Alistair took the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. He’d done his best to stay away from his wife. To assure himself he was not a slave to his desires. He was not. But after his overwhelming terror at finding her comatose in her bath, if he wanted to get any work done, he was going to assure himself she was well at regular intervals during the day.
And likely through the night, too.
Odd behaviour indeed.
Outside the door, he schooled his face into polite friendliness.
Julia gasped at his entrance, her gaze flying from the teapot she had been staring at, to rest on his face. A hand flattened on her throat. ‘Alistair. You startled me.’
She looked afraid. ‘You invited me for tea.’
She visibly pulled herself together. ‘You declined the invitation.’
The way she stood up to him was something he liked about her, but seeing evidence of the courage it took to overcome her fear of him was a bitter pill.
‘I changed my mind. Will you pour me a cup?’
She stared at him, her hand hovering near the pot, but not touching it.
He frowned and reached to take it for himself, noticing that she had not yet poured for herself.
‘You cannot,’ she said breathlessly, pressing her palm to the lid.
He froze. ‘What? Am I not permitted to change my mind?’ He kept his voice even, an indifferent drawl, but her refusal pained him more than he would have expected.
‘No. I mean yes. It is not that.’ She sounded flustered. Looked flustered. Anxious.
‘What is wrong?’
She stared at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language.
How exceedingly strange. Once more he reached for the teapot.
She sat bolt upright. ‘Stop. I didn’t think you were coming. It is full of the stuff you like, but I cannot abide. I am sorry. I tipped my cup, milk and all, into the pot.’
He frowned. ‘You were supposed to let the kitchen know this.’
Her eyes filled with worry, she twisted her hands in her lap. She sagged back against the couch. ‘I—I forgot.’ Miserably, she gazed at him.
Did she fear he would be angry she had spoiled the tea? Would her last husband have been angry at such a small thing? Punished her for such a transgression?
Did she expect him to be similarly inclined? Guilt racked him. His distance had been designed to protect her, but he wanted to offer comfort. At least she should understand that she was safe from him in that way.
‘Get your coat and hat,’ he said, inwardly shaking his head at yet another strangely spur of the moment idea.
She stared at him and then out of the window at the rain. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To find you a cup of tea you can drink. Meet me in five minutes at the bottom of the stairs.’
* * *
It only took Julia a moment to pull on her cloak. Why she had chosen one of the few things remaining from her old wardrobe she wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps because it was familiar and comfortable when everything else about today seemed confusing. Worrisome in the extreme.
Or...it was because it was raining. Nothing else she owned was suitable for wearing in a downpour.
Already waiting for her when she reached the hall, Alistair tucked her hand beneath his arm. ‘This way.’
Instead of going out of the front door, he led her out of a side door no doubt used by servants. A path circumnavigated the stables and various outbuildings and arrived at a small thatch-roofed cottage she had not noticed before.
At first, when he knocked on the door, she thought no one was home, then she heard the sharp rap of quick footsteps and the door swung inwards.
A small bird-like lady, with a thin face and a pair of spectacles perched on a formidable nose, peered out at them. A smile changed her appearance from stern to welcoming. ‘Crawfy! Come in, come in. Do not stand there getting wet. And you, too, young lady. Oh, my goodness, I mean, Your Grace.’
Alistair, leaned in and kissed her thin cheek. ‘Here we are at last, Digger. Julia, this grande dame used to be my governess, Miss Digby.’
‘Crawfy?’ Julia whispered over her shoulder as Alistair ushered her in. ‘Digger?’
He took her cloak, whispering back as he did so, ‘Childhood pet names.’ He hung their outer raiment on hooks beside the door. He waved her into the room where their hostess had disappeared only moments before. It turned out to be the kitchen. On every available surface teetered a pile of books.
‘Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.’
Miss Digby bustled about taking a teapot to the water already boiling on the small range on the other side of the room. She peered at Julia over her spectacles. ‘I hope you are not expecting that horrid Oolong stuff Crawfy is so fond of. I cannot bear it.’
‘Nor me,’ Julia said with heartfelt relief.
Alistair made a face. ‘I came for the biscuits.’
‘Foolish boy. They make them in your kitchen and bring them over here.’
The tea was soon made and shortbread fingers set out on a blue-patterned plate. They ensconced themselves around the kitchen table with full cups deliciously laced with cream.
Julia closed her eyes with pleasure at the lovely taste and the sense of being welcome.
‘So, Crawfy, what brings you to my door?’ She smiled at Julia. ‘These days he only comes to see me when he has something on his mind.’
‘We came for the tea,’ he said.
Her lips folded in as she tried to repress a smile. ‘What troubles you, Your Grace?’
‘Uh-oh. If dear old Digger is getting formal I know we are for it.’
‘Dear old Digger’ gave him a stern look. ‘Confess.’
It seemed that the elderly lady still held the power of a governess to keep her unruly charge in line. Julia repressed a smile of her own. She could not have been more grateful to Alistair for bringing her here. The woman made him seem much more human. More approachable than the Duke who had been sitting in her drawing room only a few minutes ago. More approachable even than the man who had made love to her so delightfully.
His eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘My wife thinks someone is trying to poison her.’
Julia froze.
The woman’s eyes sharpened behind her spectacles. ‘Gracious me.’ She glanced at Julia. ‘Is this true?’
‘No, no,’ Julia said, realising too late that Alistair was joking. ‘They brought me Oolong, that is all. It doesn’t agree with me.’
Especially when laced with laudanum, but she was not going to mention that. Not after Alistair had spoken of poison. ‘They must have confused our trays.’ She wished it was that simple. She really did.
‘Are you sure it is not the antics of this young scamp upsetting your digestion?’
Julia almost choked on her sip of tea.
‘Now, Digger,’ Alistair said. ‘Do not be giving away my secrets. I need my wife’s respect.’
Miss Digby chuckled. ‘Respect is to be earned, young man.’
‘How many times have I heard that quote?’ His gaze was fond. Almost tender.
Julia felt as if she was looking in on something precious. As if Alistair had allowed her to see part of him he never exposed to the world. Something wrenched at her heart. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be lured in when she knew that most of the time he barely remembered she existed. If she relaxed her guard, when next he turned all cold and distant, it would hurt too much. She was tired of the pain of rejection.
‘Have you always lived here at Sackfield, Miss Digby?’ Julia asked, hoping to put the conversation back on a more comfortable footing.
‘Dear me, no,’ Miss Digby said. ‘I left when it was time for a proper tutor.’
The hardness returned to Alistair’s jaw. ‘I was seven. My stepmother feared Miss Digby was too lenient.’
‘Well, I was a little,’ the elderly lady said regretfully. ‘I never could bring myself to cane small children.’ She smiled sadly. ‘More is achieved with honey than with vinegar in my experience. But you were quite the handful, even for me.’
‘If I had known Isobel was going to send you away, I would have been a model of good behaviour.’ His voice was bitter. He looked up and caught Julia watching him. His expression cooled. The illusion of being let in dissipated as if it had never been.
A pang pierced her heart. ‘But here you are now?’
‘Yes, here I am in my own little cottage just as I always wanted, thanks to Alistair. He came and found me once he reached his majority. When he was little we joked about living in a little cottage in the country and doing nothing but reading books. He loves books as much as I do.’
‘You do?’ This was something else she had not known.
‘I do not have time for reading,’ he said. ‘Being a duke requires all my attention.’
The old lady’s eyes twinkled. ‘As well as your new duties as a husband.’
Julia blushed.
Miss Digby looked at Julia. ‘You must convince him to take some time for himself,’
As if she had any influence on the man. Although he had spent more time with her here than in Richmond. ‘I will try.’ What else could she say? The woman was small, but she had a powerful will.
The older woman’s lips pursed, creating a concertina of wrinkles around her mouth. ‘I hear you hired on a number of new servants, Crawfy. Brought some of them with you, too.’
‘A married duke needs more than a skeleton household,’ he mumbled. ‘Both here and in London. Especially here, since Her Grace will no doubt be receiving callers.’
The old lady nodded. ‘Sensible. What about this dresser of yours, Your Grace? Mrs Robins. I have heard a few grumbles. Not a woman who is inspiring of warm feelings amongst her peers.’
Julia blinked at the directness of the question. ‘Robins has been with me for three weeks. I agree, she is rather strait-laced, but came highly recommended.’
Alistair narrowed his eyes. ‘Recommended by whom?’
‘I am not sure. Mr Lewis didn’t say.’
‘Hmmph,’ Miss Digby muttered.
A look of significance passed between her and Alistair.
‘What is it?’ Julia said.
‘The Dowager Duchess,’ Alistair and Miss Digby said in unison.
‘She sometimes tries to plant spies among my staff,’ Alistair said. ‘She likes to poke her nose into my business.’
Julia’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my goodness. Really?’
Alistair shrugged. ‘She keeps an eye on me for some reason, the idiot female.’
Perhaps she worried about her stepson. She had implied that she did. Still... ‘But why would you think she would spy on me?’
His expression hardened ‘To cause me trouble. If she could find some unpleasant gossip...’
Her stomach dropped as she thought of the gossip that could never be revealed, of the night they had met.
She swallowed. If she said nothing about the Dowager’s visit now, he might think she was colluding with the woman. She gathered her courage. ‘I d-did not tell you, but your stepmother visited me yesterday.’
Alistair glowered. ‘The devil she did. No doubt she came knowing I was out.’
‘She hinted as much.’
‘Why did you not mention this before?’
Julia stiffened under his piercing gaze.
‘Crawfy,’ Miss Digby said. ‘You know you are not the most approachable of men. Especially not on the topic of your stepmama.’
‘Quite honestly,’ Julia said, ‘I forgot about it yesterday, with so much going on.’ Forgot for a while and later was hesitant as to how to approach the matter. ‘She wanted me to support her request to move into the dower house.’
‘Do not bother. My father’s will provided for the dower house at Balderston. Never again will she set foot on Sackfield soil, so please don’t invite her here.’
‘Her Grace is not partial to Yorkshire,’ Miss Digby said, looking at Alistair, but Julia was not sure if it was censure or support she offered. ‘Too many sheep.’
‘Too far from London, more like,’ Alistair said. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t ask you to return the Dunstan rubies. She acted as if they were her personal property. They belong to the Duchy, to be worn by the sitting Duchess.’
Her face burned red as she recalled exactly what they had done when he had draped those rubies all over her naked skin that first night. Her inner muscles clenched at the memory.
A glance at Alistair told her he remembered, too. Heat blazed in his eyes. For once, he did not look anywhere near indifferent.
She folded her hands in her lap, clenching them together until it hurt, trying to get those visions out of her mind.
Should she tell him about the laudanum? But with the awful possibility that he was responsible for doctoring her tea. If so, it would be foolish to let him know she had found him out.
Julia felt ill. First laudanum in her tea, then a dresser who might be working for his stepmother. Had she, by marrying Alistair, jumped from the frying pan into the fire?
Alistair must have sensed her disquiet for he reached over and gave her hand a brief squeeze. ‘Don’t worry about Robins, I will write to Lewis and find out just who she is.’
She only wished she trusted him enough to believe he wasn’t trying to mislead her.
* * *
Dinner had been strangely quiet, Alistair as seemingly preoccupied as she was herself. Miss Digby had talked about what a lovely little boy he had been. Happy. Sweet. Intelligent. Only the last of those epithets seemed applicable now, yet he had occasionally been sweet to her. More than sweet, kind. And generous. Was she wrong to suspect him?
‘Tea is served, Your Grace,’ Grindle announced, having been informed earlier that they would both remove to the drawing room after dinner.
Alistair held her chair while she rose and escorted her to the drawing room. He lifted the lid of the teapot and inhaled. ‘No Oolong. I had a word with them in the kitchen and asked them not to send it up any more. I told them it didn’t agree with you and to only use it when they serve it to me in my office.
Julia leaned close to him and breathed in the fragrant steam. ‘It smells lovely.’ Not a whiff of poppy.
Alistair grunted.
‘I agree. It is perfectly horrid when one has to do without something one likes for the sake of another.’
He gave her a sharp look, but a small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upward. ‘It always amazes me how much information you glean from little more than a sound.’
Seeing that smile gave her courage. ‘I have brothers who rarely did more than grunt or order one about.’ It was one of the reasons she had been so willing to accept her first husband’s marriage proposal. She had thought nothing could be worse than a house full of brothers. She’d been so utterly wrong.
Alistair winced.
Of course, he had a brother, too, from whom he was estranged.
She set about pouring them both a cup of tea.
‘You are ready for our visit to Beauworth tomorrow?’
‘I am looking forward to it. Do you plan to see your brother while you are there?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Quite the opposite.’
His dark tone did not encourage her to ask for elaboration.
He finished his tea and placed the cup and saucer on the tray. ‘I have some correspondence to finish. I will escort you upstairs.’
In other words he was tired of her company.
She finished her tea and he helped her to rise.
Always so gentlemanly, so observant of the rules of polite society, but there was no warmth in it. In him.
Most of the time. Yet on occasion he’d let her glimpse the seductive man she’d been attracted to that first night. And then there was the man he’d been with Miss Digby. Boyishly enchanting. But which was the real Alistair? The man was as elusive as a drop of quicksilver.
Was he someone who could put laudanum in an unwanted wife’s tea? The only thing stopping her from fleeing was the recollection of him being ready to pour himself a cup of the tea that afternoon. If he had been responsible, surely he would not have done so.
Unless he was really, really clever.
They walked up the stairs, she with her hand on his arm, he with his gaze set firmly ahead. He stopped when he reached her chamber door and gazed into her face with a questioning look.
Air that a moment before had been cool crackled with tension. The line of his lips softened to sensual as he gazed at her mouth.
Her heart picked up speed and her breath shortened as if there was not enough air left to breath. His eyes widened a fraction. Awareness sparked between them. Despite all of her doubts, she found him wildly attractive.
‘Would you care to come in?’ She sounded breathless. Hopeful. Pathetic.
And to her great chagrin, fearful.
He opened the door to the bedroom, gazed down at her for a moment and then straightened his shoulders as if coming to a decision. ‘It has been a long day and it will be a longer one tomorrow. I would not have you overtax your strength. I will see you in the morning for breakfast.’
He ushered her in and walked away.
* * *
The smile on Alistair’s face when he greeted her at the breakfast table gave Julia a warm feeling in the region of her heart. The expression on his face was sweet and even a little bashful. He actually seemed pleased to see her.
‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked as she took her plate to the table and he seated her. So gentlemanly.
‘I feel quite myself again, thank you. Is our visit to Beauworth to continue as planned?’
He cast her a brief searching look as if assuring himself she had spoken the truth about her state of health. As if he didn’t trust her to know. Or didn’t trust her to tell him the truth. The hard line of his mouth softened. ‘The weather looks to be holding fair. Do you still prefer to ride?’
‘I do.’ Knowing now what it was that was making her ill, she really did have a choice. The carriage would not upset her, but riding was a pleasure and a privilege she had been denied for years. Fortunately the rain of the day before had swept away as quickly as it arrived.
‘Then I will see you at two. I have quite a bit of paperwork to get through before we go.’ He got up and left, taking his newspaper with him.
She frowned at his half-full plate. Was it her putting him off his food? Did he perhaps suspect her of colluding with his stepmother because she had failed to tell him about the visit?
She lifted the lid of his teapot and inhaled. Oolong. She lifted the lid of her teapot. Laudanum. Her blood ran cold. A very real urge to run left her feeling breathless and her heart pounding.
A footman stepped forward. ‘Shall I pour for you, Your Grace?’
‘Thank you, no.’ What on earth was she to do? Trust Alistair and tell him, or keep her own counsel until she uncovered the culprit? The latter was the wisest course, even though her heart told her he ought to know—if she believed he was innocent. Somehow the day no longer looked quite so bright.
* * *
To keep her mind busy with something other than fretting, she spent the morning inspecting the linens with the housekeeper. At the midday meal, Alistair did not join her and she drank only water.
At two, they met at the stables, he coming from the steward’s office where according to Grindle he had been sequestered all morning and she from the house. He gave her one of his searching looks before they mounted up. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Of course,’ she said, hoping her smile did not look as false as it felt.
They rode at a swift trot that was not conducive to chatter, but at the fork in the lane that led to the orchard, she could not resist a glance at Alistair, wondering if he, too, was recalling the intimacy of their time in the apple tree.
He lifted a brow and there was that little quirk to his lips again. He was remembering all right. Heat rushed to her face as she smiled back.
She decided. She was going to tell him about the laudanum the moment they returned home. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying something about it right then. She had no wish to be in the middle of such a discussion when they arrived at Beauworth.
The road to Beauworth required them to once more pass through the hamlet of Boxted.
Alistair straightened in the saddle and turned to look back as they passed by the village green.
She followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Someone you know?’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure. A woman. She had her back to me, but there was something familiar about her and the fellow she was with.’ He grimaced. ‘Never mind. It is not important.’
‘How much further is it?’
‘A few minutes. Boxted is on the edge of the Beauworth estate.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are you tiring?’
Quite the contrary, having made her decision she felt a great deal lighter, freer, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘Not in the least, but it is kind of you to ask.’
He nodded his acceptance of her compliment. ‘You will like Beauworth House and the grounds are extraordinary. There have been Le Cleres in this part of Hampshire for centuries. Their ancestors go back further than mine. Vikings or some such.’
‘He does not appear very Viking-like. I thought they were all blond giants, though he is large enough to be sure.’
‘Takes after his mother, I gather. She was French.’
‘Did you know each other as boys?’
‘Not really. I was away at school. He remained here with his tutors. He and Luke are closer in age.’
His face had hardened at the mention of his brother.
Another person in his family with whom he was at odds.
‘Have you met the Marchioness?’
‘I have met her, although she rarely comes up to town. You will like her, I think. Beauworth was at our wedding ball only because he had Parliamentary business requiring his attention.’
‘He is a devoted husband, then.’
‘Apparently so. He spent years fighting the French.’ He hesitated. ‘There were rumours that he was a traitor at one time, but now the war is over it seems it has all been forgotten in the interests of peace.’
A gatehouse appeared beside a gap in the hedge and a sweep of drive up to a lovely Palladian house of golden weathered sandstone. When they arrived at the columned portico over the front door, grooms came at the run to take their horses.
By the time they had dismounted, Beauworth and his lady were walking down the steps to greet them. Clearly a duke and duchess merited a proper formal welcome, but their smiles were warm. Lady Beauworth’s gold hair glinted guinea bright in the sunshine. Though small of stature, her presence was commanding and her dove-grey eyes gleamed when they rested on her large handsome husband.
‘Welcome to Beauworth,’ the Marquess said, escorting Julia indoors and leaving Alistair to accompany the Marchioness. He did have a tinge of French in his accent. It was very slight and perhaps only noticeable if you were looking for it.
The drawing room was beautifully appointed, painted in a pretty blue with white moulding and cornices. The tea tray arrived in short order. It wasn’t long before Julia felt an immediate liking for the vivacious Lady Beauworth.
‘Call me Ellie, please,’ she said, ‘for I am hoping we will be good friends since we live so close.’
‘I am Julia and would like that very much.’ It would be wonderful to have a friend. Though there was much in her past she could never discuss with a lady as fine as the Marchioness of Beauworth, they must surely have some things in common. ‘Your house is lovely.’
‘Hah. You would not say so had you seen it when we were first married. Garrick’s uncle had turned the place into a haven for bachelors.’ She shuddered. ‘Fortunately, my husband was only too glad to give me a free hand in making it livable.’ She poured tea for them all and the two men wandered off with the cups to look out of the window while they chatted in low voices.
Julia could not quite imagine Alistair giving her a free hand in anything. ‘Did you hire an architect?’
‘We did for the larger projects, but you know simply adding a few flowers and changing the curtains and furniture made a huge difference.’
‘Perhaps more flowers are what Sackfield needs.’ It needed something to turn into a home instead of a mausoleum.
‘The gardens there are lovely, so I am told.’
‘They are.’ As was the apple orchard. And the bedchambers. She quelled the memory, but something must have shown in her face because Ellie gave a delighted little chuckle.
‘Oh, you newlyweds. I suppose you will soon be thinking about setting up your nursery.’
A weight descended on her chest. The weight of her failure as a wife. More hot blushes scalded her cheeks.
Ellie chuckled wickedly, completely misinterpreting her embarrassment.
Beauworth glanced over at his wife with a fond smile, his expression changing in an instant from stern to loving. Alistair’s expression, on the other hand, remained coolly aloof.
‘Why not take Her Grace up to the nursery when you have finished your tea?’ the Marquess said. ‘I am sure she would like to meet our chicks.’
Ellie looked at her doubtfully. ‘Would you indeed? I am a terribly proud mama. Utterly boring on the subject, if you must know. We have two little lords and one very demanding young lady in our nest.’
Julia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been among any little ones. ‘I would love to meet them.’
‘You are not saying that to be polite, I hope,’ Ellie said, frowning.
‘No. I mean it, quite sincerely. Since we are to be friends, I promise you, I will never lie or pretend.’
‘Nor will I,’ Ellie said, nodding firmly. ‘How splendid.’ She glanced over at her husband. ‘Can you manage without us?’
The Marquess bowed, but there was a twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘With difficulty, my love. I gather the Duke and I have a matter to discuss.’