Chapter 5

CHAPTER5

“Shall we have some music? I long for some music!” a drunken gentleman declared, walking through the wedding breakfast.

“Who is that?” Rachel asked, leaning toward Daniel.

The Duke pinched the brow of his nose a little, hanging his head forward.

This wedding breakfast had so far not gone according to plan. For one thing, Rachel and Daniel had barely exchanged a word and had sat coolly beside one another the entire time. Rachel also felt the heavy glare of the Duke’s sister, Lady Anne Warren. It silenced her and prevented any attempt at speaking.

Emily had already made some display of herself, by introducing herself to a young gentleman without waiting for another to make an introduction, and her father sat silently without saying much at all. Everything seemed to increasingly embarrass Rachel, to the point she sat in her chair and barely moved at all.

“Your Grace?” she tried to capture her husband’s attention. “Do you intend to ignore me forever more now that we are married?”

“I was too busy despairing to answer you,” Daniel whispered, lowering his hand from his brow. “He is a distant cousin, Mr Worrell, a man who is all too happy to drink claret to its excess. I pray my aunt does something about him. Ah, here she goes.” He nodded his head across the dining room, to where a formidable tall lady was striding forward.

The Duke’s aunt wore the finest gown in the room. It was embroidered with so many lace roses and glittering diamonds that Rachel feared her wedding gown was too plain. She laid a hand on her stomach, looking down at her own dress.

“My aunt, Dorothea, the Dowager Marchioness of Follet. She has a habit of taking control,” the Duke explained in a low voice.

“Is that where you get it from?” Rachel asked with a small smile. For the first time, she thought she saw the Duke’s lips quiver, as if he was fighting a smile of his own.

Will he not be my friend? Despite all of this?

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged.

All around them, people were falling quiet and turning to see the spectacle of Mr Worrell and Lady Follet.

“We must have a song,” Mr Worrell insisted. “How else will we see the happy couple dance together? It is tradition.”

Lady Follet turned a sharp look on the Duke across the room.

“Oh Lord, I know that look,” the Duke muttered.

“What? What does it mean?”

“Pick up your train, wife, that means we are dancing.” The Duke stood up.

Rachel didn’t move at first, far too embarrassed as eyes swung toward her. Gradually, a chorus struck up. Others encouraged the idea of a dance, and Anne was ushered to the pianoforte at the side of the room. She played a slow waltz with a long introduction, encouraging them.

“Yes, dance!” one man called.

“They must dance. It’s bad luck not to, you know.”

“Come, Rachel.” The Duke held his hand out to his wife, who swiveled her head toward him, shocked at his use of her Christian name alone. “Let us get it over with.”

Rachel gulped, feeling small, indeed.

I am so unappealing to him. He looks at a dance with me as something that has to be ‘gotten over.’

It didn’t help that she had found it difficult to tear her gaze away from how he looked in the fine dark green waistcoat that flattered his athletic figure. It had her thoughts wandering to the wedding night and what could happen. She thought of him shedding that waistcoat.

Slowly, she put her hand in his. He drew her away from the table and toward an area at the far end of the room, beside the pianoforte. Anne glared at Rachel over the top of the pianoforte, making her footsteps falter, despite the cheers from their family and friends.

“You are nervous,” the Duke whispered in Rachel’s ear. His hand closed over her own, and she clung tightly to his, needing that support. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Do you seek to assure me I’m safe in your arms? If I was in a mood to laugh, I would.”

“I seek to assure you that you are a duchess now,” he reminded her, stopping in front of her. “You should not worry what others think of you.”

She frowned as he took her waist and her hand. A jolt passed through her body at that touch and traveled straight to her core. A blush warmed her cheeks, and she feared turning the color of a tomato before him.

“Did you forget you were now to be a duchess?” he asked quietly and led her into the dance.

For a soldier, a man who was supposed to be quite foreign to the dancefloor, he had a lightness to his steps. Rachel was led around the floor easily, his commanding presence rather difficult to ignore.

“It was not something I thought much about,” she confessed in a whisper, distractedly looking at where they were connected, thinking much of his hand on her waist and her palm on his shoulder. It felt strong beneath her touch, and she was certain she felt a muscle twitch. She wondered at his strength and how easily he could carry her.

“Truly? I find that hard to believe,” he murmured.

“Why is that?”

“Because it is all anyone thinks when they look at me,” he said, glancing over her head. He was staring into the distance, in a world of his own. “They see me as a duke, hardly a man.”

“You forget yourself,” she said, her eyes finding a place on his waistcoat to stare at. “The night you and I met, I did not know who you were.”

“Ah, that would explain why you were so spirited in our discussion.”

“Is that another word for argumentative?” she asked, looking up at him to find his gaze trained on her.

“Perhaps.” He smiled briefly, and then it was gone.

That smile. It transformed him.

Rachel felt breathless at the thought of it, then irked that he could have such an effect on her just with the glimmer of a smile.

“It’s ironic, you calling me argumentative,” she pointed out. “You were the one so eager to challenge that night. You are certainly not like other men I have met.”

“I am the same man wherever I go,” He said simply, but this time held her gaze without blinking. She was reminded of that fierceness in his eyes, the same one she had glimpsed that night in the garden. “I do not pretend to be someone I’m not at Society events, the same way many do. I make no pretenses to be something else.”

“Admirable,” she whispered.

His hand tightened on her waist as he led her around the dance floor, and his gaze never wandered away.

For a second, they stayed silent, dancing together, their hands soft in one another’s. She could have convinced herself to believe he felt some sort of attraction toward her with that look, but it could have been a trick. Surely, he did not feel that same heat burning in his gut, nor a need to hold himself back from gripping onto her tighter. It was what she felt, all of it, very keenly.

When others took to the dance floor to join them in a dance, they nearly collided with another couple, and the Duke pulled her away. She fell into him, her hips brushing against his for a second.

He pushed her off him quickly, looking away from her.

Rachel shuddered to think just how red she had turned now but managed to catch a glimpse of his face. He was glaring at the gentleman who had nearly collided with them. It was the drunk cousin. The intensity in his eyes made her breathless.

“I imagine you were a fierce opponent in battle, Your Grace, if you looked at every man you fought with that same stare.” Her words drew his focus.

“You don’t often get to look your enemy in the eye in battle.” His voice was deadpan, almost impassive, yet a muscle twitched in his neck as if there was something more he wished to say and he held himself back from it.

She stared at him openly now, reading something else in that gaze. She was in such awe of him, she barely noticed when the song ended, and they were forced to step away from one another.

As Mr Worrell veered toward her in his drunkenness, the Duke took her arm and pulled her forward, out of harm’s way.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“He’s too drunk for words.”

Her attention had been captured by the simple act of him protecting her. If he was like this with those around him, then he might make a good father, indeed.

Protective of any child.

* * *

Rachel held onto Bridget for some time, the two of them embracing as the wedding breakfast came to an end. By the door, her father hovered with Emily, both fully ready to leave.

“I’ll miss you so much,” Bridget whispered and leaned back from her sister. “But we shall see each other all the time.”

“Yes, please. Come and visit me?” Rachel asked, casting a quick glance around the passageway. As the Duke’s house was slowly emptying, she felt how vast it was. Without a friend here, she could imagine how lonely she would be.

“I’ll come regularly,” Bridget promised. “I’ll bring Emily too.”

“I doubt she’ll come. She’s so glad to be rid of me,” Rachel said in a small voice, glancing at Emily.

“She is not glad to be rid of you,” Bridget insisted. “Emily is just desperate for space. You know she loves you and is thankful for all your guidance over the years.”

Rachel nodded, though at that moment, she struggled to believe her sister. They kissed one another on the cheek one last time and said goodbye. She waved off her family and then retreated into the passageway, watching as her husband took leave of his aunt and his friend.

Lady Follet departed with a wave and a smile, and Lord Harpenden elbowed the Duke, muttering something under his breath. At a distance from the group, the Duke’s sister stood, glowering at Rachel.

Inhaling sharply, Rachel crossed toward Anne, determined to get off on a better foot. “Lady Anne.” She curtsied. “We have not yet had a chance to talk.”

“No, we have not.” Anne turned on her heel and walked out of the passageway without another word.

Rachel stared after her, her lips parted, uncertain what to think or feel. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her gown, trying to stop her spine from crumpling as the Duke bid his friend and aunt goodbye.

Once the door closed behind him, he sighed deeply and leaned against the wooden panels. Rachel turned to face him, listening as the staff tidied up the vast dining room in the distance.

“Your Grace?” she murmured, trying to catch his eye.

Daniel looked at her, his expression cold and indifferent. She was rather reminded of his sister, who had just left the room without a kind word. She shifted her weight between her feet.

“I know this isn’t what you had in mind, but I thought perhaps we could talk.” She took a step toward him. “We could make a plan for our life together.”

She had already rehearsed what she wished to say. They could be friends, yes, if they learned to grow accustomed to one another. She longed to hear about his life as a soldier and his business. She had some knowledge of helping with her father’s business endeavors, so she prayed she could be of use to her husband.

“Not now.” The Duke’s cool words cut her to the bone.

He stepped away from the door and walked toward her. Any heat she had felt during their dance, that attraction and excitement that had lingered in her gut, softened and sizzled out. He was no longer the man she had sparred with in conversation. He was distant now, rather like one of those statues that she had mistaken him for on the night they had met.

“Life has changed drastically indeed, it seems.” He folded his arms and stopped a short distance in front of her. “Well, this is your new home. I hope you like it,” he said quickly, woodenly. “I’ve had a chamber prepared for you. For appearances’ sake, it is connected to my own, but the door will remain shut.”

She looked down at her feet, all her fidgeting falling still.

So, he will not bed me after all. That means… no child.

“I must attend to my business now. I’ll have the housekeeper bring you dinner in your chamber later this evening.” With these words, he parted from her.

She turned to stare at his retreating back, thinking that his pace was so fast, if he could have gotten away with it, he would have run. As the door closed behind him in the corridor, the chinking of the plates grew louder.

Rachel reached for the long train of her veil and fiddled with it, turning back and forth in the empty corridor, feeling very small. The flagstone floor stretched out, emanating cold air on the autumn day. The tall windows set on either side of the door flooded the room with golden light, and on the walls were portraits that went back generations, showing the dukes that had come before Daniel.

“Where do I go, then?” Rachel muttered to herself, looking at the painted faces as if they would talk to her spontaneously. “Shall I wander around my new house like a lost soul? I could walk in on the Duke or Lady Anne, then. What would they say to that?”

She looked at the sharp eyes on one of the painted faces, the eyes of a duke who lived in the fifteenth century. The harsh eyes made her look away again.

I do not belong here.

“Well, what do we have here?” a cheery voice called.

Rachel looked around to see a short, stout lady in the doorway to the dining room with her hands clasped together. With rosy cheeks and a big smile, it made her wrinkled cheeks look even older than they were.

“Good day.” Rachel bobbed a curtsey. “I’m Lady Rachel.”

“No, indeed.” The old lady laughed and hurried forward. “You are the Duchess of Elbridge now, are you not, Your Grace?”

“Oh, I… Forgive me, I hadn’t thought of that yet.” Rachel offered a small smile, and the lady laughed again.

“I see that mischievous boy has hurried off and not introduced us properly.” The lady waved a hand at the door through which the Duke had just left.

She calls him a boy? Even mischievous?

“You meant the Duke?”

“Oh, yes, I call him a boy. I’m the housekeeper. I started working here for the family when he was no bigger than my knee.” She chuckled again and bent down, holding a hand to her knee. “What a mischievous child he was. He once fell in a nettle bush on the estate, and I had to cover him in lotion. Oh my, did he wriggle! He was straight back out the next day though, adventuring.”

Rachel frowned. This adventurous boy sounded somewhat different from the cold man she had just married.

“Now, I’ll introduce myself properly, and chastise him for the lack of an introduction later.”

“You can do that?” Rachel asked with her first full smile, charmed by the lady before her.

“He doesn’t mind me.” The housekeeper waved a hand in the air. “He’s known me for too long. I’m just about the only person in this house who can tell him when he misbehaves. Now, I am Mrs. Hetty Brooks. It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs. Brooks, but the Duke said I had a chamber, and I…” Rachel looked toward the staircase at the back of the passageway. “I am afraid I do not know where it is, and I fear wandering into the wrong room.”

“He has not shown you to your chamber?” Mrs. Brooks balked, her fists moving to her wide hips.

“No,” Rachel said, rather anxious that she seemed to be getting the Duke in trouble. “I think I should change.”

“Out of your wedding gown so soon? Oh, but you look so beautiful, Your Grace.” Mrs. Brooks lowered her voice and stepped forward. “Many of the maids and I watched you enter the chapel from a window this morning. Forgive our nosiness, but we were impatient for a look at our new mistress. We were all very stunned by you. You should have heard our young maid Marianne. She started dancing about as if she wore your gown herself.”

“That’s so sweet,” Rachel remarked, sensing joviality between the staff.

At least there is one reason to smile in the house, even if there aren’t many reasons.

She glanced toward the door the Duke had left through, thinking of him again. If he’d stayed another minute with her, said something kind, even witty, or perhaps argued with her and been spirited as he’d been before, maybe then she would have smiled.

“I think I should change all the same,” she whispered. “It no longer seems like a wedding day.”

“Ah, I understand,” Mrs. Brooks said in a soft tone. “Let me show you to your chamber at once. I hope you like it here, Your Grace.”

As do I.

At that moment, Rachel wasn’t sure just how much she’d like her new home at all.