Chapter 10

Chapter 10

William rubbed the back of his neck. A knot had formed at the base and was pulling at his head like someone had inserted strings into his brain and was tugging at them incessantly. Perhaps sitting at his desk for hours had caused the growing pain, or maybe it was the young woman he agreed to marry.

Although they had not spoken much over the last week, he didn't feel any better about their situation. Usually, distancing himself from whatever was causing him discomfort gave him room to breathe and think, but his mind was still caught in a convoluted grip of thoughts and emotions.

Charlotte had not behaved well and seemed too childish for him, yet he couldn't ignore the hurt he had heard under her angry words. She was upset, and in her mind, he had caused it. William was simply busy—there wasn't a crime against working hard to ensure their estate could be passed down to future generations with as much wealth as possible.

Not speaking until the tumultuous emotions had calmed down had been his father's and stepmother's method of keeping the peace, but it was having a cold effect in the house. The lack of communication had not removed the palpable tension between him and Charlotte. If anything, it had increased the strain and dropped the temperature in the house by several degrees.

Charlotte didn't appear as affected because he heard her laughing with her lady's maid the other day. William had been on his way from the drawing room and paused in the hallway just to listen to the melodious sound. It made him realize that the last time Charlotte had smiled at him was on their wedding day.

"Your Grace," said Karsten.

William slowly raised his head to find his valet at the door. "Yes, Karsten?"

"Dinner is served," his valet replied. "Shall I have the servants bring your meal here, or will you eat it in the dining room?"

William leaned forward on his desk, linking his hands on the leather pads in the center. They had been a bother at first, and he had wanted to change the desk because it made no sense. The pads were terrible to write on and took up space on the desk. In short, they had no function. However, he grew to like the feeling under his hands whenever he stretched his arms.

"I think I'll have it in here," he said.

A look crossed his valet's weathered face. William shifted uncomfortably. He had the distinct feeling Karsten didn't approve. His valet had hidden the look quickly, but it hadn't been fast enough.

"Do you oppose my wish to have dinner in the study?" William asked.

Karsten's eyebrows lifted a little. "No, Your Grace. Far be it from me to have an opinion on such a matter."

William's lips pursed. His valet was lying. "I know I'm spending much of my time in the study," he said. "It's just easier to have most of my meals here."

He was explaining his actions—he didn't like doing that. William had lived most of his life trying to help his father understand him, but that never worked. It simply worsened the issue. His valet lowered his eyes, effectively hiding whatever he thought about the situation.

"May I be excused, Your Grace?" Karsten asked. He looked up. "I need to instruct the servants to bring your meal here."

"Erm, well..." William began, but he didn't know what to say.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

William flexed his hands. His indecision felt like two thoughts were at war for dominance in his mind. His pride told him to send his valet on his way, but the other part's...well, it wanted to drown him in guilt. William's secret need for approval from everyone, even his servants, niggled at him like a worm eating through a soft apple.

No matter how far he came in life, he could never run away from seeking validation. Sometimes, he could ignore his urges and do what was best for him, but he was mentally and emotionally exhausted from his problem with his young wife.

Do you think I should have dinner in the dining room this evening?" William asked. He inwardly shook his head. He sounded weak. He needed to be more assertive. "I know you disapprove of me taking my meals in here. I can only assume you think it improper, or you're thinking about my wife."

Karsten lowered his head again. "Please, Your Grace," he began. "It is not my place. Forgive me if I somehow indicated otherwise."

It didn't look like William would get the truth out of his valet. He inwardly sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth. In all truth, it wasn't right to spend most of his meals without his wife. He owed it to the law of marriage to put more effort into the relationship.

"I will have dinner in the dining room this evening," he announced.

Karsten's head shot up. Hope and relief glimmered in his light blue eyes. "Very good, Your Grace," he said. "The table has been prepared and is ready for you. I am certain Her Grace will be pleased."

William lifted an eyebrow. "You know my wife so well?"

A deep crease appeared between his valet's brows. "‘Tis only a passing comment," he said. "I do not claim to know Her Grace."

Of course, he didn't. William was evidently too sensitive about the matter and cornering his poor valet. He needed to settle the spat between him and Charlotte before it escalated into something that would draw his stepmother or brother.

Catherine had chosen Charlotte because she believed the young woman was a good fit as his wife and duchess. She would be disappointed to learn his marriage appeared doomed from the start. Henry would simply taunt him with his failure to please his wife. William's half-brother took great pleasure in announcing his flaws.

"Go," said William, waving his valet away. "I shall be down in a moment."

Karsten bowed and walked backward two steps before he turned and left. Fled was probably the better word.

William slowly rose to his feet, pushing his hands against the desk. He had yet to see Charlotte that day. Or rather, he had seen her very briefly this morning when he left his room.

She had come out of her room at the same time he did, but she ran back inside the moment she saw him. William couldn't forget the look in her eyes. Disappointment, wariness, and anger had filled her striking blue eyes, letting him know that she had not released her resentment toward him.

"Well, what about how I feel?" he muttered as he gave himself a brief look-over in a small mirror beside the bookcase.

His brown hair was growing and now curled around his ears. He was no longer accustomed to having long hair. William had kept it closely cropped while in His Majesty's Service and mostly had forgotten about his physical appearance altogether. Now, his mind regularly dwelled on what his wife thought about him. It was ridiculous.

"Just go to dinner," he muttered.

His belly fluttered slightly with mild anxiety. He shouldn't be nervous to spend time with his own wife, but that gnawing, ripple feeling in the pit of his belly didn't lie. William had faced death multiple times while on the front lines; he had watched the light die from the eyes of injured men and seen the carnage left behind by a violent clash with the enemy. Now, the thought of spending time with his wife seemed to strike apprehension within him.

Expressing a little huff of irritation, William marched out of his study and downstairs. He entered the dining room moments later, pausing when he noticed Charlotte wasn't there. A quick look at his pocket watch told him ten minutes had passed since their usual dinner time. William was tempted to ask her whereabouts, but he was also late. It seemed wrong of him to inquire about her lack of punctuality when he had not honored the meal schedule.

"Soup, Your Grace?" a male servant asked.

"Yes, thank you, Mallery," William replied.

The servant ladled a light spring soup into his bowl and bowed away. William waited a minute or two before dipping his spoon into the aromatic consommé and bringing it to his mouth. His eyes occasionally darted to the doorway, although he didn't want to admit to himself that he was waiting for Charlotte.

The servants silently changed his soup bowl for the next course once he was done. The sound of cutlery tapping against plates and the shuffling of bodies were the only sounds in the room. William was accustomed to the quiet, but it was oppressive that evening.

Half an hour passed before his patience finally snapped. He put his knife and fork down and rested his arms on the armrests.

"Is something wrong with the fish, Your Grace?" Mallery asked. "Would you like something else?"

"No," William replied. "The fish is perfect. I was wondering if my wife would join me for dinner. A considerable amount of time has passed already. Have the servants perhaps forgotten to inform her of the meal?"

His words sounded silly the moment they left his mouth. His servants would never be remiss of their duties.

"I am confident Her Grace is aware of the meal," Mallery replied. "Shall I inquire if she means to join you?"

William didn't answer right away. He could seem desperate if he troubled Charlotte about dinner, but it was rude of her to not say a word about her plans for the evening.

"Yes, ask her," William decided.

Mallery bowed and left the room. He had a slight limp from a horse incident years ago, but it never interfered with his responsibilities. William had been a young boy when Mallery began working in the house, eventually becoming the butler's right-hand man. Mr. Simpson was training Mallery to take over his position once he retired, which was likely soon. The butler was a wizened old man who had seen three generations of Russells. At times, Simpson had been more of a father than the late duke, especially after Henry was born.

William slumped slightly as he picked at his meal while waiting for Mallery to return. Flaky, white flesh was piled on his plate by the time he was done, burying the asparagus and creamy parsley sauce. It was a mess.

"Your Grace," Mallery said moments later.

William immediately straightened in his chair. "Yes? Is she coming?"

"No, Your Grace," Mallery replied. "She has a headache."

A mixture of disappointment and relief intermingled within him. William understood the relief, but the disappointment was confusing.

"I see," he said. He looked down for a moment, trying to process his confusing feelings. He wasn't supposed to allow the servants to see his troubled thoughts. "Well, please take this plate away and serve the next course. I hope it's something plain."

"Her Grace ensures that your preferred meals are always available," Mallery told him. "The next course is braised beef, new potatoes, and carrots with a little butter and salt. There is the option of gravy and game pie if you require something heartier."

William's stomach clenched as a little bile rose in his throat. His appetite had vanished, but he didn't want the chefs' efforts to go to waste.

"Just a little of each," he said. "Not the gravy and pie."

Mallery nodded and busied himself with the order. However, he kept subtly looking at William with a little concern. William didn't even delve into the reasons—he was better off not knowing why his servant was worried about him. He undoubtedly had some ideas but wasn't going to think about it.

No sooner had Mallery stepped away and William cut into the braised beef, than Simpson appeared at the doorway.

"Your Grace, Lord Gregory Stiles has come to see you," the butler informed him.

William frowned. "Lord Gregory?"

His friend had not sent word about his wish to visit, but that was just like him. Gregory was likely the most spontaneous person William knew, which could sometimes be inconvenient. However, this evening wasn't one of those times. William needed a smiling face after such a troubling week.

"None other," said Gregory, appearing behind Simpson. "How are you, old chap?"

The butler jerked ever so slightly as he moved aside, evidently surprised by Gregory's sudden appearance. William probably should have warned Simpson that Gregory always tended to do as he wished, including not waiting to be ushered into a room.

William smiled. "It's just like you to appear without warning," he said, dismissing Simpson with a nod. "Hungry?"

"No, I had something earlier," Gregory replied, taking a seat. "I'm happy to watch you eat."

William shook his head and pushed his plate away. "I lost my appetite earlier but didn't want to waste my chefs' efforts. However, I cannot eat another bite. Shall we retire to the drawing room instead?"

"Do you have those cigars you gave me for my birthday several years ago?" Gregory asked. "That particular brand is rather hard to come by."

William rose to his feet. "As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "Come, I even have some whisky."

"The smuggled sort?"

William nodded. "My father didn't like any other kind," he replied. "I was tempted to dump the lot when I found them, but it would be a shame to waste such good whisky."

Gregory grinned. "I'm glad your sense of right and wrong did not overpower your common sense."

William rolled his eyes as they left the dining room, pausing briefly at a painting of his grandmother.

"She was stunning," said Gregory. "I might be tempted to marry if I found a woman like her. Speaking of women, where is your little wife? She was not at dinner with you. I was hoping to see her."

William's lips thinned. "She has a headache."

He abruptly turned away from the painting and gestured for his friend to follow him into the drawing room.

"Why do I sense trouble?" Gregory asked along the way.

"You sense incorrectly," William lied.

It was somewhat embarrassing to admit he was having problems with his wife, especially since they had only been married for a week.

Gregory didn't respond, so William assumed the topic was abandoned. He offered the cigar case to his friend, letting him light a pair while he poured the whisky.

"How was your wedding?" Gregory asked the moment William sat down.

William nearly groaned aloud. It wasn't a question about Charlotte, but it was bound to happen.

"It was fine," he replied. "Very intimate."

"How intimate? Just your families?"

William nodded.

"How many people?" Gregory asked.

"Five, not counting the waiting servants," he said. "The bride and groom would make it seven."

Gregory's eyebrows drew together. "You say that as though you were not the groom," he pointed out. "You seem detached from such an important day."

It had been a trying day, and William merely did his best to get through it, but detached was a rather strong word.

"I was there, so I could hardly be detached," said William.

"You sound detached," Gregory insisted.

"Well, I'm not, and I wasn't!" William snapped.

Gregory raised his eyebrows as he took a long draw from the cigar and released rings of smoke with all the finesse of a man who had been smoking since his years at boarding school. Of course, Gregory's parents were not aware of this at the time, and he had paid off the servants to hold their tongues.

"Why don't you tell me what is troubling you?" Gregory asked. "I came here to see how you're faring, hoping you were a happy husband and some of the shadows in your life had been chased away, but that isn't the case. Are there problems with the little wife?"

William's shoulders slumped. "Is it that obvious?"

"Quite." Gregory leaned forward, placing his cigar on a little stand. "So, tell me your troubles. Is your wife unsightly? Does she not like the way you look? Is she spoiled? Rude? Selfish?"

"Beautiful and childish," William replied. "She's nineteen. Almost a child."

Gregory smiled. "Nineteen to your thirty," he said. "That isn't so strange. Many have married with a larger age gap. Also, at nineteen, she will have had at least two Seasons, so not a child at all."

"I said almost," William replied. "She also looks younger than her age. I do not know how I would feel being seen with her."

"Do you mean to tell me that you have not been seen with your wife since you were married?" Gregory asked.

William shifted in his seat. "You sound rather accusatory."

"That is your guilt speaking because it's merely a question," Gregory retorted. "How did you reach this point within just a week of marriage? Why did you agree to the marriage if the girl wasn't right for you?"

"She was my stepmother's choice, and I trusted she would choose the best," said William. "I think we just need more time to grow accustomed to each other."

"This is supposed to be the happy time of the wedding," said Gregory. "The honeymoon phase. Perhaps yours will start terribly and improve with time. The trick is finding and solving the problem, so you said something about her being childish? What do you mean by that? And I certainly hope you didn't say that to her."

"Of course not," William replied. "She would probably scold me for that until my ears turned red. She's awfully snippy."

Gregory stared at him before he burst into laughter. William's lips pursed, not at all pleased with his friend's inappropriate reaction.

"Not everything is a joke," he said.

"Yes, yes, but you have one of them," said Gregory when he could get the words out.

"One of what?" asked William.

"The passionate sort."

"Passionate?"

Gregory nodded. "They're beautiful women who say what they're thinking and love to get their way. You should humor her instead of thinking she's childish. You're probably working too much, and she is bored."

William's gaze shifted. He had been working too much—he could admit to that. However, Charlotte was responsible for her feelings and time.

"Have you spent any time with her?" Gregory asked. "Time beyond sharing a meal. Have you sat down and talked about each other? Have you bothered to know her likes and dislikes?"

"Not quite," William admitted, keeping his gaze averted. "I've been busy."

That excuse sounded weak, even to him. Perhaps he could have set aside a little time to get to know his wife, but she also made it difficult. Charlotte wasn't innocent in the matter.

"Then set time aside for her," said Gregory. "Go on a little trip somewhere picturesque and romantic. Put more effort into getting to know each other."

William raised his eyebrows. "Spending hours alone with someone who I'm convinced does not like me?"

"The point of the trip is to reach a common ground," Gregory pointed out.

William shook his head. That might not be possible, especially after her outburst some nights ago. Charlotte didn't even want to look at him—that morning had been enough evidence. No, a trip alone might result in only one person returning home. Perhaps he could ease his way into better-speaking terms with his wife. That way, he could retreat into his study the moment he saw smoke coming out of her mouth.