Chapter Thirteen

Christian had been overwhelmed with invitations since they arrived back in London. Not surprising, he supposed. He was wealthy, titled, unmarried, and new . Like the shiny new toy everyone wanted to pass around. He hated it. But wasn’t surprised.

Worse still, the invitations were almost entirely for him alone. Or him and Frederick. Very few included the duchess. Some of that could be chalked up to her mourning status. While she was now in half-mourning, her social calendar would continue to be very light. But he feared most of the silence was from plain and simple snobbery. She hadn’t shared her feelings on her treatment. But Christian could see it hurt her.

And with a fresh new stack of invitations—none with her name—sitting before him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else for the moment.

He stood, ignoring the rest of the paperwork waiting for his attention, and went to find the duchess. However, after nearly half an hour searching the house, he’d found nary a sign of her. When it finally occurred to him to check the nursery, it was to find that the young duke and his nurse were also missing. Christian stood, hands on his hips, debating if he should send servants out to search the grounds when he heard laughter from outside and went to the window to investigate.

The duchess sat beneath a tree in the garden below, what looked like a notebook or journal on her lap with a sewing basket beside her, legs tucked beneath her, while her son and his nurse played nearby. Each time the toddler would attempt to throw a ball toward his mother, she would look up and clap, laughing when the boy would chase after it. The scene was so heartrendingly domestic, Christian was damn near ready to cry.

He should leave them to it. Let her be without another one of his lectures on proper behavior for a duchess. But he wanted to be a part of that scene. He wanted to laugh and be carefree and not worry so much about his impending future. Or anyone else’s if he didn’t buckle down and do as his uncle had bid.

His uncle would be waiting to be apprised of his situation shortly. More to the point, if Christian didn’t supply the name of the woman to whom he had proposed, he’d likely be returning home to an arranged match. His uncle would not wait much longer. The family line must be secured, ties strengthened, power consolidated. In fact, Christian had no doubt Onkel Heinrich already had a wedding planned. All they needed was for him to choose a bride. If Christian didn’t choose soon, the choice would be made for him.

Another glance at the happy scene below sent a spike of longing through Christian that stole his breath for a moment. The duchess would not be his uncle’s choice. Even without the matter of her lineage, she was too free, too headstrong. Heinrich liked his women docile and ornamental. But Christian was not his uncle. And he admired the duchess’s strength. Her intelligence. Her survivor’s spirit. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. The more he thought that like could grow into something else.

But the last thing he wanted to do was get attached or, worse yet, have her grow attached only to have their marriage forbidden. Still, there was a possibility which was something he could not ignore no matter how much he wished to. Had she still been simply a merchant’s daughter, there would have been no possibility for a match between them. But her current status might provide a loophole. If they needed one. Which they didn’t. Because she had no interest in him romantically—sexually was another matter.

There was no denying the heat between them whenever they saw each other. But a good marriage took more than passion. And he wasn’t sure how he felt toward her. Or…wasn’t ready to admit it, in any case. Not that it mattered one way or the other because they barely spoke and did little but argue when they did.

Though…

Heaven help him, he’d rather argue with her than speak peacefully with anyone else.

He’d turned from the window and was heading out to the garden before he’d made the conscious decision to move.

It pained him when her laughter died as he approached. The duchess’s head whipped around, and she fumbled with her sewing basket, shoving her book or whatever she had been working on inside as she gathered her skirts to rise, but he held out a hand to tell her to remain seated.

“My lord,” she said. “Is there anything you need?”

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “May I join you?”

Her eyes widened with surprise, but the smile she bestowed upon him was welcoming enough. “Of course,” she said, moving her sewing basket to the other side of her to make room for him on the blanket.

They sat in silence for a moment, both only looking at each other through the corner of their eyes. She wasn’t usually this skittish around him. He nodded at James. “He already seems bigger than when I arrived,” he said, hoping to ease her nerves.

It seemed to work, as she immediately calmed. She smiled wistfully. “They do grow quickly. Too quickly.”

He nodded, though he certainly hadn’t been around enough children to know the difference.

“Have you given any thought to his education?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “He’s a bit young for that. Though once he’s old enough, I will engage a tutor.”

“What about schools?”

She frowned. “I would prefer to not send him away.”

“I know it can be difficult,” he said, “but most of his peers will go away to school.”

“I realize that but—”

“It’s not only a way for him to get the best education, but it’s a place where he can forge lifelong relationships with his peers. Relationships that will serve him all through his life. Despite how difficult it may feel, it really is in his best interest—”

“I’m his mother. I know what is in his best interest, my lord.”

“And I am his co-guardian, Your Grace. I know it was not your choice, and so far we have not agreed on much, but it is a task that I do not take lightly. I only want what is best for him.”

“And what if what you believe is best for him conflicts with my beliefs?”

Christian sighed, his eyes searching hers. He had not joined her with the intention of upsetting her or starting yet another argument. But it seemed to be inevitable whenever they were around each other for more than three minutes.

“Then,” he finally said, “I would hope that you would defer to my greater knowledge and experience in these matters. I’ve lived in the upper echelon of society my whole life. I was sent to school—”

“As was I,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Right along with all the daughters of the Beau Monde, though they were far too high in the instep to accept the likes of me, no matter how much my father’s wealth outstripped their own. And I hated every second of it. I was miserable, which does not make an atmosphere conducive to learning.”

“Your experience obviously colors your opinion—”

“As does yours.”

He bowed his head, acknowledging her point. And he had no wish to fight with her yet again. “It is not something we need to decide soon. I would just ask that you at least try to keep an open mind about it.”

She stared at him, her lips pursed. He could almost see the words inside her burning to get out. But she didn’t utter a sound. For which he should probably be grateful. Judging by her glare, he likely wouldn’t have enjoyed what she had to say. But he still wanted to know what was going on in that head of hers.

“I will think on it,” she finally said.

That was the best he could ask for under the circumstances, so he would take it gratefully.

“Did any other correspondence arrive?” she asked.

Christian glanced at her. She knew as well as he if anything had arrived for her it would have been delivered to her directly. But he answered her anyway.

“A few invitations to soirees and such arrived for Lord Feldhagen and me. Several cards were left for us as well.”

She nodded and looked off into the distance.

“Keep in mind, if you are waiting for calls, it is customary for you, as a duchess, especially as you are newly arrived in town, to call first and—”

“I am aware, Lord Rauchberg,” she said, her voice heavy with weary impatience. “When we arrived in town, I left my card at several acquaintances, and most returned the call within the week.” She sighed. “They left it until the last acceptable second, but they did, with the exception of two, call upon me.” An expression flitted across her face that he couldn’t decipher. She was upset, but whether she was angry or hurt, he could not be sure. Perhaps both.

“And how did those visits go?” he asked.

Her face tightened, but she answered him. “They were, for the most part, courteous. Painfully so.”

“Well, it is a start,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t seem to believe it. “Though not one stayed a second longer than absolutely necessary and not one left their card on their way out to invite a return visit.” She shrugged. “But they did at least return my initial courtesy. As uncomfortable as it was for everyone involved,” she added with a mutter.

She finally looked at him. “I do know the guidelines I must follow, even if it does not seem so at times,” she reminded him. Unnecessarily.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I do not mean to offer unneeded advice.”

He frowned, and her brows rose.

“But? You just can’t help yourself?”

He chuckled. “I wonder if you show that fiery wit to the hoity-toits from whom you so desire acceptance?”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her forehead creasing.

“Only that there seems to be two versions of you. The one I see when we are alone. When you have no one you wish to impress.”

She raised a brow higher, her lips pulling into a slight smile that he echoed. She had certainly made no secret of the fact that she didn’t feel the need or desire to impress him.

“And then there is the persona you put on when you are in public. When you’ll seem to do and say whatever you must to get people who do not care about you to like you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I would say that is true of most people.”

“Perhaps. But it seems exhausting. You cannot keep it up forever.”

“I will do what I must, for as long as I must,” she said. “As you obviously do.”

He looked at her in surprise. “What is your meaning?”

She tilted her head, scrutinizing him in a way that made him want to squirm. “Sometimes I see glimpses of someone different beneath your surface. Someone who cares about more than following rules and doing what is expected of you. Someone who has dreams and passions of his own. But it’s so fleeting that I’m not sure if there even is a real you.”

He didn’t answer her for a few moments, shaken at her blunt assessment of him. “Perhaps it just takes time to get to know the real me.”

She nodded slowly. “Perhaps. If that is the case, then I suppose I will not ever get to know you. If I am only just scratching the surface now, after several months, I likely won’t get much further in the weeks you have left here.”

She gave him a small, somewhat sad smile and gathered up her sewing basket, holding it carefully against her.

“You do not have to leave,” Christian said, standing. “If you no longer desire my company, I will return to the house and let you enjoy the sun while it remains.”

She gently snorted but accepted his hand when he offered it to help her stand. “Not everything pertains to you, my lord.”

His lips twitched, and he bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning. “So you are not running inside to escape my presence.”

“No. Well, not entirely,” she said with another grin. “I have other matters I must attend to. Escaping your presence is merely a happy bonus.”

He chuckled, and she waved to the nurse, who took James’s hand to lead him back inside.

“And what matters are occupying you this morning?”

She sighed. “If you must know, I have some correspondence to write regarding my plans for the foundling hospital. One of my agents has found an appropriate property, and I would like to make some inquiries.”

“I would be happy to help—”

She held up her hand. “I will seek you out if needed. But it is just a few simple letters. I think I can manage for now.”

“If you insist. Though it looks as though you’ve written a few letters already today,” he said with a smile. He rubbed at a spot on her hand, frowning slightly when it smudged. Was that charcoal, or graphite perhaps?

“Oh! Yes.” She pulled her hand from his and rubbed it against her skirts a few times. “I get a little over exuberant, I suppose.”

He nodded, though his mind churned as he watched her. She seemed…anxious. More so than she had been a moment ago. More so than she usually was, in fact. What was she hiding?

“Oh, my shawl…” she said, glancing around.

“Allow me.” He bent and retrieved it from where she had been sitting, draping it about her shoulders for her. She leaned toward him slightly. A movement so slight he might have missed it if his entire being wasn’t focused on her every breath.

And then his gaze dropped to her lips and his own parted ever so slightly, his teeth scraping across his bottom lip.

Her breath caught in her throat with a tiny gasp that sent a wave of desire through him like a punch to his gut. He tugged slightly on the shawl, drawing her closer. Waiting for her to protest. Pull away. But she didn’t.

She glanced up at him through her lashes and took a deep breath, the movement causing her chest to brush against his, and it took everything in him not to crush her to him.

“Mama!”

Little James’s voice rang out, and they both startled. She nearly jumped away from him, turning toward her son as he toddled toward her.

He couldn’t believe he had so completely forgotten where they were and who might see them. They were in her garden, but servants saw all. And liked to gossip. Though he hoped they had enough loyalty to keep any tales about their mistress to themselves.

“I shall leave you to your letters,” he said with a slight bow.

Then he turned on his heel and put as much distance between the two of them as he could.

Before his control broke altogether and he acted on the inferno building inside him, no matter who was watching.