Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

G uilt. That was all that Graham had felt since he had proposed to his wife.

She deserved so much more than to be the wife of a man who was so utterly miserable, but she was willing to do it. Perhaps it was only for her own reputation, though he was quite sure that she did not care at all about that, or to increase her social standing, though she did not seem to care for that either. Regardless, she had clipped her own wings just so that Nicholas did not win, and there was something to be said about that.

And he felt terrible about it. She had been a bright young lady with a quick wit, and had she been anywhere else, she could have flourished. She could have had any man for a husband, and instead she was stuck with him. Not only that, but she would have to do all of the things that a duchess was expected to do, and it had been no more her choice than it was his to be a duke. It was simply how things were, and he hated it, but all the same, he was incapable of changing it.

And so he had been silent. There was nothing that he could say to make her feel better about giving her life away to be a wife, and so he said nothing at all. That had to be what she wanted from him, wasn't it?

Then she told him about her past, and he could not find it in him to leave her there. He wished that he'd known, but there was no going back. He had to be there for her; he had to support her. That was how he would fix what had happened to her and prove that she was worth more than she had been led to believe.

"Good morning," she said softly when he awoke. "I was not expecting you to stay."

"I was not planning to," he replied honestly, "but I did not wish to disturb you with my leaving."

That part was not entirely the truth, but that was not important as far as he was concerned. What mattered was that she accepted it and smiled. He loved it when she smiled.

Later that morning, in the carriage, Graham knew that he had to talk to her about their new life and how he would need time, but he did not know how. He also knew that, so long as he told her before their arrival, all would be well. Then time passed, and he knew they had a mere ten minutes or so before they stopped, and he panicked a great deal.

"Samantha," he said quickly, "I do not mean to be so distant."

"I was hoping that was the case," she nodded.

"Before we arrive, I wish to explain something to you."

She looked at him expectantly, and he wondered how to tell her. It was such a foolish thing to admit, but they had promised each other not to keep things from one another, and he had to practice what he preached.

"I hate this house," he said at last.

She smiled at him.

"I hated mine, too. Is it the decoration in it or something else entirely?"

"It is a little bit of everything, I must confess. It is… dour. I cannot stand it, and I have not been there even a single time since the death of my father. In truth, I cannot tell you with full confidence that it will be as I left it."

"Is it uninhabitable?"

"No, it is hideous."

"And are you happy to go there?"

"Not at all. If I never see it again, it shall be too soon."

"Then what if we were to return to London?" she asked. "I for one would much rather live in a house that feels like home, and if you have no connection to this one, then we might as well not touch it."

He was so pleased that she would so willingly drop everything for him, and the offer was indeed tempting. He could simply return to the city, where he had no need to see his brothers and their strange company, and simply be .

But it was not as simple as that.

Accounts had to be handled, and estates had to be managed. All of this would be nearly impossible if he were far away. Not only that, but it did not matter how much he did not wish to become a duke — he was one, and that was that. There was no arguing with the way things were, and if he had to fulfill his role, then he would do it to the best of his ability.

"I'm afraid we cannot," he sighed. "Besides, the longer I am away, the worse it shall be when I eventually have to return."

"That is, of course, the right thing to do," she replied, "but I prefer for you to make your own choices."

"What I need you to know," he continued, "is that I may be out of sorts for a while. There are things about this place that I have not thought about in a long time that are bound to come back to me, and whilst I adapt to it, I may be rather closed off."

"I understand. I shall not push you to do anything that you do not wish to do."

"And I appreciate that. It is not only that, of course, but I shall have some matters to attend to which will sit there until I have seen to them. It is not that I am ignoring you, but —"

"I understand, Graham," she said gently. "You have things to do, and with your absence, that list has grown. I am not a fool."

"I simply do not want you to be afraid for any reason. It is a new place with new staff, and I cannot tolerate your unhappiness here."

"Well, if it becomes intolerable, I shall notify you at once. Aside from that, you must remember that I am more than capable of meeting those here and befriending them. It is something that I would have hoped to do whether you were with me or not. It is my duty after all."

"You will be a wonderful duchess," he promised.

And it was the truth. She was perhaps not as graceful and perfect and polite as his mother had been expected to be, but as far as Graham was concerned, that was for the best. If anything could breathe life into the place he was forced to call home, it would be her. It had to be her.

Samantha clearly did not understand what he had meant until she stepped inside. Everything was expensive and old and dark. The furniture had been in the family for generations — only the finest and only the dullest because his great-great-great-grandfather liked it, and he was the prime example of all that a duke should be. That was what Graham had been told at least.

He saw how her nose wrinkled slightly at it before she put on a smile.

"You hate it," he said with a small laugh.

"Oh, Graham, it is awful," she sighed. "Did the late Duchess not think to use a lilac or even a lighter green?"

"My mother did not have a say. This was all my father, or rather, one of the late dukes in our lineage. It is simply how it has always been."

"I can see that," she said in thought. "Very well, it is as you said — we both have our things to tend to, and we ought to begin now. There is no time like the present after all!"

"Do you not wish to sit for a while? I could fetch the housekeeper for you, and the two of you could discuss a few matters."

"I shall do that with time, yes," she agreed, "but for the moment, I would rather explore alone, so that I do not cause any unintentional offense when the housekeeper shows me things herself."

"That… might actually be wise," he agreed. "All right, but do not make it too obvious that you are looking around without a guide."

"Of course! I can be very good at evading capture when necessary."

"Somehow, I do not doubt that."

With a smile, she disappeared from view. Graham wondered if she was hoping to see something to make her feel better about it all, and he tried to guess at how long it would be before she gave in and accepted that the household was a lost cause. There was no light in it, no life, and no amount of trying to see things differently could fix it.

Much like himself, he thought.

"Welcome, Your Grace," the housekeeper said warmly, appearing at his side. "Had I known you were to arrive this morning, I would have arranged the formal meeting."

"That is perfectly fine by me," he smirked. "You know I have never been one for such traditions. My wife and I shall be more than happy to see you all when you have time."

"You wife," she echoed. "I almost cannot believe it. I knew that you would find a wife one day, but I certainly did not think that it would be so soon."

"Well, when you meet the one you are supposed to marry, one cannot help but… marry them."

He was trying to sound convincing, and he seemed to have done it well enough that his housekeeper did not ask questions.

"Well, I, for one, cannot wait to meet her. Is she a nice girl?"

"The nicest," he replied, realizing that he meant it, "but she is not the sort to sit quietly and say nothing. If she thinks something, she will ensure that you are aware."

"Wonderful. That means the two of you may have brighter conversations than the ones I had to hear all of those years."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know," she said, shifting from one foot to the other. "When your father would comment on the weather, and your mother would respond with an agreement, or he would tell her that his chicken was dry at dinner, and she would nod in a most demure fashion."

Graham tried to think back to such ‘conversations', but he could not remember any. He only knew that his father would call his mother disagreeable, which certainly contradicted what he was hearing now.

"I did not eavesdrop intentionally, of course," she added quickly. "It is simply something that I noticed. You understand, I am sure."

"Of course," he agreed. "And you can rest assured that no such thing shall happen between my wife and me. I am hoping, in fact, that there will be some changes to how things have been done here."

"That will certainly be an adjustment. The way things are done here is the way that things have always been done, even before you and your brothers were born."

"Which is precisely why they must change. I cannot stand it anymore."

"The staff will thank you for that. I know that I will, at least, and I do."

Graham sighed. It had truly been too long since he had left.

"Now, regarding the matter of showing your wife the grounds —"

"She has taken a tour for herself," he explained. "It is not to say that she does not wish for you to show her, as she very much does, but I thought it would be best if we gave her time to see it all for herself first."

"Oh! Well, that is perfectly fine too. I shall not begrudge her some exploration. She is spirited, then?"

"Very much so, and I value it a great deal."

"In which case, she might be able to breathe some life into this place. Very well, I shall leave the two of you be. You have some papers addressed to you in your study, and Lord Drowshire has requested that you and your bride join him for dinner in four days. I was unsure whether or not to accept it on your behalf, and so I did not."

"That was the correct thing to do. I shall have to discuss it with my wife although she will likely be more than willing to go if it means she will see Miss Penelope."

His staff had met Penelope before, as she had accompanied Oliver to a ball the late Duke was hosting. The staff adored her; his father did not. Thus, nobody was allowed to openly like her at all. It was not fair, but it was how things were. Regardless, Penelope never seemed to care very much at all.

Graham had always admired her for that.

"You ought to find your wife," the housekeeper smirked. "The estate is certainly large, and it would be no surprise to me if you lost her entirely in it."

"Especially with it being so dark in here," he observed. "I shall begin my travels, and then, I can begin my paperwork."

"And I shall have Cook prepare your dinner. Good luck, Your Grace!"

Luck was certainly something that he needed on his side.

Fortunately, he did not have to look far for his wife. Unfortunately, it was because she had seen the one room that he was hoping not to have to discuss. The drawing room. It was the one room where his mother had been allowed to do things she wanted, even if they were very minor. The walls were still dark and faded, much like the rest of the house, but there were flowers in it and extra candles for light. It had been the only thing she had stood firm on in her marriage and the only thing that she could not be forced into submission about.

"Your mother wanted these, didn't she?" Samantha asked softly.

"It was the only thing she ever wanted enough to argue with my father," he sighed. "It is silly, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I think that she must have been desperate for even the smallest bit of happiness to have wanted it so badly. It is good that she was given at least that."

"That might be why every time I think of her, she is in here. It was the only room in the house I could bear to be in because it was hers. I couldn't imagine her anywhere else but here."

"Not even in the Duchess' room? I am yet to see it, but surely it is —"

"The same as the others," he said quietly. "Exactly the same. My father insisted on it. That is why it may only be some flowers and candles to us, but to her they were everything."

"A flicker of rebellion," Samantha noted. "I admire her for that."

"As do I. Speaking of women you admire, Miss Penelope shall more than likely be at a dinner we have been invited to by Lord Drowshire. I believe you would want to accept the invitation, but I wanted to ask you first."

"I am grateful that you asked, but you were right. I would love to go."

"Wonderful. The housekeeper is aware of your exploration, so take all the time that you require."

He slipped away before she could say a word to him about breaking their agreement.