Chapter 8

CHAPTER8

Between the cracked triangles of his study window, Edwin frowned at the scene before him, too distracted by the sight to concentrate on the tower of correspondence and ledgers and contracts that had to be tended to.

Joanna walked alone in the decrepit gardens at the rear of the manor, gracefully moving through the dead rose bushes and skeletal trees like a goddess, come to breathe life back into them. She wore a dress of lavender muslin, hitching up her skirts so they would not be spoiled by the dirt and mud and stray twigs that threatened to snag at the fine fabric.

Every time she passed one of the withered, spiky bushes, Edwin’s heart jolted, worried the material might catch and tear. Yet, he could neither explain nor fathom why he should care. Judging by the number of trunks, boxes, and cases that Joanna had brought with her, she had plenty of garments to spare.

“Careful,” he murmured, “there is a hidden ditch there. You might lose your footing.”

Sure enough, Joanna swayed suddenly, her shoe catching in the concealed ditch. She staggered forward and, for a terrible instant, Edwin thought she was going to fall. But she righted herself, and as she paused to draw in a deep breath that made her shoulders rise and fall, Edwin realized that he was standing up, his hands braced against the writing desk.

He jumped as a knock thumped against the door, his nerves already rattled, for what sort of sorcery did Joanna possess, if she could make him rise from his chair without realizing it?

Mrs. Hislop bustled in with a tea tray, though it was not even close to eight o’clock in the evening. “I thought you might be thirsty after your journey,” she said, by way of explanation. “You’ll get one of your headaches if you don’t drink something, so don’t scold me. I’m too old for a chiding.”

“Set it down there,” Edwin replied reluctantly, gesturing to the only vacant corner of his writing desk.

As she obeyed, Mrs. Hislop’s gaze ventured out of the window, her eyes widening as she saw Joanna. “She’s supposed to be resting, poor thing. I imagine she couldn’t manage it, being somewhere so unfamiliar.”

“You should have warned her about the gardens. She almost fell,” Edwin muttered, pouring a cup of tea for himself.

Mrs. Hislop turned, giving him a strange look. “You were watching her?”

“I happened to notice her. I was not watching. Do not make it sound like something it is not,” Edwin warned, confused by the sudden racing of his heart, as if he had been caught doing something he should not have been.

Mrs. Hislop sighed. “I trust you are going to be joining her for dinner, and not taking a tray in your study as you instructed?”

“If I intended to join her for dinner, I would not have asked for a tray at eight o’clock,” Edwin retorted, shy beneath the housekeeper’s intense gaze.

“Your Grace, you must dine with her,” Mrs. Hislop demanded, shaking a finger at him. “She is far from home, she is weary from days of riding, she has likely received no warmth or affection from you and must be wondering why she has come to this place with you when you seem determined to abandon her. Indeed, I am surprised you succeeded in your plan, but that is by the by. Consider it from her perspective, Your Grace. Endure dinner with her and, who knows, you might find you enjoy dining with company.”

Edwin wrinkled his nose. “It has been years since I have dined with anyone.”

“Precisely. Years too long,” Mrs. Hislop pointed out. “You are now married, Your Grace. You have a wife who, from our brief encounter, seems delightful and humorous and courageous. Find your own courage, Your Grace, and see if you can’t alleviate one another’s loneliness.”

Looking out of the window once more, he watched Joanna crouch low to inspect a lone, red poppy that sprouted from a patch of barren earth. With her bare hands, she scooped some water from a nearby puddle and poured the liquid onto the dry soil. The gesture startled him, until he did not know whether to be in awe of her, or appalled.

“She is not here to alleviate my loneliness. I am not lonely,” he protested, his voice thick. “She is here as my envoy—my ambassador at society gatherings. If she wants entertainment, she will have to make her own. I am certain the maids and their silliness will keep her amused.”

Mrs. Hislop shook her head, lowering her gaze as if she did not dare to let him see the disappointment upon her face. “At least dine with her, Your Grace. Grant her that.” She paused. “After all, you will have no ambassador at all if she decides to flee this house and you. She is a vibrant young lady, newly married—offer her some manner of olive branch, I beg of you. Indeed, you owe her that much, considering it is her dowry and her family’s wedding gift that will restore some of this broken household.”

Shame coursed through Edwin’s stiff body, his skin prickling with heat as her words lodged like barbs in his flesh. She was right; that could not be denied. Marrying Joanna had bolstered his meager fortunes already, allowing him to fund two business endeavors that he hoped would see his dukedom’s once-grand legacy flourish once more. He had the contracts right there upon his writing desk, and he could sign them because of her.

“One dinner,” he seethed, already uneasy about the prospect.

Mrs. Hislop immediately brightened, clapping her hands together. “And I shall make it a fine one, Your Grace! All of your favorites and some of hers, if you know what they might be?”

“I do not.”

She pursed her lips. “Well, no matter, I shall just have to ask her. Is she still in the gardens?”

“You have eyes, Mrs. Hislop. You can see that she is.”

“Then, I shall go to her directly. Oh, this shall be a wonderful evening!” Mrs. Hislop cheered as she hurried from the room, abandoning Edwin in favor of the new duchess.

As the study door closed, Edwin’s eyes turned back to his wife—a title that remained uncomfortable in his mind, for he had never intended to marry. If the eastern corner of the roof had not caved in after the most recent storm, he might never have done.

She was still crouched by the poppy, unaware that she was being observed. And as she touched the delicate, red petals, a smile formed upon her lips, so pure and charming that it almost brought a smile to Edwin’s lips in return.

Almost.

“Do not hope for love, Joanna,” he whispered, forcing himself to look away from her. “You will not find it here.”