When Julia arose the next morning, to the annoyance of Robins she hurried her toilette in hopes of meeting Alistair at breakfast. She wanted to see for herself whether what had happened the previous evening augured a new beginning in their marriage. Or whether he’d be back to his cold reserved self.
Doubts pecked at her hopes. Sharp claws tore them to shreds like raptors at a kill. Their lovemaking had been lovely. Extraordinary. And yet... She’d felt as if Alistair, the man, had removed himself from the equation and left her with the dissolute Duke. A man whose emotions were uninvolved and only physical pleasure held sway.
And then he’d walked away as if it had been no more than a handshake.
Was it something she had done? Had she been too bold? Too wanton for a duchess? A chill ran down her spine as she entered the breakfast room.
Empty apart from Grindle.
‘His Grace?’ she asked hating the hesitation in her voice.
‘He left earlier, Your Grace. A meeting with Mr Thackerstone, the land steward. Some issue with a tenant.’
Her heart sank. Could it be he’d left to avoid her? He’d certainly avoided her attempts to talk to him before she fell asleep.
She pushed the fear aside, vowing to face him when he returned. Somewhat disgruntled by her solitary state in the breakfast room, solitary apart from two footmen and Grindle, Julia wondered if she might just as well have taken her breakfast in her chamber.
Grindle poured tea from the pot that Alistair must have drunk from. It was still hot. And it was Oolong. Apparently, she had only missed him by minutes.
She added more sugar than usual. ‘Did His Grace indicate when he might return?’
‘It is a fair distance to the Mollet holding, Your Grace, a good morning’s ride. I doubt we will see him until late this afternoon.’
So what was she to do with herself all day?
There was one duty she had not yet performed. ‘Then I will meet the staff, if you would be so good as to have them assemble in the hall in one hour’s time.’ Allowing them time to finish their morning duties. ‘After that I think a tour of the house would be in order.’
Grindle looked pleased. ‘I will let the housekeeper know, Your Grace.’
* * *
After breakfast, Julia spent the remaining time before meeting with the staff in the library trying to choose a book. She could not keep herself from glancing through the window, wondering if Alistair might return earlier than expected. How could she be missing him already? They had been together last night. A ripple of warmth went through her at the memory.
Yet miss him she did. She missed him and worried. She had the odd feeling something was wrong.
‘The staff are ready, Your Grace,’ Grindle announced. ‘The indoor staff. I think we will leave those employed outside for another day, if that suits you?’
‘I am happy to abide by your advice.’
He led the way to the hall, where some twenty people were gathered in order of importance. She walked down the line meeting everyone from the tweeny, who cleaned the fireplaces before the family were awake, to the jolly cook and the fearsome housekeeper.
Everyone seemed pleased to meet her and she managed a few words with each. The housekeeper then led her on a tour from attics to kitchens where Grindle took over her education and proudly showed off what were the finest wine cellars in the country, according to him.
‘There was a time when things here were not so well run,’ Grindle said lowering his voice. ‘After the old Duke died and this here one was declared dead, the Dowager Duchess nigh on sent the Duchy to the poorhouse.’
Wait! What? ‘His Grace was declared dead?’
Grindle frowned. ‘By his stepmama, he was. Did he not mention it? It is old news now, I suppose. He went off to France during the false peace. He was caught there when war was declared and nothing was heard of him. Sent the old Duke into a decline, it did, and ’tis my belief he died of guilt for sending his heir away in a fit of temper.
‘After that, the Dowager Duchess badgered the House of Lords to have him officially declared dead and Lord Luke made Duke, but Parliament is slow to move when there’s no corpse.’ The old man gave a little shiver of distaste.
Julia knew she should not be gossiping with the servants, but these were things Alistair should have told her and had not. More things he should have told her. ‘If not dead, where on earth was he?’
He gave her a piercing stare. ‘Your Grace, to my knowledge he has never said where he was, but whatever happened, His Grace came back a changed man. Older. Well, he would be. But older than his years. More reserved. But he worked day and night to turn the Duchy around.’ He grimaced. ‘Well, that and other things.’
He was hinting at Alistair’s reputation for debauchery, no doubt.
His brow cleared. ‘For a while I thought he might never marry and provide the next heir, but now it seems all is well on that front, too.’
Pain clutched at her heart. He had said he did not want to rush having children. He’d proved it with his actions the previous evening, but she hadn’t admitted to him the full truth. Her shame of being barren. He might not want children now, but surely he would, eventually.
Even the servants were getting their hopes up. Shame filled her. And guilt. She must tell her husband.
The old man’s eyes twinkled with a pleasure that seemed to make her pain worse. ‘Is there anything else you would like to see, Your Grace?’
She fought back a sudden rush of tears. ‘Thank you, no, you have both been most thorough.’ The housekeeper had also made it clear that everything was so well run, there was no role for Julia, apart from approving the menus for the week.
Grindle escorted her back to the drawing room, where she took out her needlework. She glanced at the clock. It was barely ten. Perhaps she should leave this for later and go for a walk. Visit Bella in the stables.
She went to the window. The day was cloudy, threatening rain, but perhaps it would hold off for a while. A carriage coming up the drive gave her pause. Who on earth would be calling at this hour of the morning?
A few minutes later, Grindle announced the Dowager Duchess of Dunstan.
A strikingly beautiful woman with black hair and an olive cast to her skin swept in. Her eyes tilted upward at the corners, adding to her exotic allure. She looked familiar. Of course, her son, Lord Luke, was the masculine version of this very feminine woman. Alistair was not going to be pleased that his stepmama had come to call when he was out.
Julia rose and curtsied. ‘Your Grace.’
The woman swooped across the room and embraced Julia. ‘My dearest daughter, no need for ceremony between family, surely?’ She turned back to the butler. ‘Grindle, bring the tea tray and some of Cook’s lovely little cakes. I declare I am famished.’
Grindle looked none too pleased, but bowed. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Sit down. Sit down,’ the Dowager Duchess said, waving Julia to a chair and taking the one in which Julia had been seated. She picked up Julia’s embroidery and inspected it. ‘Very nice, my dear. Where is my stepson?’
‘Visiting a tenant, Your Grace.’
‘Call me mama, my dear. A tenant? On his honeymoon? How very odd? But then he was always cold, even as a boy.’ She gave Julia a kindly look. ‘But perhaps he has changed.’
Julia scrambled to catch her breath. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you at last.’
The Dowager’s smile lit her face, making her look even more beautiful. Her gown was of the richest purple silk Julia had ever seen and fit her slender figure to perfection. Her jewels were worth a king’s ransom. ‘How lovely you are to say so. I know my stepson would not agree, since he did not invite me to his wedding.’
Guilt assailed Julia. ‘It was a very small affair. I apologise.’
‘No matter. The deed is done.’
Grindle and a footman entered with the tray. The Dowager Duchess signalled them to set it down on the little table beside her. ‘Now, Julia, how do you take your tea?’
Julia flinched. She had been remiss, first in not ordering the tea for her guest and then in not arranging things properly. Now the poor Dowager was forced to act as hostess. ‘With milk and a little sugar, please.’
The Dowager smiled, her dark brown eyes warm and friendly. Julia could not imagine why her husband had taken her in dislike. ‘Perhaps you could move your work, in case I spill.’
Flustered, Julia leaped up. ‘I beg your pardon.’ What on earth was the matter with her? Perhaps it was the Dowager’s forceful personality making her wits go begging. She put the embroidery in its linen bag and tucked it in a drawer before taking her cup from the Dowager.
The Dowager took a sip of tea and gave a small sigh of pleasure. ‘Now, tell me all about yourself.’
Julia sipped her tea. For once the tea tasted as tea should. Perhaps her illness had made things taste strange. ‘My father was an earl. I was widowed three years ago.’ What else could she say that would not have this woman turning up her nose?
‘A widow? And how on earth did you manage to catch the most elusive bachelor in London? You are to be congratulated, my dear.’
Heat flushed all the way to Julia’s hairline at the recollection of how she and Alistair had met. ‘Dunstan and I met at the house of a friend.’ If one could call the owner of a brothel a friend. ‘He offered and I accepted.’
The Dowager’s brow furrowed. Something flashed in her eyes. ‘A love match, then.’
If only it were. She looked down at her hands. Pride did not allow her to reveal the truth and if this telling sounded romantic, perhaps it was better left at that. If more explanations were to be made, those would be left to her husband.
The Dowager raised her cup as if in toast. ‘I must say, I was surprised. All the family were.’
‘It came as a surprise to us, too,’ Julia said, wishing she did not sound quite so defensive.
She winced as the other woman’s eyes narrowed and fell to her waist. She barely prevented herself from clutching her hands across her stomach.
The Dowager lifted her cup in toast. ‘To the happy couple, then.’
Julia took another sip of refreshing tea. ‘Thank you.’ She put her cup down. ‘We met your other son, Lord Luke, when we were out riding yesterday.’
Her face lit up. ‘Luke. Such a dear boy and so good to his mother. It is too bad...’ She sighed.
‘You and my husband do not get along well.’
‘I do not know why. I did everything I could when I first married his father.’ Another sigh. ‘Alistair did not take to me once Luke came along. Sibling jealousy, I suppose. Like father, like son. The old Duke also had little warmth in him, though one must not speak ill of the dead. I did my best to be a mother to Alistair despite the way he pushed me away.’
The Dowager reached for the teapot. ‘Do drink your tea before it is cold.’
Julia bit back the urge to remind the Dowager that this was her house now. It must be difficult to find oneself replaced.
‘Foolish boy, he resented his father marrying again,’ the Dowager said sorrowfully. ‘He can be shockingly nipfarthing. He hates spending a guinea on anyone but himself.’ Narrow-eyed, she glanced at Julia over the rim of her cup. ‘He won’t even have the dower house made ready for me. Instead I am forced to squander my small portion on renting a house in town.’
Somehow this part of her description of Alistair did not ring true. Cold as a winter’s frost he might sometimes be, but he had been generous to a fault in every other regard. ‘The dower house?’
‘On the outskirts of Sackfield. It is quite unfit for habitation. If I could live there, I would be able to see my grandsons more often. Luke has no room for me in his tiny cottage. And that is a disgrace, too—his father would have been most displeased. Alistair’s lack of family feeling...’ She closed her eyes. ‘Forgive me. I should not speak ill of your husband and you so newly married.’
It seemed Alistair did not treat his family at all well. It wasn’t the first time she had noticed his lack of familial feeling. ‘I am not sure how I can be of assistance.’
The Dowager drew her handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Foolish of me. I do beg your pardon. But perhaps a word with your husband...’
‘I will try.’ She sipped at her tea, embarrassed by the woman’s show of distress.
The woman tucked her handkerchief away with a frown and a piercing look at Julia. ‘And what about you?’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘You look a little pale. You should get out in the fresh air, my dear, instead of sitting indoors tiring your eyes.’
‘I have been a little unwell. The journey did not agree with me.’
The soft brown eyes sharpened. ‘You are not—’
‘No,’ Julia said. ‘No happy event expected as yet.’
Oddly, the Dowager seemed to relax. ‘I hope your husband is treating you as he should? Dunstan has a reputation for breaking hearts. Nor is he known for consideration or kindness.’ She paused as if waiting for Julia to speak. As if expecting Julia to gossip about her husband.
The Dowager’s voice lowered, she leaned closer. ‘If you ever need help, come to me.’
Alistair had been kind to her recently. And there was something about his stepmama that made her feel uncomfortable, yet the woman was being perfectly sweet.
The Dowager finished her tea and pulled on her gloves. ‘I really must not linger, I promised a friend I would call on her this morning, but I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet you.’
And in a flurry of kisses beside each of Julia’s cheeks and mutterings about time, the Dowager departed, leaving Julia feeling strangely exhausted and in need of fresh air.
* * *
Alistair stared at the waterlogged field and its drowned crop. He turned to his steward. ‘I thought we agreed to clear the ditch.’
His steward glared at the red-faced tenant, Mollet. ‘I relayed your orders, Your Grace.’
‘And so he did, Your Grace, but see the trouble ain’t here. It’s run-off from Beauworth’s land. River’s choked.’
An excuse if ever he heard one. Mollet was lazy. Always had been. Thackerstone knew this. He turned to his steward. ‘Ask Beauworth’s man to take a look.’ That man would be Luke. He lowered his brow at the smug-looking Mollet. ‘After you check the ditch.’ Beauworth would haul him over the coals if he started making false accusations.
Mollet removed his pipe from his mouth and spat.
Alistair had the sudden urge to get home to his wife. To feel her softness in his arms, to bury himself to the hilt, to feel the wonder of her as she came apart. He could have had that, had he remained in her bed. Instead, he’d galloped off on the flimsiest excuse. His steward could have handled this without any help.
It was this very desire he felt to be with her that had him traipsing around his estate at this ungodly hour. He wanted her too much.
He kept thinking about how ill she had been on their journey. First queasy. Then violently ill. And then...perfectly fine. Hungry.
As if she was... But she could not be. They’d taken every precaution.
Doubt roiled in his belly. She could have been carrying another man’s child before he found her in that accursed bordello. Had that been her plan all along? To find some rich fellow to take responsibility for an unwanted brat.
The idea revolted him. And infuriated him. And surprisingly he was saddened by the thought. He did not want to think ill of his wife. He wanted... More.
He cut the thought off. ‘Where next?’
His steward gave him a considering look. ‘How about we take a look at this year’s crop of lambs? That should take us ’till dinner time. We can stop off at the Wheatsheaf after that if Your Grace wishes.’
Hearing something in his tone, Alistair eyed him askance and saw a knowing curl to the man’s mouth. Had the man heard gossip and thought to help him avoid his duchess? He’d certainly been avoiding her in town and news of that sort travelled fast.
Thackerstone had been in the family’s employ for many years. No doubt he thought it gave him the right to be impertinent. Or helpful.
‘No urgency about seeing the lambs, is there?’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Jaimie said it would rain this afternoon. Let us leave them for another day.’
‘No urgency, Your Grace.’
‘Then I’m for home.’ And a cup of tea with his wife. And perhaps to assure himself these new suspicions were groundless.
* * *
Julia had set out on a walk with the intention of visiting the orchard and discovered it was at a greater distance on foot than she’d assumed. After half an hour, she’d felt unusually tired and had been caught in a shower on her way back. Not a successful outing at all.
Robins appeared the moment she entered the sitting room beside her bedroom.
‘You are soaked through, Your Grace.’ The woman tutted. ‘Shall I send for a tea tray?’ She relieved Julia of her hat and spencer.
‘What I would really like is a bath,’ Julia said. ‘After the ride yesterday and the chill of the walk this afternoon, I think a soak would do me good.’
Robins pressed her lips together as if she guessed the real reason Julia felt sore. Heat flushed her skin as the woman helped her into her dressing robe. ‘As Your Grace wishes. Shall I bring tea as well?’
Thank goodness she wasn’t offering chocolate. And as always she seemed to be trying to please. ‘Tea would be lovely. Not Oolong though, please.’ She smiled at the woman and received a stiff little grimace in reply.
‘Right away, Your Grace.’
Julia sank on to the chaise and picked up a book to read while she waited. A few moments later she heard voices in her dressing room, Robins relaying her orders.
Soon the chamber next door was bustling with servants bringing the bath and traipsing the water in. It was such a chore. She wondered if Alistair had ever thought about installing a system of piped-in hot water. It would make it so much easier for the servants. But when one was as rich as a nabob, perhaps he didn’t need to care about his servants’ travails.
‘Would you like your tray in here, Your Grace, or would you care to sip it while you soak?’
Tea in the bath. The idea sounded heavenly. While she had enjoyed every moment of Alistair’s attentions, her body was aching from the unaccustomed activity. ‘While I soak, thank you.’
‘Your bath is ready, then, Your Grace.’
Divested of the rest of her clothes, Julia stepped into the tub perfumed with oil of her favourite jasmine and took the cup and saucer from Mrs Robins. ‘Thank you, Robins. You have been very thoughtful.’
‘My very great pleasure, Your Grace.’
The woman actually sounded as if she meant it. Perhaps she was mellowing. Perhaps she had realised Alistair did not like her and was trying to recover some ground. Whatever it was, it was a whole lot better than her previous officiousness.
Julia sipped at the tea. A little too strong, a great deal too sweet. She sniffed at it—not Oolong, but something familiar. She felt too tired to care.
‘I will come back in a while, Your Grace.’ The woman bustled away.
Julia set the cup aside. She leaned back against the edge of the tub and luxuriated in the heat sinking into her bones. Images from the afternoon flitted through her mind as she daydreamed about the return of her husband. And what she would tell him about his stepmother’s visit. Some of what the woman had said had been...disturbing.
* * *
‘Julia!’ The deep voice sounded urgent.
She dragged herself from the haze of sleep.
Sleep?
She sat up, chilly water sloshing around her, to find her husband staring at her in shock. She covered herself with her hands. Her head spun ominously. She closed her eyes briefly. It didn’t seem to help. ‘Alistair?’
‘I came to see if you were going to take tea in the drawing room this afternoon.’
She swallowed, feeling suddenly very ill. ‘I—I’m afraid I have already had my tea. Oh, dear heaven, I feel dreadfully unwell. Ring for Robins.’ She tried to stand.
He cursed under his breath. The next minute she was in his arms, dripping wet and entirely naked. He lifted her out of the water and set her on her feet, quickly wrapping her in a towel before carrying her across the room to the privacy screen. While she knelt over the chamber pot, he held back her hair. Water dripped from his coat sleeves on to the carpet.
She swallowed hard and her stomach seemed to settle. She groaned. This was dreadful. What on earth was going on? ‘I’m all right. I simply felt a little dizzy upon awakening.’
‘You should not have gone walking today,’ Alistair said, helping her to stand.
The servants must have told him. ‘What has that to do with anything?’ she gasped, leaning against him.
‘Clearly, your constitution is not strong. In your condition—’
‘My condition?’
A muscle in his jaw flickered. ‘You do yourself no favours by lying about it, madam.’
She pushed back from him. When she saw the direction of his gaze, she pulled the towel higher. ‘What condition?’
She shivered and this time it was from cold. He strode away and returned with her robe, pulling it about her shoulders and sweeping her up in his arms. It ought to feel good to be so cherished, but he was furious. What did he think was wrong with her that made him look at her so coldly? He lay her down on the chaise longue at the end of the bed, his face expressionless.
Panic fluttered in her breast. ‘Tell me, Alistair, what condition?’
‘Your being with child.’
For a moment the words made no sense. Then they did. A feeling of hope fluttered in her chest. But why was he furious? And how would he know when she did not?
The nausea.
Was it possible?
‘You seem so sure, when the idea never occurred to me once,’ she said. Not given how many years she had hoped and been disappointed. It would be nothing short of a miracle.
Her heart felt too full of joy for mere words. While he seemed unmoved.
‘You aren’t pleased?’
His thin lips curled in a smile that had an edge of cruelty. ‘I am delighted to have cuckoo in my nest.’
It took a moment for the words to sort themselves into meaning. ‘A—What?’ Despite a wave of dizziness, she shot to her feet. ‘How dare you?’
Surprise widened his eyes. ‘Dare? An interesting turn of phrase when I know very well Mrs B. took precautions as did I, ergo...’
Now the man was spouting Latin in the same breath as he was speaking of that place? ‘Ergo,’ she snapped, ‘I must have been with child prior to our first meeting. Is that what you think?’
She wanted to throw something at him. Too bad she could not reach the soap. Or the rinsing water.
He inhaled a breath through his arrogant nose. ‘Precisely.’
‘Well, you are wrong. I am not with child. I cannot be with child. I am barren.’
At the sight of his stunned expression, she sank down on the sofa. She closed her eyes against another wave of dizziness. ‘I am sorry,’ she said dully. ‘I should have told you.’
‘You are sure of this?’ His voice was arctic and she could not meet his gaze.
‘My husband dragged me from one accoucheur to the next. The best money could buy.’ One humiliating interview after another accompanied by nasty inspections and questions. And ever-increasing fury from her husband. It made her shudder to recall it. ‘Each and every one of them agreed that there was no hope.’ She wanted to cry and she wanted to rage against fate. But most of all she wished she had told him right from the beginning.
After a few moments’ silence, she risked a peep. He was staring down at her with sympathy. ‘Julia, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t concern me all that much. I have an heir.’
‘Not an heir of your body,’ she muttered, relieved at his reaction, but unable to rejoice in it.
An odd look crossed his face. Chagrin? Disappointment? And then it was gone as he crouched down beside her. ‘Really. It doesn’t matter.’
She did not believe him, but she was grateful for his kindness. ‘I’m useless as a wife.’
‘Julia.’ The note of command in his voice had her looking up. There were white lines around his mouth, his lips were a straight line. ‘You need to rest. We will talk of this later, when you feel better. I will send your dresser up to you.’ He bowed and left.