Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

L ouise barely slept the previous night.

The Duke had kept his word and had not come to her room. She had not seen him again after he left her, for which she was grateful.

His mother had called on her to make sure that she had everything she needed, and she seemed to be an accommodating and kind woman. The resemblance between them was striking. His mother’s dark hair and olive skin were reflected far more in him than in Marcus.

I wonder why they do not get along.

Louise was dressed early the next morning and was eager for something to occupy her until she went downstairs for breakfast. She looked around her room for something to distract her, but it was rather bland in appearance. Her heart soared at the sight of some daffodils in a vase on the mantelpiece, but when she approached them, she discovered that they were made of silk.

Feeling out of place and rather downcast, she decided to unpack her trunk herself. At least it would keep her mind busy with something other than thoughts of the Duke.

With a resolute shake of her head, she flung open her case, determined to tackle the task at hand and do something productive.

One by one, she began pulling out her dresses, smoothing the fabric as she placed each item on the bed. After a few trips back and forth, she paused, eyeing the heavy trunk with a sigh, then crouched down beside it. Bracing herself, she attempted to drag it closer to the foot of the bed, hoping to make the process a little easier.

She managed to lift it a fraction of an inch, but it was far heavier than she had expected. Frowning and uncertain what could have added to the weight, she removed the rest of her clothes from the trunk, only to discover a thick layer of books beneath them.

Her heart swelled as she took in the titles.

All of them were linked to botany and the study of plants. She pulled them out and laid them on the floor beside her, smiling for the first time in days.

“Bless you, Mama,” she said softly.

It was beyond doubt that this was her mother’s doing. Louise had loved plants since she was a child. She had found joy in studying them and had taken to drawing them later.

These books belonged to her father, and as she imagined her mother placing them one by one into the trunk, she felt a sense of satisfaction that her mother had defied him so blatantly.

She took her time arranging them around the room. She put most of them on the mantelpiece, but there was one called The Language of Flowers that she put beside her bed.

She could not wait to dive back into them, beyond grateful that her mother had given her this gift without her even having to ask.

She went down for breakfast in much higher spirits than when she woke up. But her good mood lasted until she walked through the door and found the Duke waiting for her with a peevish expression.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said pointedly.

She opened her mouth to enquire if she was late and then decided against it. She thought that a man like him would probably value punctuality.

I shall be late for everything from now on.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said automatically as she took her seat, then flushed crimson as she remembered the circumstances of him calling her that the day before.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he echoed. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and she could tell the title annoyed him.

There was a plethora of food on the table, including boiled eggs, cold tongues, and a plate of kippers. It looked absolutely divine. She suddenly realized how hungry she was.

Louise began to eat her buttered toast as the tea was poured. The Duke’s eyes stayed on her the whole while, and she cleared her throat several times, trying to suppress her blush.

I have never blushed so easily in my life as with this man.

“Tell me, why are you so certain that you will not give me an heir in the first year of our marriage?”

Louise glanced nervously at the servants in the room, but the Duke appeared unbothered by their presence.

“I can understand not wishing to lie with me until we get to know one another better, but a year seems excessive,” he continued. “Does the Ice Queen perhaps hate children?”

“On the contrary, Your Grace?—”

“Christian!” She started as he slammed his knife on his plate, his gaze dark and ominous. “I will not ask again.”

She clenched her teeth, watching a vein bulge in the center of his forehead, but his eyes were smoldering with desire.

“Ch-Christian,” she stammered, jutting her chin as though in protest. To her surprise, his shoulders relaxed. “On the contrary—Christian—I adore children, but I have something that I wish to finish before embracing motherhood.” She glanced again at the servants as she lowered her voice. “Were you serious about not taking lovers?”

Christian’s lips quirked up as he took a bite of his toast. “Despite my animosity toward your father, I am not planning to punish you for his sins, whatever you may think about the subject. I will not disrespect you, and I expect the same courtesy in return.”

He leaned back in his chair and dabbed his lips with his napkin before placing it beside him and rising from his seat. Louise looked up at him in astonishment.

He couldn’t have waited so long for me to come down. Has he finished already?

The door on the other side of the room opened, and his mother walked in. Now, it was his turn to look surprised as she came to the table and sat across from Louise.

“Good morning, Mother,” Christian said dutifully. “At the risk of sounding indelicate, why are you here?”

The Dowager Duchess scoffed. “It is breakfast time, is it not?”

“Indeed, and I can count on the fingers of one hand the last time we broke our fast together.”

“Well, perhaps I merely wish to spend some time with your wife. Is that so hard to believe?”

Christian rolled his eyes and walked out of the room without another word.

Louise watched him go, noting the tension in his shoulders that had not been present when they were alone. Something about his mother displeased him a great deal.

“Good morning, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess said as she helped herself to a cup of tea.

Louise smiled at her. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. And you?”

“Fitfully, I confess, but I am in a new home, sleeping on a new mattress. I suppose that must be the reason.”

“Indeed, it must be,” the Dowager Duchess agreed, giving her a knowing look. “What do you think of your new husband?” she asked.

Louise frowned at her. “He is not what I expected,” she admitted.

The Dowager Duchess gave another little smile that Louise found hard to decipher.

“I know you were close to my youngest son.” The Dowager Duchess’s eyes became sad as she spoke of Marcus. “Do you have any notion of where he is? Christian believed that marrying you might lead to a clue, but I cannot understand how.”

Louise sighed heavily. “I cared for Marcus greatly, Your Grace, and I wish I could give you the information you seek. But I do not know where he is. I simply pray that he is safe and well.”

“He always spoke fondly of you. He was at your house so often when you were younger. I wondered if you might… but no matter. You have chosen my other son, who is rather different from Marcus.”

Louise remained silent, unsure how to respond to that comment.

“He can be a hard man to know,” the Dowager Duchess continued softly. “But do not despair. The kind man I raised exists somewhere behind the facade he presents to the world.”

Louise pondered that statement as she considered the Duke’s cold facade. There was certainly more to him than she had expected, but she knew him to be arrogant and self-conceited—no assurances from his mother would change that.

But perhaps his cold facade is just as false as my own.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said gently. “I hope to meet that man someday.”