazed around, down the valley at the fields beyond.

She nodded. "Yes. We own five acres, beyond the house." She smiled. "I know these fields like the back of my hand. My father used to take me on long walks when I was a girl. There is a small lake, further up, which is beautiful. One of my best memories is swimming in it, when I was young, and feeding the ducks."

"You will have to take me there, one day," he said, glancing sideways at her. "I am fond of feeding ducks, myself. And a dip in the water is always pleasant, on a hot summer's day."

Hetty flushed. A vision of him, striding into the water, and swimming, pushing through the watery depths, suddenly appeared in her mind's eye. It was so vivid that she could even see his wet black hair and droplets of water spilling into the air, as he moved within it.

She shivered, despite the heat of the day. Looking down at her arm, she was appalled to find goose flesh had appeared. What was wrong with her? Firmly, she tried to dispel the image, but it persisted, causing her flush to deepen.

"Is that a swing?" he asked suddenly, finishing the last bite of his apple, and tossing the core away.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Yes. My father made it for me when I was a little girl." She laughed self-consciously. "I am afraid it is rather weathered. I would not be able to swing on it, now."

He turned to her, gazing at her intently. "You could try. Let me push you."

Before she could protest, he jumped to his feet, holding out his hand to her. There was a challenging look in his eyes.

She took another deep breath, taking his hand. There was a crackle as their flesh connected, but she ignored it. He pulled her to her feet, and the next minute, she was trying to sit on the old wooden swing, wiggling herself to fit, feeling just slightly ridiculous. What on earth was she doing?

He stood close behind her, and abruptly, she felt his hands on her back, pushing her. The branch creaked ominously as she was suddenly airborne. The wind unloosened her hair, and she felt it streaming behind her. She closed her eyes, relishing the sensation of the sun on her face, and the wind in her hair.

He pushed her again, a mighty push, and she was flying higher. A laugh of pure delight escaped her lips. She had not felt like this since she was a little girl. It had been years since she had sat on this swing. Probably over ten years. She missed it.

The world was spinning, the sky seemingly dipping to reach her, so intense a blue that it seemed to consume her. She pushed back, willing herself higher when suddenly, the rope broke, and she landed on her backside with a thud.

The Duke rushed to her side, his eyes creased with concern, as he leant over her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded instinctively, not sure yet. But then, a laugh suddenly bubbled up within her chest. It broke out, and she was suddenly heaving with it, bent over, doubled up with hilarity.

He stared at her, stunned, for a moment. But then his mouth started to twitch, and he joined in. His laugh was deep and rich. She clutched her belly, unable to stop it. It almost felt as good as swinging through the air had, moments ago. As liberating and intoxicating.

He pulled her to her feet as they kept laughing breathlessly.

When the laughter finally died down, he hesitantly reached out, pulling something from her hair.

"A twig," he whispered.

She tried to breathe, but strangely found she couldn't.

"Your hair is beautiful," he said, his eyes darkening. "It looks like silk, streaming behind you …"

She still couldn't breathe. She felt as if she was drowning, within his eyes, losing herself, in some strange, bewitching way. But then, her lungs suddenly contracted, and she took a deep, sudden breath.

"We should go," she whispered. "Back to the house. Mama will be wondering …"

"Of course," he said quickly.

She called Della, who was skulking around the trunk of the apple tree, sniffing something, and they set off, back down the field. They didn't say a word to each other, but somehow, she felt different. As if something had passed between them that she could not even name.

She felt his eyes on her from time to time but refused to look at him. She was coming back to earth now. Those sweet moments were gone. In them, she had forgotten entirely who she was and what had happened to her. She had forgotten that she was an abandoned wife and the misery of her life.

But it all rushed back to her, now. As did the knowledge that she did not know this man at all, nor his motivations, for suddenly asking her to marry him.

She could not afford to let her guard down. Those sweet moments were an illusion, a passing amnesia. He was a stranger to her, and she was on a path that did not include him at all. She must remember that. She could not afford ever to forget it.