Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he silence in the carriage was deafening as Louisa and Percival rode to what would be her new home, the air thick with emotions that neither was willing to express. Louisa had never imagined that this was how the marriage she had agreed to would look like, so it was a startling reality check for her.

She had expected at least minimal conversation to distract her from the nervousness that the idea of starting a new life was stirring inside her, but Percival did not seem to share her anxiety about the change in status.

But then she guessed not much was going to change in his life, after all. He was a duke, and while she was his wife now, they were simply returning to his home. With their marriage of convenience, he’d spend the rest of his life with little to no changes to his freedom and lifestyle.

That was why he could afford to be so relaxed, slouching slightly in his seat opposite hers, his hat pulled low to cover his face, so she could not tell if he was asleep or merely resting his eyes. In contrast, she was now married to a duke who was ignoring her, and she was moving into a house where she knew no one.

In fact, the Duke was the only familiar person who escorted her into her new home, but he was ignoring her, and she could not understand why.

When she walked down the aisle towards him earlier, the flicker of admiration in his eyes immediately chased her nervousness away, replacing it with a heightened sense of awareness of his body.

Even though she knew that their marriage was one of convenience, a part of her had held on to the hope that she might have a splendid wedding night. The type that the maids giggled about in the dark corners of the manor.

The moment when he kissed her was nothing short of heavenly, for that heightened awareness tipped into desire as he virtually ravished her mouth. When he finally released her, it was all she could do not to pull him back and beg him to continue, but the look of regret on his face stopped her cold.

He had acted like it was the worst sin to kiss her, and she was left to wonder if she was so unattractive that he regretted kissing her. Had he realized at the altar that he could not deal with her scars?

Despite how ill-received her scars had been by Society, she had never truly felt inferior. Thanks to her family—her mother, mostly—she had a healthy self-esteem. A trait that had allowed her to continue navigating the treacherous waters of polite society. She had ignored looks of disgust and pity. She had ignored the gossips and their less-than-true stories.

But in the face of Percival’s rejection, her armor shattered, leaving her vulnerable to pain and injury—and she experienced the worst part of it after the kiss.

Was she so hideous that the mere act of kissing her disgusted him?

Granted, she had mistakenly initiated the kiss, but he had been a willing participant and an eager one at that.

When the priest announced that Percival could kiss her, she was flooded with anticipation and trepidation. She had watched as he struggled with his conscience. A part of her felt irritated that kissing her was such an uphill task for him. Percival might be a lot of things, but he definitely was not ignorant about what happened in the bedroom. Why, then, did he find it so difficult to kiss his bride?

She had given up hope of him performing that task when she felt his fingers on her face, tracing her jaw, his eyes blazing with resolve. He lowered his head, intent on placing a kiss on her cheek.

Louisa could not explain why she had turned her head at the last moment, forcing him to kiss her lips. It might be the part of her that had always been lonely, the part of her that wanted to know what a kiss—her husband’s kiss—felt like, and she was not disappointed.

His kiss was just like his personality—intense and overwhelming. In a few seconds, she had forgotten her surroundings and the fact that their family and friends were seated in the pews behind them.

When he had released her, she had been dazed, holding on to him for the few moments it took her to remember her own name, who she was, and the identities of the people who occupied the church.

Now that she thought about it, perhaps it was the wanton way she had responded to his kiss that had disgusted him. He had married her because he thought she was a proper lady of the ton, and she was quite sure that no true lady of the ton would be caught sharing such a passionate kiss with her husband in a church of all places!

But it was his fault!

It was his fault for eliciting such a reaction from her. She had never wanted a big wedding, so there was no obligation for her to play a part in one.

Ironically, even though she felt hurt by his reaction after their kiss, she could not regret kissing him. It was a memory that would keep her warm in the years to come when Percival left her to pursue his own life.

It was the life she had signed up for, so she did not understand the cold feeling of disappointment that settled in the pit of her stomach.

The feel of the carriage slowing down pulled her out of her reverie, and with a sigh, she moved the curtains aside to see that they had arrived at Colborne House.

She stared for a long time at the building that was to be her new home for the unforeseen future.

The manor might be dilapidated at the moment, but she imagined it was once a sight to behold in its glory days. Its majestic pillars still stood proudly, holding the slowly collapsing building up. The roof had caved in in some places, and some of the high windows were broken where the louvers should have been.

The overgrown trees that once surrounded the building had been cut down, and someone had taken time to clean up the grounds around the manor so it was a little bit more inviting than the last time she had come here.

That fact at least gave her hope that the household might be welcoming to their new Duchess and more likely to work with her on restoring the manor to its former glory.

She guessed she would need to work a lot to take her mind off the loneliness that was sure to come with her marriage. Rebuilding the manor seemed as good a cause as any to channel her energy.

Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that a tiny part of her heart wondered if it could make the Duke despise her less—maybe even fall in love with her.

The events of that afternoon were enough to tell her that it was a pipe dream, unlikely to become reality, but it was difficult to convince her romantic heart to accept the fact.

“It seems we have arrived, wife,” he said blandly when their eyes met.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” she replied just as coldly.

If he noted the chilly tone of her voice, he did not comment on it. He stepped out of the carriage and extended a hand to help her down. His fingers lingered on her gloved ones for a fraction of a moment, sending familiar heat down her spine.

His hands were bare—his one protest against the norms. His fingers were broader than hers, his palms callused, the skin peppered with hair.

The loud sound of the driver clearing his throat snapped Louisa back to reality, only to realize that she had spent the better part of a minute staring at her husband’s hands like a love-struck fool. She felt her cheeks bloom with colour as she averted her gaze.

She marched towards the entrance of the manor, determined to put some distance between her and her annoyingly attractive husband.

Who on earth gets transfixed by and obsessed with a man’s hands? The answer, it seemed, was that she was the only one guilty of that novel brand of madness.

They got married only a few hours ago and she was already making a fool of herself. She hoped it was not a prediction of what their future would look like.

When she stopped in front of the giant iron doors, she found them quite jammed. Reluctant to request help from her husband, she put all her weight against them and pushed. Thus she was unprepared when it opened suddenly, and she realized with panic that she was falling forward.

She braced herself for the inevitable impact with the floor… before she felt masculine hands around her waist pulling her back till her back was pressed against a deliciously firm chest.

“Careful, Duchess,” Percy whispered in her ear, sending goose bumps down the side of her neck. “We do not want you to acquire an injury so early on in our marriage.”

Louisa immediately pulled herself out of his embrace, swallowing repeatedly and running her suddenly damp hands over the skirt of her dress as she tried to collect herself.

It was concerning how easily this man could destroy her carefully conserved composure. Just one touch or the sound of his voice made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Who is he, and what exactly has he done to me?

“Your Graces,” a voice greeted, causing Louisa to turn around.

It was the butler. Louisa recognized him from her previous adventure in the manor.

“I was not expecting you to return this early, Your Grace,” the butler then addressed Percival.

“You need not hurry on our account, Tobias. I trust that you and the other servants will be done with whatever cleaning services you hope to render. You have prepared my wife’s chamber, yes?” Percival asked with a raised eyebrow.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” Tobias winced. “It is almost ready, Your Grace. We are having some trouble replacing most of the items in the room.”

“Alright.” Percival said, stepping past the butler to push the heavy doors wider and nudging his wife inside. “I am taking the Duchess on a tour of the grounds. I will also show her some of the other rooms at the other wings of the estate. Will it be ready then?”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Tobias replied, before retreating briskly and disappearing around some dark corner.

The interior of the manor was even creepier and darker than Louisa remembered. The staircase that she guessed led to one of the dilapidated wings of the manor was collapsing, the railing so heavily rusted that it was barely hanging onto its hinges.

“I would not recommend venturing in that direction. That is the oldest wing of the manor and the most damaged. Please, do not go there for any reason—any reason at all,” Percival warned sternly. “Come, I will show you to the other parts of the manor.”

He led her towards the west wing of the manor, where his study was located. She remembered it from the first day she had visited although she hadn’t had the time to take in the only well preserved room she had noted so far.

It smelled like ink and paper and the floor to ceiling shelves contained books that must have been favourites of his. Her hand itched to peruse them to see what sort of things interested him.

“I am quite sure you remember this room. It is my study. It also serves as a sanctuary of sorts. I prefer to spend my quiet time here. And I do not like to be disturbed when I am here.”

She understood the unspoken message clearly, even though the words felt like a slap across the face. If she needed confirmation of the Duke’s resolve to lead separate lives, this was as good a proof as any.

Closing the door behind them, led her to another room close to the study. She knew it was his bedroom as soon as she stepped inside. It was sparsely furnished and minimalistic, just like the man himself. The main furniture was a mahogany king-sized bed and a small couch. And the only other spot of colour in the room was emerald-green curtains hanging over the windows.

Its sparseness should have dampened her curiosity, but instead, she wondered why he had not bothered to decorate. Why he was not sleeping in the master chambers. Why there was no sign of his favourite colour in his room. It was as if he had taken over the room without changing anything, not caring much for adding his personal touch.

Her eyes flitted to the massive bed that dominated the room. It was big enough for both of them to sleep in it without their bodies touching.

Her mind took the filthy route as she imagined what it would feel like to be pressed against his chest in the middle of his bed while he took her lips in one of his drugging kisses.

“Louisa,” Percy called, pulling her out of her reverie.

She was startled to find that he was standing so close to her, glowering down at her, his eyes glinting with some wild emotion she could not place.

“Yes!” she answered, her cheeks burning with guilt.

The mischievous grin that curved her husband’s lips confirmed that he had guessed the direction her thoughts had taken.

Damn the man for being so perceptive while remaining an enigma.

“I should show you the other rooms,” he said, offering her his arm.

After a pause, she took his arm, and they walked out of his room and down the hall towards a slightly ajar door.

“This is your room,” he murmured, before pushing the door open wider.

How convenient. It is quite far from his bedroom.

There were two women in the room—a buxom older woman who had brown hair the colour of chocolate and a younger lady with hair a lighter shade of brown. They worked industriously, preparing the room for their mistress. They were so engrossed in their duties that Percival had to clear his throat rather loudly to draw their attention.

The identical looks of surprise on their faces might have been funny if Louisa had been in a happier mood. Now that their faces were turned towards her, it was easy to see that they were related because of their similar features.

“Good evening, Your Graces,” they greeted, dropping into hurried curtsies.

“Welcome to Colborne House, Your Grace,” the older woman said, moving closer to Louisa and smiling widely. “I only saw you briefly at the chapel. My name is Mrs. Owens. I am the housekeeper here, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that his home finally has a mistress.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Owens. I do look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise, Your Grace,” Mrs. Owens returned, her growing smile making her face glow. “My apologies for the state of your chamber. We will finish preparing it shortly.”

“I thank you for your dedication to my comfort.” Louisa said.

“This young girl here,” Mrs. Owens continued, beckoning for the younger woman to come closer. “She is my daughter. I do not know about any other talent she might possess, but she is great with hair and has a good eye for the latest fashions. Perhaps you might take her on as your lady’s maid?” she asked, an expectant look on her face. “Unless your own maid accompanied you.”

Louisa’s maid, Betsy, had elected to remain at Langham Manor, and while Louisa felt her absence, she understood the reason behind her decision. Betsy wanted to stay with her sweetheart, one of the footmen at Langham Manor. Louisa had been happy for her and had wanted her to enjoy that love even if she would have to do without the best lady’s maid she had since her childhood.

“Indeed,” she said after taking a good look at the red-cheeked girl, who avoided her gaze. The girl seemed painfully shy, but Louisa hoped she would succeed in coaxing her out of her shell. “I suppose she will do. What is your name, dear?”

“Anne, Your Grace,” the girl replied in a small voice, staring down at the ground, her face turning redder if it was even possible.

“Anne,” Louisa repeated gently, then paused until the girl looked up. “You will be my lady’s maid.”

She was unprepared for the giant smile that transformed Anne’s otherwise plain face.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I promise to do my utmost best not to disappoint you,” Anne said, smiling and bowing deeply.

“I hope we’ll work well together.” Louisa returned her smile.

“Come, my dear. There are more places to show you,” Percival spoke from beside her, taking her arm and leading her out the door.

Louisa realized that he had used the term of endearment when they weren’t alone and that the agreement they had made would be between them alone.

They explored other rooms in that hallway that were in different levels of disrepair. He finally showed her to the kitchen, where she met the cook. She was a buxom woman with red hair and a boisterous personality, whom everyone referred to simply as Cook. According to Percival, no one knew her real name, and she kept information about herself close to her chest. She had been living in Colborne House since before Percival’s birth and had stayed on even when the estate’s finances crumbled. She was more or less a family member, and Percival treated her as such.

Cook greeted them warmly before shooing them out of the kitchen, stating that it wasn’t a place for fine folk like them.

Percival cracked a smile in response—one of the few times Louisa had seen him smile. She was unsure whether to take such a statement as a compliment or an insult, but she decided to let the matter lie.

He led her towards the foyer, presumably to show her the grounds, but just before they got there, she spotted another staircase that led to a wing that seemed to be neglected but in good condition.

“Where does that staircase lead to?” Louisa asked, turning to him.

She watched as an invisible shutter fell over his features, shielding his thoughts from her shrewd eyes.

“It leads to the old master bedroom. It had not been occupied for years. You cannot go there.”

“Why? Is there a member of your family haunting that room as a ghost?” she teased.

Percival did not share in her amusement. Instead, he clenched his jaw, a vein throbbing in his temple. Her question seemed to have hit a raw nerve, but she could not understand why.

“Heed my warning, Duchess, if you intend to stay. I think we are done with the tour for now,” he muttered, before marching away, leaving her standing there, utterly confused.

Louisa stood in the middle of the foyer, confused at how her attempt at adding levity to their conversation had failed spectacularly.

She wondered what exactly she had said that elicited such a response from him, but she guessed that the reason he didn’t take the master bedroom was at the root of his anger.

Sighing heavily, she decided to return to her room. When she opened the door, she half expected to see Mrs. Owens and Anne still cleaning up. Instead, the room was spick and span, with nary a thing out of place.

They must have really worked hard and fast to prepare it in so little time.

She walked into the room, slowly taking in the décor as if she had not done so an hour ago. It was painted in different shades of purple and was dominated by a large bed in the middle, a matching couch, and a vanity complete with a mirror.

This room must have once belonged to a woman—maybe Percival’s aunt or his grandmother.

She attempted to unfasten her gown, but she promptly gave up when she remembered how many buttons ran down the back of her dress.

“Your Grace?”

Louisa turned towards the door to see Anne poking her head into the room and staring at her quizzically.

“What is it, Anne? You can come in,” she called.

“I came to ask if you need help disrobing,” Anne said, a high flush on her cheeks.

“You are right on time.” Louisa smiled kindly at her. “I was wondering how I would go about unfastening the numerous buttons on the back of my dress.”

Anne laughed softly and stepped into the room.

Louisa was grateful that she at least hadn’t intimidated the girl into losing her sense of humor.

“When you get married, insist on a much easier dress, Anne,” she joked.

“Mother says that they make wedding dresses this way so the husband learns patience.”

“Why? Can’t he learn it in some other way?”

“She says that a man wants nothing except food and flesh, and since using food can be cruel, there’s only one way to teach him a lesson.”

Louisa laughed and shook her head, wondering whether her husband would have been patient with her dress or ripped the entire thing off her.

Her wedding dress was beautiful, no doubt, but the modiste must have taken too much liberty with the buttons, for so many tiny buttons that ran along the back of the dress. Even with Anne’s help, it took several minutes to completely unfasten the infernal dress.

Louisa breathed deeply, rubbing at her middle once she was finally freed of the offending garment. She was tempted to retire to the bed that was newly dressed and looked oh so inviting, but Anne seemed to have other ideas.

“Perhaps you want a bath, Your Grace?” Anne asked, folding the dress neatly and hanging it in the wardrobe.

Louisa was about to refuse, but her body felt cramped from the long carriage ride and the tension that had settled inside her. The idea of relaxing in hot water seemed extremely appealing at that moment.

“I would love that,” she replied with a sigh, but then she remembered the shortage of staff in the manor. “How will you bring up the water, though? I would hate to make you and your mother haul water upstairs.”

“You do not have to worry about that, Your Grace. I will just ask the young men below stairs to help bring up the water,” Anne said with a reassuring smile.

“What men?” Louisa asked, confused.

“Gabriel and Lawrence. They are Mr. Tobias’s nephews. They come every day to help us women with tasks that require a lot of strength.”

“That’s kind of them,” Louisa remarked.

“They are very kind. Very handsome and kind,” Anne murmured, a shy smile tugging at her lips as her blush deepened.

Louisa might not know Anne very well, but she was willing to wager that her rosy-cheeked maid had a tendre for either one or both of the brothers.

“And one of them has managed to catch your fancy?” she inquired with a wide smile.

“Oh no, no,” Anne declared fervently. But when she saw Louisa’s smile, she relented. “Indeed, but my mother would never agree.”

“Why?”

“Lawrence is handsome, but he hasn’t finished his apprenticeship with the blacksmith. She doesn’t want me to become a blacksmith’s wife.”

Louisa nodded, understanding why Mrs. Owens would want her daughter to secure a match of higher status.

“Do not despair, Anne,” she urged. “Who knows? She could agree with time.”

“I doubt that,” Anne muttered with a pout. “But I intend to weary her with my pleas.”

Louisa couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped her lips. “I do not doubt it.”

“I should go now before it is too late,” Anne said, hurrying out the door. She was most likely looking forward to an opportunity to talk to her handsome blacksmith’s apprentice.

Grateful for the solitude, Louisa lay down on her new bed. True enough, it was warmer than she had imagined and so soft that she wondered how it had been preserved. Her mind went back to Anne, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

Her marriage might be disappointing, but she was sure of one thing—she was going to enjoy living here with Anne and all the other members of the household. She would make sure of it.

In no time, the young men came up, hauled a big bathtub into her room, and fashioned a bathing corner of some sort, before filling the tub with steaming hot water. All the while, Anne stood at the side of the room, admiring the one with dark hair and eyes—he must be Lawrence. It was so amusing that Louisa wondered how she managed not to laugh.

She did not blame Anne in the slightest. Her beau was handsome, and if she weren’t a nobleman’s daughter, she too might have been enthralled by them.

It seemed Lawrence was also enchanted by Anne, for his eyes kept following her even as she pretended to be busy. When their eyes met, they both flushed.

Louisa smiled at their display of affection and wondered if she would ever experience anything as sweet with Percival. It was hard to imagine him staring at her with anything other than that cold look in his eyes, but annoyingly, she didn’t mind it.

Probably, she had come to prefer his cold look over Lord Pemberton’s wincing and grimacing.

When the men were done filling the bathtub, they left, allowing her to shed her clothes and step into the steaming water. Anne had been an angel to suggest that she bathe, and she would definitely reward her for it. Perhaps she would give her a day off to sneak out to see a certain someone.

When she sank fully to the bottom of the bathtub, Louisa let out a long sigh of pleasure and relief, enjoying the feel of the almost too-hot water on her skin and the way it relaxed her muscles till she felt boneless, content to just float in the tub. There were very few pleasures she enjoyed, and a hot bath was one of them.

Anne returned later to help wash her hair and rinse out the soap suds on her skin with the extra bucket of water the young men had left beside the bathtub, before drying her body with a towel.

When Louisa stepped back into the room, she found that Anne had laid out not two but three dresses for her to choose from for dinner. It was obvious that Anne took her duties as lady’s maid very seriously, and Louisa was glad for it.

“Your Grace, I think any one of these dresses will be mighty fine for dinner. What do you think?” Anne asked, wringing her hands anxiously.

“I think they are great. Let’s go with the blue dress, shall we?” Louisa replied with a smile.

“Excellent choice, Your Grace!” Anne exclaimed, clapping her hands together and beaming with excitement. Then, she helped Louisa into her dress and arranged her hair in artful curls around her face, softening her features.

As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, Louisa concluded that Mrs. Owens was right about one thing—Anne really had a good eye for the latest fashions. She was a gem, and Louisa felt lucky to have her.

“Where did you learn to style hair, Anne?” she asked, touching her hair.

“Do you like it, Your Grace?” Anne asked shyly. “My mother was lady’s maid to His Grace’s mother, so she taught me.”

“You are magnificent, Anne,” Louisa praised. “Truly.”

Anne beamed with pride and then eyed her mistress’s face, biting her lip. “Perhaps I might apply some powder to hide the scar?” she asked tentatively.

Louisa recognized the tone—it was the tone that everyone she met used when making comments about her scar, as if they were afraid she would descend into hysteria because they had drawn attention to the tragedy that had caused the permanent mark.

“I don’t need to hide the scar,” she said, turning to flash the girl a reassuring smile. She was relieved to see the answering smile that lit up her face.

“All right, Your Grace,” Anne murmured, but she was still biting her lip.

“What is it, Anne?” Louisa prompted. “Is anything the matter?”

“I have a question, but I don’t think it’s proper to ask it.”

“I should be the judge of that, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t want you to get angry with me.”

“I will not be angry with you, I promise.”

Anne heaved a sigh and nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble, I wanted to know how you got the scar.”

Louisa hadn’t exactly been expecting that, and she knew had she been anyone else, Anne might have lost her job. But she didn’t feel she had anything to hide.

“I got it while trying to save my sister,” she answered.

Anne’s eyes went wide. “Weren’t you scared?” she asked softly.

Louisa paused, unsure how to answer that question. No one had thought to ask her anything, not even her family. It felt… cathartic to finally talk about it without someone pitying her.

“I was, but when my sister was in danger, I didn’t have time to think,” she answered with a nod. “I will do anything for my family.”

Anne’s eyes shone with admiration. “Your sister is lucky to have you, Your Grace.”

Tears formed at the corners of Louisa’s eyes, but she blinked them away and smiled at the maid, who suddenly looked worried.

“I think it’s time we went down for dinner,” she announced, changing the topic. She could feel the weight of Anne’s relief behind her. “I should hope that Cook has dinner ready by now.”

“You look absolutely magnificent, Your Grace,” Anne complimented. “His Grace will be unable to tear his eyes away from you tonight.”

That is assuming he joins me for dinner.

Sure enough, when Louisa stepped into the dining room, her husband was nowhere to be seen. Lowering herself into one of the seats, she set about eating dinner, nibbling slowly on her food. But it tasted like sawdust in her mouth while she waited for him to arrive. An hour passed, then another, and she had to tell herself the truth—Percival was definitely not coming down for dinner. It seemed that the dratted man would risk starvation just to avoid her.

Eventually, she rose from the table and fled to her room. Anne must have seen the look on her face, for she had quietly helped her out of her dress and helped her into her shift before swiftly leaving the room.

Louisa lay in bed for a long time, listening for any sounds that might indicate that her husband would come to her chambers, that he might help relieve some of the loneliness in her heart.

As her eyes fluttered shut, she wondered for the umpteenth time if she was so ugly that her own husband would avoid her so keenly.