Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hetty gazed out the window of the drawing room. He had said that he would be returning today. She did not want to admit to herself that she was waiting for him.

Sighing restlessly, she dropped the curtain, walking to the pianoforte. She would practise. That would take up some time. With grim determination, she raised her fingers, striking the keys. For a few moments, she played a tune, before sighing again, stopping.

She did not feel like playing the pianoforte. She did not know what she wanted to do at all.

It had been six weeks since the Duke of Warwick had landed so alarmingly on the doorstep of Hillsworth House, claiming that he wanted to marry her, come hell or highwater. In that time, he had assisted her father to start the divorce proceedings. He had travelled to London, on her behalf, to file the necessary documents. Now, it was just a waiting game, to see if and when the Ecclesiastical court would schedule a hearing.

The Duke came back and forth, staying for days at a time, before heading back to his manor, in Hampshire. He never told her why he had to leave. But he would start to get a little quiet and withdrawn, staring off into space. The next moment, he would announce that he had pressing business, at home, and take off, flying down the country lane outside Hillsworth House on his horse, sending pebbles flying into the air. She would watch him from the drawing room window. It looked like the hounds of hell were pursuing him.

He was hiding something. She was almost certain of it. How else to explain the abrupt mood changes, the urgency of his departures?

He was always charming, and fully committed, when he returned to Hillsworth House. Almost as if he had slaked an itch. Her mind, of course, turned to dark reasons. Did he have a mistress that he was seeing? Or several of them? Her father insisted that the Duke was an important man, with business to attend to, that was why he left so abruptly. But even though Hetty knew that was a perfectly plausible reason, she still could not help thinking there was more to it than that. There was something that he was not telling her.

In the meantime, she was still poring over the letters from the convents. Two more had arrived, and she had sent another enquiry to one in Dorset. But she was almost certain that she had arrived at a decision.

The Sisters of the Holy Cross were an old order, located in Shropshire. They had an abbey, just outside the town of Shrewsbury. Their mission was to educate the children of the local farming population. They even had a small schoolhouse. If she joined them, she would be surrounded by children. She had never contemplated teaching before, but it would be a noble pursuit, wouldn't it?

Her hand itched to write to them, tell them that she desired to join them, but she knew that it wasn't time, yet. First, she must see what was going to happen with the divorce. She was committed to it now and could not back away from it. Frank must be held accountable for what he had done. Once she knew what was happening with it, then she could make her plans.

In the meantime, she had to endure the attentions of the Duke, pretending that she was seriously contemplating marrying him if the divorce came through. For she had finally understood that with him behind her, the court would be more likely to schedule a hearing, than if her family did it alone. He was a peer of the realm, after all, whereas they were only gentry. Privilege opened a lot of doors in this world.

She was still no closer to understanding why he was insisting on marrying her and going to so much trouble on her behalf. But it hardly mattered. It wasn't as if she ever intended to go through with it, after all, even if it was successful, which she very much doubted.

Suddenly, she jumped. She could hear horse's hooves thundering down the lane towards the house. Was it him?

She rushed to the window. Yes, she could see him on his black stallion, just turning through the gates into the estate. Her heart flipped over in her chest, and to her dismay, she could see that her hand was trembling where it gripped the lace curtain.

She took a deep breath, trying to stop the involuntary physical reaction. She loathed it that her body seemed to have a mind of its own, where he was concerned. She didn't want to feel this way, when she saw him or was near him. And yet, it persisted, growing even worse, the longer she spent in his company.

He was at the front of the house, now. She watched him dismount, taking off his hat and running a hand through his dark hair. Suddenly, he looked at the window, where she was standing. Their eyes met.

He smiled tentatively. Hastily, she dropped the curtain, stepping away. Her heart was thumping in her chest.

She had to stop doing this. No more rushing to the window when he arrived or waiting at it to see if he was coming. She must get herself under control.

***

After the serving of morning tea, the Duke balanced his teacup on one knee, fixing his gaze on her mother.

"What about a picnic today, near the lake, that I have heard so much about?" He smiled. "The weather is glorious, after all. A shame to be cooped up inside, on such a day." He turned to Hetty. "What do you think?"

Hetty felt a stab of excitement but quickly masked it, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care. Her mother, however, clapped her hands together in glee, saying it was a simply marvellous idea. She rushed out of the room, saying that she would tell Cook to prepare a picnic hamper this instant.

There was a strained silence in the room. The Duke took a sip of his tea, then put down the cup, turning to her.

"It is good to see you, Hetty," he said quietly. "I find every time that I leave Hillsworth House, the more eager I am to return here."

She didn't say anything for a moment. But her heart lurched, once again.

"You have never told me why you need to leave so abruptly, in the way that you do," she said slowly, gazing at him steadily. "What is this business that has you flying out of here as if you are being pursued by the Devil himself?"

He flushed slightly. "I did not realise that I was quite so manic in my exits." He paused as if gathering his thoughts. "It is only as I have told you. I have business as well as the usual overseeing of my estate. A property that large does not run itself …"

"But surely, you have an overseer," she persisted. "Someone who runs your estate in your absence and takes on the day to day decision making it entails. There would be no need to urgently go there if you have a competent person. These grand houses are often left vacant for months at a time …"

"Do you miss me when I am gone?" he asked softly, a small smile playing around his lips.

Hetty coloured. She had not meant to infer that at all. But of course, he would think that was her motivation for asking him about it. He was a man, after all, and they all seemed to think that the sun rose and set around them.

"I am merely making conversation," she said, gritting her teeth. "Enquiring, as one does, about your life beyond this house …"

"Of course," he said, looking so disappointed that her heart flipped over in her chest once again. "I have several investments that I need to keep an eye on. They manufacture wealth for me in a multitude of ways. I guess I have not elaborated upon it before because I thought that it would surely bore you to tears. But if you wish to hear about the ins and outs of it, then I would be more than happy to oblige …"

"There is no need," she said quickly, not wanting to hear about his shares in wool or rail. It would bore her to tears. "Excuse me for my impertinence."

Before he could reply, her mother rushed into the room again, beaming. "Cook is preparing a hamper," she said excitedly. "We can leave for the lake in fifteen minutes if you are so inclined."

***

The day was glorious, thought Hetty, as they walked up the hill towards the lake. The sky was a clear, crystalline blue, and the sun a perfect golden orb within it. She could smell the scent of wild roses in the distance, and there was the faint warbling of birds in the trees.

Della was rushing ahead, excited to be stretching her legs as always. The Duke carried the wicker picnic basket in one hand, and a rug in the other. She twirled her green parasol, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed glad to be outdoors in nature. He often requested that they go for a walk in the fields. Being indoors seemed to irritate him.

They scaled the hill, and then, she saw it, in the near distance. The lake. A shimmering pool of turquoise blue, with a few yellow ducks swimming around on the surface. She spied a pair of white swans, as well, gliding through the reeds. She turned to the Duke, covertly watching his reaction.

He seemed pleased, his eyes skimming over the lake. She felt a surge of pride. It was beautiful, one of the most beautiful spots in the district, in her opinion. She was glad that he seemed to appreciate it.

They quickly set up the picnic, unfurling the rug, and opening the basket. Her mother set to work, taking out a plate of sandwiches, and a whole poppyseed lemon cake. Her father had not been able to come as he had a pressing appointment in the village. So it was just the three of them.

She got up to chase Della, who was harassing some ducks, scolding the dog gently. All of a sudden, she felt a presence behind her. She turned to see the Duke standing there, watching her.

"She likes to chase birds," he said quietly, bending down to pet the small golden dog. "It is the same with mine. As soon as they are out of the manor, they run like mad things, chasing their own tails, but also any bird that happens within their path."

She nodded. "Yes, it is quite common. But Della needs to know that she cannot do it. I am afraid that one day she will hurt one if not kill one."

He smiled slightly. "You have a very soft heart, Hetty. Have you never gone on a hunt?"

She shuddered. "I could not do it. For me, all animals are sacred, and I could not watch, while one was killed." She paused. "Perhaps I am too soft-hearted. I am sure that you would say that I am. I realise that my views are not conventional. Hunting, after all, is a revered pastime …"

He shook his head, staring at her intently. "I am not mocking you."

Her mother called out to them that the food was ready, and they turned away, walking back towards the rug. Hetty felt another shiver fall through her, at being so close to him, despite the heat of the day. She had a strange urge to cry and simply had no idea why.

***

After the picnic, they wandered along the far side of the lake, her mother trailing them at a discreet distance. The sun shone on the surface of the lake, turning it almost into a looking glass. She could smell the sweet scent of lilac and saw honeysuckle and forget-me-nots blooming with abandon in the near distance.

The Duke reached down, picking a small scarlet pimpernel, handing it to her with a smile. "I realise they are considered weeds," he said drily. "But I have always found them charming."

Hetty took the flower, twisting it between her fingers. "I like the scarlet pimpernel, too," she said slowly. "Just because they bloom easily, should not make them any less admired." She hesitated. "Thank you."

They kept walking in silence for a moment before he turned to her abruptly.

"How did you meet your estranged husband?" he asked quickly.

She smothered her surprise that he had asked her anything about her relationship with Frank. Up until now, he had studiously avoided mentioning her husband, unless it was in a general way, regarding the possible upcoming divorce hearing.

"I met him at a dinner party at a mutual friend's house," she said, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I was seated next to him, and we started talking, as you do." She hesitated. "He seemed charming and was easy going. Not long after, he requested to call on me. And the rest is history." She felt tears sting behind her eyes.

He stopped, turning to her, a solemn look on his face. "Were you in love with him?"

She blinked rapidly, stunned that he would ask her such a question. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him tartly that it was none of his business. But then, the sorrow of the whole situation overtook her once more, and the desire to speak of it – with someone – was almost overwhelming.

She had no one in whom to confide. Her mother and father only wanted to talk about the possible divorce, but not how she felt about the sudden, shocking end of her short-lived marriage. She couldn't see any of her friends, who she might confide in, and weep on their shoulder, like Annabelle. She had made the decision as soon as she had returned to Hillsworth House that she would lay low and not socialise, to protect herself. The thought of having to talk about it with anyone but her close friends was simply too much, and she would have to see others if she went out, even if it was only her friends' parents.

Annabelle, and her other closest friend, Florence, had sent letters of support to her, which had touched her, and she greatly appreciated. She would see them again, one day, but it was still too raw at the moment.

"I greatly admired and respected him," she replied quietly. "I thought that he would make a fine husband. He was charming and treated me well." She hesitated. "But to answer your question – no, I was never in love with him."

He was silent for a moment, digesting this. "Why did you agree to marry him if you never loved him?"

She gasped. "You ask me this question? It is a common enough thing in the society that we live in. Hardly any of the marriages that I know are love matches. Mostly it is arranged by parents, or others …"

"Yes, I am well aware of that," he said, smiling slightly. "My own mother tried very hard to arrange a marriage for me when I was younger. And I do not blame people for accepting arranged marriages. Often, they are compelled, and have little choice in the matter." He hesitated. "But your own engagement was not arranged, nor were you compelled to become engaged to the gentleman. That is the only reason that I ask. I am just curious that if you could have waited for a love match, why you did not."

She shrugged, feeling like she wanted to burst into tears. "I did not expect love, I suppose. I have never been in love … I think I believed that it was just a myth." She turned her face away, staring over the water as she battled the tears. "You think that I made a mistake in not being in love with him, and he not being in love with me?"

"I am not judging you, Hetty," he said in a quiet voice. "Not in the least. It just surprises me, that a lady as beautiful, clever, and charming as you are, would not wish for it. You deserve it." He paused, gazing at her intently. "Do you truly believe that love between a man and a woman is a myth?"

She shrugged again, helplessly. "I do not know. I have never felt it, so to me, it is not real," she said, her heart beating hard in her chest.

He kept gazing at her, a peculiar yearning expression on his face. Her heart skipped a beat. She could not help it. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

He reached out slowly and wiped it away with his thumb. She shuddered. The touch made her skin tingle, but more than that, his kindness took her breath away. He had told her that she deserved love. He had told her that she was beautiful and charming and clever.

"You did not deserve what happened to you," he said roughly, his hand dropping to his side, his face grim. "If I knew where the man was, I would run him through, for what he has done to you."

She couldn't suppress a sob. Quickly, she looked away.

She knew that he was probably lying. She knew that he was probably just saying these things without really meaning them. But her soul expanded to hear him speak.

The small kernel of doubt – that Frank had deserted her because something was lacking in her – started to dissolve, and it was the man standing beside her that had made it happen.