Chapter 14

CHAPTER14

Nancy glared at the balustrade of the upper floor, hoping her anger would chase Adam to wherever he thought he could hide. She had not come all that way just to be abandoned in the first five minutes of arriving, and certainly not without some manner of discussion.

Does he think he can just… keep me here like a possession, now that I have walked willingly into his domain? An object to be remembered every so often.

She balled her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms to help fight back the hot tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. For though she was furious, she was also hurt, and she could not allow him, or anyone, to see that.

“Did His Grace say that you were… his wife?” the older lady asked, approaching with caution.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nancy replied, no longer concerned with minding her manners. “We were married just yesterday, though it appears that no one has been invited to share in the happy news.”

Mrs. Holloway nodded slowly. “Well, I can’t say I’m not so shocked I feel I might faint, but it wouldn’t do to have the both of us fainting in this entrance hall, now, would it?” She smiled. “You look pale, dearie. Would you like to sit down? I can have a tea tray and something sweet fetched from the kitchens. Anything you prefer—if we don’t have it, we’ll either make it or send someone to buy it.”

“Tea, please,” Nancy said quietly, her body shaking.

“Of course. If you’ll follow me, dearie.”

It went against every facet of a housekeeper’s duty to refer to a duchess by such a sweet nickname, but Nancy was glad to hear that morsel of kindness. For a moment, it made her feel less alone.

The housekeeper led her down a narrow passageway that branched off from the enormous entrance hall, then guided her up a winding stairwell with a creaky iron railing, until they emerged from a curved doorway. Beyond lay a long hallway, the sunset pooling in through the most exquisite stained-glass windows. Rainbows danced across the wooden floors, while patron saints, gentle creatures, and kindly-faced women smiled down upon Nancy.

“This way,” the housekeeper urged, taking hold of her hand.

A few moments later, they arrived outside another of the small, curved doorways, the kind that made Nancy think of medieval castles and ancient banquets, studded with black iron.

“You are not going to imprison me, are you?” she croaked, her eyes wide with fear.

The housekeeper stared at her as if she was quite mad. “Imprison you? Whyever would I do such a thing as that?” She picked a key from the chatelaine that hung from her waist belt and removed it from the chain. Slotting it into the lock, she pushed the door wide open, revealing a quaint little study that possessed an unbroken view of the endless gardens and the equally endless fields beyond. “I thought you would prefer somewhere smaller for your tea tray, dearie,” she explained, handing her the key.

“But… why?” Nancy swallowed. “You do not know me.”

“No, but I know a frightened young lady when I see one,” Mrs. Holloway replied, “and I know that His Grace isn’t always the easiest of fellows to contend with. So, you rest yourself here for as long as you please, and when you’ve had your tea and refreshments and serenity, we can think about showing you the rest of the house.”

She turned to leave, causing a jolt of panic to rush through Nancy.

“You are not going to stay with me?” Nancy asked, hearing the desperation in her voice.

Mrs. Holloway raised an eyebrow. “No, dearie, or there’ll be no one to fetch your refreshments. And as His Grace didn’t think to inform us of your arrival, there isn’t a suitable chamber prepared for you. I’ll see to that while you soothe your nerves here.”

“Will I have my own chambers?”

Nancy sat down on a velvet chaise-longue, the color of claret. But rather than relax, she perched on the edge of it as if she would not be staying long.

Mrs. Holloway nodded sympathetically. “Of course, dearie. A lady should always have her own chambers, for there are things that no woman needs to know about her husband, and there are things that no man needs to know about his wife.” She chuckled—a warm, comforting sound. “For example, even the prettiest ladies and the most handsome of men break wind in private.”

Nancy’s cheeks flushed with heat, her throat constricting as she struggled to decide whether to splutter or burst out laughing. Either way, the jest was precisely what she had needed to hear, dragging her out of the pit of terror and despair and anger that had gripped her.

“I shall do my best to be comfortable,” Nancy said. “And thank you for being so considerate. If I had to drink tea alone in a drawing room the size of the Royal Court’s ballroom, I really might have fainted from the stress of it all.”

Mrs. Holloway smiled. “I shan’t be long. There are plenty of books there if you’re an avid reader. If not, there’s the view. If that still doesn’t please you, there’s paper and ink, should you wish to write to your loved ones. We have a rider come to collect letters twice a day—at seven o’clock in the morning and four o’clock in the afternoon.” She gestured to a small writing desk. “You just let me know what you’d like, dearie, and I’ll see it done.”

“Thank you,” Nancy rasped, overcome with gratitude. Writing a letter to her sister would surely lift her spirits.

Mrs. Holloway bowed her head. “Not at all, dearie. It’s my pleasure.”

Turning, she left the study and closed the door behind her, and though Nancy listened for the sound of a key turning in the lock—a trick to trap her—she heard nothing but retreating footsteps.

Nevertheless, Nancy went to check that the door really was unlocked, turning the handle and sticking her head out into the hallway, glancing up and down. The housekeeper had vanished, and the manor, in all its vastness, felt much too quiet.

Ducking back into the study, Nancy crossed to the writing desk and sat down, comforted by the familiar practice of cutting a piece of paper to size and trimming a feather into a quill with a pocketknife so it would write smoothly. That done, she paused and gazed out at the immaculate gardens, her eyes following every pathway and hedge and trail until her head began to spin. Beautiful as they were, the gardens were rather too much like a maze.

* * *

“I expect the Dowager Duchess will want to meet you, once she hears of your presence. Indeed, your existence,” Mrs. Holloway said with a wry laugh as she bustled around the study, collecting the empty plates of tarts and dainty cakes that Nancy had demolished. “Though, of course, it’s not my place to do the informing. I’ll leave that to His Grace. Then again, she’ll need to be told before dinner, or she might keel over from the surprise of it, and we don’t want anyone falling face first into their soup.”

Nancy blinked, wondering if the housekeeper always spoke so quickly, or if it was merely to get ahead of any uneasy silences. “I have a letter for the morning post,” she said. “As for dinner, if it is too much trouble, then I shall continue to make myself scarce. I do not want to startle anyone and become the cause of any untimely deaths. Drowning in soup is assuredly not the way anyone wishes to depart this earth.”

The housekeeper ignored the remark. She did not appear to be without a sense of humor, but nor did she seem to entirely appreciate Nancy’s.

“I’ll see what His Grace decides,” Mrs. Holloway said, taking the letter. “And I’ll see to it that this is sent with the morning letters. Did it help much?”

Nancy nodded. “Enormously.”

“I’m glad.” Mrs. Holloway smiled. “You’ll have to invite your family to Stapleton. It’ll be a grand thing to have the hallways and rooms filled with people again. Goodness, I don’t even know of your family, dearie. Are you from… um… a good family?”

Nancy knew the housekeeper wanted to ask if she was from good stock, a noble family with a title and a long lineage, but she appreciated the older woman’s heedfulness.

“I am the youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Tillington,” Nancy replied. “My older sister—my only sister—is married to the Duke of Bruxton, so I should say I am surrounded by a good family.”

I was, anyway…

The housekeeper’s tense expression relaxed, and she expelled a quiet sigh of relief. Perhaps she had thought that Nancy might be one of Adam’s less highborn conquests who had somehow managed to weasel a wedding out of him.

“The Dowager Duchess will be pleased to hear that,” Mrs. Holloway said. “What I can’t fathom—and you’ll forgive my boldness—is why we’re only just hearing about you. If you are married, you must have had something of a courtship.”

Nancy heard the subtext in the housekeeper’s words.

What are you to him, and how have you come to be here? How have you managed the impossible?

It was as baffling a question to Nancy herself. The first part, at least. After all, it had been almost two hours since her arrival, and though she felt calmer and fuller, thanks to the cakes and tarts, Adam had not returned. He had not even stopped by for a moment to see how she was faring.

“It is a long story,” Nancy replied. “I am certain you will hear it all in due course, but, if I may, could you tell me where Adam is?”

The housekeeper gasped. “Adam?”

“Yes, I believe you know him.” Nancy mustered a grin, but Mrs. Holloway looked as if she had been slapped with a wet fish. “The gentleman of the house. The Duke of Stapleton. The man who brought me here and then swiftly abandoned me. Could you tell me where I can find him?”

For if he thinks he can leave me in this manor to rot, he is sorely mistaken.

Nancy was roused by a fresh wave of irritation.

I will not be ignored. I will not be a mere decoration, silent and useless.

If the manor had been smaller, quainter, like Tillington House, then perhaps she could have accepted a month-long exile to keep up appearances of a honeymoon. But there was no possible way she could be by herself for a month without feeling the cold creep of loneliness, not at this drafty castle. Indeed, there was every chance she would get lost and never be found.

“I believe he is in his study, dearie,” the housekeeper replied. “But he said he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

Nancy smiled. “And you and I both know that he has no business to attend to. He is avoiding me, Mrs. Holloway, and I do not want to be avoided, for there is too much for us to discuss. Namely, informing his mother of our marriage immediately, so she does not suffer a paroxysm over dinner.” She paused. “So, please do tell me where his study is.”

Mrs. Holloway looked torn.

“If you will not tell me,” Nancy continued, “then I shall have to find it myself, and I do not know these hallways. If I were to lose my way, or take a wrong turn, or fall and injure myself, I think that would be deemed very unfortunate.”

The housekeeper adjusted the knot of her high collar. “Of course, dearie. I’ll show you.”

Ten minutes later, heaving out every breath, holding her sides, her legs burning from the strain of about a million staircases, her brow glistening with perspiration, Nancy came to a halt in what appeared to be one of the turrets. There was just one door ahead of her, and the suffocatingly narrow staircase behind her.

“It’s there,” Mrs. Holloway said, as if it were not obvious.

“Thank you,” Nancy wheezed, heading for the door.

She paused with her hand on the iron ring that served as a handle. Sucking in breath after breath, letting her burning muscles and tight chest fuel her ire, she burst into the room beyond, half expecting to see some other woman in there with him.

But he was alone, sitting bolt upright at the unexpected intrusion. By the looks of it, he had been asleep on the chaise-longue, not tending to any business at all, except the business of making his wife feel as isolated as possible.

“Nancy, I—” he began to say, but she cut him off, doing her best to ignore the fact that he was wearing only his shirt… and his shirt was unbuttoned.

“No, Adam. I shall be doing the talking,” Nancy said coldly, “and you shall be doing the listening. But first, I suggest you make yourself decent. I am not one of your paramours. I do not want to be staring at… that as I try and hold a serious conversation.”

By “that” she meant the rippling muscle of his broad chest, dusted with light brown hair, and the ridges of his abdomen that she could see as his blanket fell down to his hips. Her gaze rested for a moment on two defined lines that cut down from those hips and disappeared beneath the blanket, relieved—in part, at least—that she could see the top edge of his trousers. She was not certain she would have been able to get another word out if she had suspected he was naked under there.

I should have stayed in that little room.

She was feeling hotter than she had done after climbing a thousand steps. He had to be some kind of sorcerer, for the more she stared at his sun-tanned skin, the more her resolve to be stern faltered.