Chapter 21

Harriet soon learned that subtly avoiding her husband was not at all as easy as she had expected it to be. She knew that she could not keep skipping meals or taking them in her room - so she had come to accept that she would have breakfast and dinner in his company.

For the rest of it, she decided, she would simply make sure to stay as busy as possible: which was how she found herself slowly learning how exactly one ran a household.

So feeling as though she had no other way, Harriet threw herself into learning the intricacies of running a ducal household. The first thing she decided to do was to shadow the housekeeper, Mrs. Ainsley.

"Your Grace," Mrs. Ainsley said in surprise when she made her way to the kitchen the next morning. "How can I help you?"

Harriet looked at the older woman earnestly, trying to hide how out of sorts she felt. "I... Well, His Grace and Abigail both told me that you are the one running the household and that... well, I suppose I ought to learn how to do that," she managed to ramble out and Mrs. Ainsley nodded, a proud grin appearing on her face.

"Indeed, Your Grace," she agreed with a gentle smile. "The most important thing to start doing is manage the servants - we have quite a few of them, but His Grace didn't want too many. All in all, we have eleven people working in the manor. Treat them with care, but be stern: remember, you are the one in charge here."

There was a lot to learn, Harriet found quickly - though her favorite of the tasks was, without doubt, the choice of menu each week.

This was something, she learned, that was done every Sunday morning - and on her first day to join the cooks, Harriet was out of bed early, eager to share ideas.

They had barely started reviewing the menu when a familiar, deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "Good morning, Harriet."

The voice startled her and she jumped, nearly upending the inkwell on the table. Hugh stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.

"I dinnae mean to startle ye," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. Harriet could feel the heat creeping up her neck.

"Not at all," she muttered and fixed her eyes on the table. "I was just finishing up here."

She gathered the papers, careful not to meet his eyes. "Was there something you needed?"

Hugh cleared his throat. "I thought... it is Sunday and I daenae have a lot of work to do. I thought perhaps we could take a turn in the gardens together. It is, after all, a lovely day."

Panic fluttered in Harriet's chest at this. Spending time alone with Hugh was the last thing she wanted - she couldn't risk it. "Oh," she said, keeping her tone light. "I am afraid I can't. I... promised Abigail I would help her with embroidery this morning."

She mentally reminded herself to ensure that Abigail heard of this. Hugh's brow furrowed slightly.

"I see. Another time then."

Harriet nodded, and relief washed over her as she turned to leave. She hated the deception - in truth, her entire being yearned to take this walk with him. But she couldn't. She couldn't risk losing her heart to him.

And so, she made her way to Abigail's bedchamber hurriedly. Of course, she reckoned, it was vital that Hugh believe her story about helping Abigail with embroidery - which was how she found herself sitting next to her sister-in-law, doing exactly that for the rest of the day.

Being a duchess, Harriet found soon, was far busier than she had imagined: especially one that had far fewer servants than most. This, Harriet had found out, was a choice made by the old duke, and both Hugh and Abigail had been taught to be far more hands on than Harriet ever was.

That was why Harriet found herself measuring out dried herbs for sachets. The housekeeper had taught her how a well-placed sachet could not only keep linens fresh, but also discourage pests - and in another desperate move to avoid her husband, Harriet had quickly decided that this was a task she would take upon herself. It helped, of course, that she found the work quite soothing: finding her frayed nerves calmed by the earthy scent of lavender and rosemary.

"There you are."

A sachet dropped to the ground, her peace shattered by the sound of Hugh's voice, and Harriet blushed furiously as she glanced at him where he leaned against the doorframe, a half-smile playing about his lips. "I feel like I have hardly seen ye since our marriage," he teased.

Harriet shook as she filled the next sachet with herbs, nearly scattering more of it across the floor. "I... I've been busy," she muttered, her words sounding strained. "There is a lot to learn about running a household."

Hugh hesitated at this. "I am sorry," he said carefully. "Perhaps I ought to have warned ye about the way me household is run. It is a bit more hands-on here than most manors, but I hear ye've not only learned that - according to Mrs. Ainsley, ye have taken to running the household quite splendidly. She sings yer praises."

Harriet smiled rather proudly at this, though she averted her eyes in an attempt to hide this from her husband. In truth, it was harder work than she was used to. But she quite liked it.

"I'm just trying to do my part," she said at last, her voice soft. At this, Hugh took a step into the room and Harriet fixed her gaze on the table.

"I admire yer dedication," Hugh said softly. "But I do hope ye know ye can always depend on me as well. I daenae ken all about runnin" a household, but... we are a team, ye and I. I hope that... that ye will talk to me if ye need help or anythin"."

Harriet looked up quickly, her face flushing when her eyes met his. The idea of going to him for help sent a shiver down her spine. She could not deny that the idea of being vulnerable in front of him was a terrifying one indeed.

"I... thank you," she said at last. "I do appreciate it. But if you'll excuse me, I really must see to the linens."

Armed with the sachets of herbs in her hands, she tried to brush past him - though he caught her wrist and looked down at her earnestly.

"I know the manor is fairly large, lass," he whispered. "But ye cannae keep running from me. Sooner or later, we will have to face one another."

The words sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that he meant it rather innocently, but still... the thought of having to face him was one that she was not quite up to.

"I don't know what you mean," she said firmly. "I am certainly not running from anyone - I am just... busy."

She heard his murmured laugh but ignored it - fleeing before he could see the growing truth in her eyes. This dance of avoidance, she realized, was becoming increasingly difficult. Still - she knew she had no choice but to persevere. Her heart depended on it.

"You're still avoiding my brother," Abigail asserted early the next morning, bursting into Harriet's bedchamber without bothering to knock. Harriet, still slow to wake, stifled a yawn as she looked at her sister.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Abigail folded her arms and looked at Harriet with narrowed eyes. "I feel as though I see you more than he does," she said with a pout. "I don't understand."

Harriet sighed and moved to pat Abigail's shoulder. "Oh, darling," she said with a sigh. "We are both merely busy."

She knew full well that the excuse was already wearing thin. In fact, she had heard some of the servants express concern about her eager willingness to do some of the housework herself: they feared that they'd be seen as redundant now that there was a duchess who preferred to keep things on. Little did they know, Harriet mused silently, that it was born out of necessity.

Still, she was rather certain that she was growing more confident in her role as duchess. She found satisfaction in making tidy to-do lists in the mornings, taking inventory of the kitchens and still rooms, and reviewing household accounts with a careful eye. The servants now looked to her for guidance and approval, and she felt a swell of pride each time Mrs. Ainsley gave her a nod of respect.

With Hugh, however, the awkward dance continued. He would seek her out, trying to engage her in conversation or suggest they spend time together. Each time, Harriet would fumble for an excuse, citing some pressing household matter or invented prior engagement.

She looked at Abigail guiltily. "I'll try harder," she promised. Abigail looked satisfied - at least for the moment - and she left Harriet's bedchamber with a grin. It soon became apparent exactly why Abigail had been so easy to placate: during the course of the morning, Harriet found herself woefully unable to keep busy with anything around the house. Wherever she was, a servant was already nearly done with the task.

As such, Harriet soon found herself in the library, ostensibly reviewing the wine ledgers but really losing herself in a novel she"d found tucked behind a dusty Chaucer tome. She was so engrossed in the sweet embrace of the heroine and her design lover that she didn"t hear Hugh enter.

"Harriet?" His voice startled her so badly that she dropped the book, watching in horrified dismay as it thumped open on the Persian carpet.

"Your Grace... I mean... Hugh," she gasped, snatching up the book and shoving it behind her back. "I didn't realize anyone was here."

Hugh's eyes gleamed with mirth. "Neither did I," he admitted. "Though I am glad to have found ye. I thought perhaps we could..."

He frowned suddenly and reached for the book behind her back. "An interesting read," he said with a grin, and Harriet blushed. "The Duke's Daughter."

"It's not what it looks like," Harriet explained quickly, looking anywhere but at him. "I was just... researching."

A bark of laughter escaped Hugh's throat. "Researchin" the finer points of soulful promenades and stolen kisses?" he teased.

Harriet shook her head with a laugh. "I did find it in your library," she teased back impulsively, and Hugh laughed.

"I admit," he said slowly, "that I may have skimmed a chapter or two in me misspent youth."

Harriet laughed softly. "Well," she admitted, "Now you know. I... have a certain weakness for romance novels."

Hugh took a step closer to her, his eyes searching hers intimately. "There is absolutely nothin' wrong with a little romance, lass," he said, his voice deep.

For a moment, Harriet forgot to breathe. The look in his eyes, the timbre of his voice...it sent an unfamiliar warmth pooling low in her belly. She moistened her suddenly dry lips, pulse hammering as Hugh"s gaze followed the motion.

Then, as if a spell had broken, she came back to herself with a jolt. She couldn't let herself be swept away by his dangerous allure. Clutching the book to her chest, she edged around Hugh"s imposing form.

"Yes, well, we all have our little secrets, don't we?" she quipped, her voice only slightly breathless. "If you'll pardon me, I have some correspondence to attend to."

She fled the library, Hugh"s low chuckle chasing her down the corridor. In the safety of her bedchamber, she leaned against the door, the novel clutched to her racing heart. This wicked ache, this warm happiness his presence evoked in her...it was becoming harder and harder to resist.

But resist she must, Harriet reminded herself sternly. No matter how tempting Hugh might be, no matter how her traitorous body yearned for his touch...she could not allow herself to succumb. She had vowed to be his wife in name only, to guard her vulnerable heart against love"s devastating blows.

Even if it meant denying her own desires, even if it left her aching and hollow and so very, very alone...she would keep her promise. For her own sake and for Hugh"s. They had struck a bargain, and she was determined to uphold her end, no matter the cost to her own fragile heart.

With renewed resolve, Harriet tucked away her tattered copy of the silly novel and turned her attention to the household accounts. Losing herself in columns of numbers and carefully balanced ledgers, she could almost forget the gentle softness of Hugh's gaze, the deep timbre of his voice as he teased her.

Almost... but not quite. Even as she threw herself into her duties with determined focus, Harriet couldn"t quite escape the nagging sense that she was fighting a losing battle. That no matter how hard she tried to keep Hugh at arm"s length, he was slowly but surely chipping away at the walls she"d erected around her heart.

It was only a matter of time, she feared, before those walls came tumbling down altogether... leaving her defenseless against the devastating power of love. And when that day came, heaven help her, for she would be utterly lost.

But until then, she would continue this delicate dance of avoidance and denial. She would play the role of devoted duchess and distant wife, all the while ignoring the simmering heat that threatened to consume her every time Hugh's sapphire eyes met hers across a crowded room.

It was a precarious balancing act, one that grew more difficult with each passing day. But Harriet was nothing if not stubborn. She would maintain this charade for as long as it took... even if it meant denying the very essence of her passionate nature.

For in the end, guarding her vulnerable heart was the only way she knew to survive the perilous waters of her marriage. And survive she must... no matter how tempting it might be to surrender to the tidal pull of Hugh's allure.