Caroline watched her husband walk away with an aching in her chest that bordered on despair.

He hates me, she thought bleakly. He hates me and I haven’t the faintest idea why.

Perhaps she’d said something that had upset him. But that would have required them to have had a conversation lasting more than a few sentences, which they’d yet to do. Maybe she’d done something he had found untoward…but then again, she’d spent more time having her face powdered than in the duke’s company.

A cold wind, hinting at weather yet to come, had Caroline pulling her cloak more snugly around her shoulders. The carriage pulled away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the drive without any idea of what to do next. She was supposed to be a duchess…but Eric had dropped her on his doorstep as if she were an unwanted relation and then gone - well, she had no idea where he’d gone because she knew absolutely nothing about him. Or this place; this large, overwhelming, foreign place that she was now supposed to call home.

This time when tears threatened she managed to sniff them back. She wasn’t about to give the duke an excuse to despise her any more than he already did, nor did she want to step off on the wrong foot with the household staff.

Unlike many of her peers, Caroline’s gentle nature had always lent itself to a relationship of kindness and respect between herself and the working class. She wanted the same at Litchfield Park, especially since it seemed as though the servants were going to be the only ones speaking to her. She had no friends here. No family. As for her husband…well, suffice it to say he should have been both but instead he was neither. For the first time in her life she was completely and utterly alone.

“Might I offer you some assistance, Your Grace?” This came from the footman who had opened the door when they’d first arrived. Wrapped up in her own melancholy thoughts, Caroline had completely forgotten he was standing no less than three feet away.

“Oh!” she gasped, flattening a hand across the top of her chest. “I - I am terribly sorry. I just…I don’t know what…that is to say…oh drats,” she said helplessly when her eyes flooded with tears. What was wrong with her? Surely being left in front of the house as though she were some sort of vagabond orphan was enough humiliation for one day. She didn’t need to add sobbing in front of a footman to the list. 

“Your Grace?” the young man repeated, looking vaguely alarmed.

“I - I do apologize,” Caroline managed between sniffles. “I’m not usually like this, you see. But then things are not at all like they usually are, are they?” She pulled off one of her gloves and used it to dry her eyes. “Could you be so kind as to direct me to Mr. Newgate? I believe he is supposed to give me a tour.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Right this way.” Looking relieved to be passing her on to someone else, the footman led her up between two enormous ivory pillars and into the grandest foyer she’d ever seen.

The first thing that caught her eye was the gold chandelier hanging down from a vaulted ceiling, its dozens of candles reflecting off the marble tile beneath. A grand staircase rose from the middle of the foyer and led up to a double hallway that was so long it stretched out of sight. The air carried a hint of beeswax, no doubt from all of the mahogany trim that gleamed from a recent polish.

It was a splendid entryway. One that truly befitted a duke.

But not his duchess, Caroline thought silently as she peeked into the adjoining parlor. There was a heavy masculine overtone to everything, from the deep green paper hangings to the leather furniture. There was also a sterileness to it all. A cold formality that made her wonder if her husband had ever spent any time here. Without a single personal memento - not even a painting - the dark, somber house could have belonged to anyone.

A door to her right opened and an older man stepped through, his chest swelled with self-importance and his knobby shoulders proudly erect. He wore the black suit and the white lapels of a servant of high importance, leading Caroline to guess she was about to meet the estimable Mr. Newgate even before he strode up to her - perhaps hobbled would have been a better word - and bowed.

“Your Grace,” he said in a raspy baritone that aged him just as much as his gray hair and the myriad of lines upon his weathered countenance. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Mr. Newgate, and I have served as butler for the past thirty-seven years.”

“That is quite an impressive feat, Mr. Newgate.” She hesitated. “My husband asked that you show me around the estate. If it isn’t too much trouble, that is. I know you must be very busy and I would not want to take up your valuable time…”

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace. Shall we start with the library?”

“Yes,” Caroline said, her face brightening. “That would be splendid. Oh, and Mr. Newgate, if I could make one small request. I realize that I am a duchess now and that it carries its own title, but I really would be much more comfortable if you and the rest of the household staff called me by my given name. You could even shorten it to Caro if you like.”

The butler looked positively scandalized. “Certainly not, Your Grace,” he huffed. “Certainly not. If you would allow Thomas to take your cloak and gloves, we shall begin in the east wing with the library and work our way westward. Follow me, if you please.”

Well it had been worth a try. Handing her outer garments off to the footman, Caroline smoothed her hair, shook a wrinkle from her dress, and followed the butler.

 

After her tour - which consisted of all thirty seven rooms excluding her husband’s private study and bedchamber - Caroline found herself quite exhausted. She was shown to her room by a plain-faced servant named Anne who, after learning that Caroline had not brought her own lady’s maid, eagerly volunteered herself for the position.

“I’ve never been one before,” she confessed, brown eyes anxious and hopeful. “But only because there’s never been a lady at Litchfield Park before. Well, at least not while I’ve been here. But I’ll do whatever you require of me, Your Grace. I like to work. And I’m quite handy with a pair of curling tongs.”

Caroline sat on the edge of the canopied bed. “What do you know about removing freckles?”

“Re-removing freckles, Your Grace?” Anne bit her lip. “Not very much, I am afraid.”

“Then in that case I believe you will make a splendid lady’s maid.” A genuine smile - the very first one in what felt like a very long while - flitted across her face when Anne let out a squeal of excitement.

“Oh, thank you, Your Grace!” she cried, all but bouncing up and down. “Thank you! I will not let you down. I promise. Where should I start? Would you like me to put away your things?”

Over the past hour carriages bearing trunks filled to the brim with Caroline’s various dresses and accessories had begun arriving. After four failed seasons she’d managed to accrue more than her fair share of ball gowns, and it seemed her mother - who had taken it upon herself to do all of the packing - hadn’t wanted to leave a single one behind.

“Or draw you a bath?” Anne continued enthusiastically. “Or fluff your pillows? Or take down your hair? Or-”

“If you would be so kind as to close the curtains,” Caroline interrupted, “I believe I shall take a rest. Could you wake me before dinner? I would like very much to dine with my husband.”

“Oh. But…of course, Your Grace.”

“Is something about my request unusual?” she queried, noting the way Anne’s gaze flitted suddenly to the side.

“N-no,” the maid said haltingly.

“I fear you are about as good at telling a fib as I am, Anne.” Her mouth curved. “Which is to say not very good at all. What is it?”

Visibly squirming, the hugged one arm tightly against her side and shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s just that…well…it isn’t a love match, is it?” she blurted. “You and the duke. I thought…that is to say, everyone knows…”

“That my husband hates me,” Caroline said softly when Anne trailed off.

“No, Your Grace! That isn’t what I meant-”

“The curtains, if you would.” Suddenly feeling very weary indeed, she pushed herself towards the head of the bed and drew a soft wool blanket up over her waist. “Please close the curtains.”