Julia closed her eyes and lay back against the chaise in the sitting room adjoining her bedroom. Surely she should feel better by now. If only Robins would stop bustling about in the other room, she might actually be able to rest.
There was something about the way she felt that reminded her of being ill as a child.
If her courses had started, she might have ascribed her general weakness to that occurrence. They were always frightfully painful and terribly irregular. And they were due in a week or so, though they were often late. A sign, the doctors had said, of an inability to have children. But these sensations were quite different. The nausea. The dizziness.
Could she have contracted some sort of illness? Should she ask for a doctor?
A door opened and the rattle of cups alerted her to the arrival of the tea tray.
‘Is that the girl with the tea, Your Grace?’ Robins called from the other room. ‘Shall I pour?’
Julia forced her eyes open as Robins scurried in from the bedroom. The woman stopped short, her mouth agape.
‘I will pour for Her Grace.’
Alistair?
Julia went to swing her legs down and sit up.
‘Stay where you are, madam,’ he said. He glowered at Robins. ‘Have you finished unpacking?’
‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Come back later.’
With a gasp, the woman curtsied and disappeared from whence she came, no doubt leaving by way of the dressing room off Julia’s bedchamber.
Alistair frowned. ‘Did she sniff at me?’
Julia couldn’t help chuckling even if it did sound a little weak. ‘I think she may have. Do not feel special, she sniffs at me, too.’
‘Good Lord. How very odd. Perhaps you should get someone new.’
And hurt Mr Lewis’s feelings? ‘She hasn’t done anything that requires such drastic measures. And she is really very kind though her manner can be a little presumptuous.’
‘You are braver than I. The woman leaves me quaking in my boots.’ He brought the small table holding the tea tray and set it beside her. He pulled up a chair. ‘I had them make peppermint tea. I hope that is all right? It seemed to help yesterday.’
‘It did. Thank you.’ How kind. And after such a horrid display of illness yesterday. Tears welled. She blinked them back, shocked by the sudden surge of emotion. This was not like her at all. Perhaps her courses really would be early for a change.
In truth, only the last part of the journey had been awful. The earlier part had been nice, even if she had fallen asleep. She recalled his promise to never cause her harm with a feeling of tenderness. The man had a kind streak. Of course, she had already known that or he would not have offered marriage. But his coming to see how she was faring was an unexpected thoughtfulness.
Perhaps he was missing his mistress. She ignored the pang in her chest. If he was, perhaps she could find a way to replace her in his affections. A trickle of heat ran through her veins at the naughty thought. Heaven help her, she really was becoming wanton. If so, it was all his fault, him and his fallen angel looks and the heat flaring in his eyes. She lowered her gaze in case he saw the direction of her thoughts. The man saw too much.
Alistair handed her a cup and saucer and she took a sip. He watched her intently. Oh, dear, did he think she was going to be ill again and was preparing to leap clear? Or worse yet, make a dash to fetch the chamber pot?
‘I am feeling a good deal better, today,’ she said as much for herself as for him. ‘It is strange how I am ill one moment and then an hour later I feel fine.’ She hesitated. ‘I felt a great deal worse yesterday than the day before.’
He straightened. ‘Worse?’ His frown deepened.
Oh, she had not meant to cause him further worry. ‘Perhaps. I am not sure.’
‘You have been refusing your food, madam. It is no wonder you are weak. Once you have drunk your tea you are going to eat something.’
‘I am not sure I could.’ Or that she should.
‘I insist. The kitchen is bringing up broth for you and sandwiches for me, and we will see how you do.’ His expression became grim. ‘If you are not better by morning, I am sending for the doctor.’
Relief filled her. She had wondered how she might raise that very issue. Doctors were expensive and she was not sure he would appreciate spending the coin. But then he was nothing like her first husband, begrudging every penny. She had to remember that. She lifted her brows at him over her cup. ‘You are very dictatorial, husband.’
‘Someone needs to take you in hand,’ he said, his voice strangely gruff as if he found the words uncomfortable. ‘It might as well be me.’
And if not him, who else would? The loneliness she had tried to ignore since leaving her home eight years ago threatened to overwhelm her. If she had not been barren, she would have had a child by now. Children. In that event, she would not have had to worry about loneliness.
A knock on the door heralded the appearance of another tray. While one footman whisked the tea tray away, the second replaced it with the other, bearing a plate of sandwiches and little cakes and a steaming bowl of clear soup. They left as soundlessly as they had arrived.
Julia put a hand on her stomach. ‘To tell the truth, I do feel a little peckish.’
‘But you did not send down for food.’
‘I did not think of it until now.’ Oh, dear, she was sounding defensive. Argumentative. ‘I thank you for your thoughtfulness.’
His grey eyes warmed, as if her thanks pleased him. ‘Good.’ He removed the plate of sandwiches, balanced the tray with the soup on her lap and handed her the spoon. ‘Now eat.’
A smile tugged at her lips. Clearly her husband, while his bedside manner left much to be desired, was trying his best to be sympathetic in the practical way of a man solving problems. ‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ she said meekly.
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. Was there really amusement there? ‘I see what you are about, madam. Do not think I will be fooled by your cozening ways.’ He picked up a sandwich and took a bite.
He had lovely white teeth and his face, though very masculine, was also quite beautiful when that little smile curved his lips. It made him look devastatingly handsome. Her insides fluttered as she recalled their one night of lovemaking. He had smiled then, too.
Apparently, given the direction of her thoughts, she was indeed feeling better. She sipped at her broth. Delicious. Seasoned to perfection. She finished it in short order. ‘My compliments to your chef.’
‘Cook. And she was quite perturbed at your lack of appetite.’
Or was it he who was perturbed? The idea that he cared was a warm sensation around her heart.
He inspected the three remaining sandwiches on the plate resting on the arm of his chair, held there by one large, but elegant hand. ‘Do you think you could manage one of these? There is ham, roast beef, or breast of chicken.’ He gave her the most bashfully boyish smile she had ever seen.
He looked so young, almost hopeful.
It seemed he had saved her one of each kind so she would have a choice, rather than leaving what he least preferred. ‘Chicken, please.’
Looking thoroughly pleased, he passed it over and watched while she ate, as if to make sure she did not tuck it into the chair cushion when he wasn’t looking, like a recalcitrant child.
Protective.
If he had children, that is how he would be with them, too. Longing stole into her heart to be swiftly followed by the ache of regret. The expectation she might give him children was practically nil. When he realised this was the case, would he also hate her, the way her first husband had? What of his promises then? His disappointment?
The warm glow dissipated. She finished the sandwich.
‘Another,’ he asked.
‘No, thank you.’ Thinking of children had stolen the rest of her appetite.
He regarded her intently. ‘I will not have you fading away to nothing.’
‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Humph.’ He paused, looking at her almost expectantly. When she didn’t respond, a crease appeared in his forehead. ‘I told Grindle you would greet the staff when you feel better. I was going to suggest you take to your bed for the rest of the afternoon, but then I wondered if you wouldn’t prefer to take a walk. Get some fresh air. Put some colour in your cheeks.’
Instantly, her spirits lifted. ‘I would love to go for a walk.’
His face brightened. ‘Excellent. Let us send for that dresser of yours.’
‘I think I can manage to wrap myself in a shawl and put on a bonnet,’ she said, not liking the idea of Robins’s fussing.
‘I am sure you can. With my help.’
* * *
They walked down the hill to the stables set away from the house. This was closer to what Julia had expected would be her lot in life as a girl. A handsome husband whose large gloved hand held hers against the crook of his elbow. A home in the country, similar to the one she had lived in growing up—before Father died and her brother took over the estate and her life.
Not that she’d ever imagined reaching as high as a duke. Her family had lost much of their land and influence after generations of lackadaisical earls who had preferred the spending of wealth to accumulation. And yet her breeding was as good and as old as his, so it wasn’t a complete mésalliance, even if they had met in unusual and potentially scandalous circumstances.
The stables were a long low red-brick affair reached by way of a path across the lawns, or by way of a turn off the drive further down the hill. They passed through a red-brick arch and into a quadrangle laid with cobblestones in diagonal patterns that sloped into a runnel. In the centre was a large stone horse trough fed from a wrought-iron pump. The stables, red brick with a thatched roof, had sufficient room for a great many animals.
‘My goodness, how many horses do you keep here?’
‘The east end—’ he pointed ‘—holds various equipages. The rest are stalls. At the moment we have ten animals, most of whom are out to pasture. Several of the mares are in foal. Would you like to meet those in residence?’
‘I would love to.’
He strolled on. ‘When my father was alive, he kept a great many more horses, mostly for hunting. Now we have become more discerning and turned our attention to the racecourse.’
He guided her inside and along a corridor along a wall set with large windows at regular intervals and three sets of double doors, one at each end and one in the middle. On the other side was a row of stalls and loose boxes with windows under the eaves. The whole thing had a bright airy feel, though of course it was thick with the usual aromas of manure, horse and hay. A couple of the residents poked their heads over the top of the half-doors to see who had come to visit.
‘Your horses must count themselves fortunate to live in such modern accommodations,’ she said, recalling the details of her girlhood home for the first time in a long time. The stable where her father and now her brother kept his horses had no windows at all at ground level, the ceilings were low and the stalls on each side of the central aisle were dark and dingy. One needed a lamp to see much at all, even in the middle of a sunny day.
‘A happy horse is a healthy horse. Isn’t that right, Thor?’ His horse whiffled a greeting and nudged his owner with his nose. Alistair dug in the pocket of his jacket and produced a carrot.
Leaving the horse munching happily, they strolled down a row of mostly empty stalls.
‘Ah, here is the lady I was looking for.’ Julia, standing next to him, once again realised how tall he was as he leaned one arm on the top of the stall door on a level with her chin. Inside the larger loose box was a beautiful grey and her leggy coal-black foal.
‘Oh, how lovely.’
The mare wandered over to greet them. Alistair blew softly in her nose and she shook her head and pawed at the ground. ‘I know, Princess,’ he said. ‘You want to be let out.’
‘Princess? Is that her name?’
‘Her name and her nature,’ a voice with a faint Scottish burr said. The owner of the voice walked down the aisle towards them. He was a handsome man of about thirty, with sandy-coloured hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a homespun jacket and trousers of an indeterminate brown and a startlingly blue kerchief at his throat. ‘Welcome home, Your Grace.’
‘Jaimie, you rogue. Let me introduce you to my wife. Duchess, this is James McPherson, head lad here at Sackfield.’
‘Your Grace.’ Jaimie bowed with a little twirl of his wrist. ‘Welcome to my domain.’
There was something oddly familiar about the man, though Julia knew she had never met him before. Perhaps it was the intensity of his piercing blue gaze. ‘Thank you, Mr McPherson.’
‘Call him Jaimie,’ Alistair said. ‘Everyone else does, from the land steward to the scullery maid. Jaimie charms them all.’
Clearly her husband liked this man. His expression was less chilly than usual. Julia smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Jaimie.’
Jaimie grinned back, then turned his gaze on Alistair. ‘So... Here you are for another summer visit.’
‘How is everything?’
The stable master began a report full of horses’ names and various ailments and other needs. While the two men communed, Julia wandered further along the row of stalls. The stables were a wonder of cleanliness and care. Jaimie McPherson clearly knew his business.
‘Bella!’ she exclaimed as the little mare hung her head over her stall door.
‘Found her, did you?’ Alistair said, coming up beside her.
McPherson must have left, for all of a sudden there was no sign of him.
‘When did she arrive?’
‘I sent her down a few days ago. I assumed you would want to ride during your stay here.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps being unwell you would prefer going about by carriage.’
‘Oh, no. I am sure this will not continue. I would love to ride out with...on Bella.’ She had been about to say with you, but after their one ride he had not asked her to go with him again. She had no wish to put him on the spot, either force him to go with her when he did not want to, or have him tell her she was not welcome.
He rubbed Bella’s nose. ‘Good. Why don’t we hack out tomorrow morning, if you are sufficiently recovered by then? I have to look in on all my tenants over the next few weeks and it will be a good way for you to get to know the countryside and the people hereabouts.’
It seemed her fears were groundless. A lightness entered her chest. ‘I would love to. We also have to pay a call on the Marquess, once we are settled.’
‘I will send a note over and enquire when it might be convenient to call.’
She smiled up at him and he actually smiled back. A rather fleeting affair, but still a smile. Who was this charming man? And what had he done with her dark and dangerous dissolute duke?
* * *
The next morning, Alistair, at the sideboard, filled his plate with fluffy scrambled eggs and several rashers of bacon, his ears alert for the sound of his wife, who had promised to join him at breakfast. He had suggested she retire right after dinner and had been wishing ever since that she had objected to leaving him by himself.
He shook his head at the irritating thought and the resultant restless night. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Even had she not been unwell, he would not have joined her in bed. No matter what. Of that he was certain. Practically certain.
He turned the moment she walked in.
The dreadful pallor of her skin of the previous day had been replaced by a healthy glow. She was dressed in the habit she had worn in Hyde Park. Ready to ride out. Gladness washed through him. Because she looked well, nothing else. Oddly the feeling was far stronger than circumstances warranted, likely brought on by how attractive she looked. And that was not a good thing.
‘Good morning, Your Grace,’ he said, taking his plate to his usual place at the head of the table. ‘It looks like a good day for hacking out.’
She smiled at him and his stomach lurched. He must be hungry. For food. He’d been up at first light. And not only because he hadn’t slept well. In Lewis’s absence, he’d been forced to attend to all of his correspondence rather than only the important items. After that he’d met with Jaimie and given him his orders for the day, or at least agreed on a plan of action. Giving Jaimie orders was like trying to instruct the tide when to turn.
He forked up a mouthful of eggs.
‘I am looking forward to seeing more of Sackfield,’ she said, browsing the platters of food.
‘I can recommend the eggs and the bacon if your digestion is up to it. Both come from the home farm.’
‘Thank you.’
Covertly, he watched her take a small amount of each and then add several strawberries and a slice of toast. It didn’t look like enough to keep a bird alive. No wonder she was so slender. He pondered encouraging her to take more, but did not want that wary look back in her eyes.
A look he’d put there with his deliberate coldness.
She sent him a curious glance. A pretty pink washed across her face. A blush. Hell, he was staring at her like a besotted schoolboy.
Or a newlywed husband.
He forced his attention to his newspaper, an article on horticulture, a comparison of the benefits of pig manure versus cow manure. Something that would cool any man’s ardour.
Or should. It did not blunt his awareness of Julia at his right hand, close enough for him to touch. His fingers twitched as if they might reach out and stroke her hand of their own volition. Abandoning the pretence of reading, he folded the newspaper and gestured to the teapot. ‘May I pour you a cup of tea?’
‘Thank you.’
He did so and watched as she added a generous dollop of cream and a mere sprinkle of sugar. She sipped it and sighed.
He raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘Oh. No.’ She gave him a hesitant glance. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You sighed.’
She blinked. ‘Did I? Oh, I suppose it was a sigh of gratitude. Robins insists I take chocolate in the morning and I really do not like it.’
‘Then tell her no.’
She pursed her lips, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘I did mention it. She is determined I shall be all that is fashionable. Apparently, only dowds and dowagers take tea upon awakening. I fear I am a sad disappointment.’
She certainly was nothing of the sort. ‘She sounds more like a governess than a dresser.’
‘A very attentive governess.’
‘It is your decision, of course.’
‘Yes. It is.’ She shot him a conspiratorial smile. ‘This morning I tipped it out of the window into the flower beds while she was off fetching my bonnet.’
Confidences were a wonderful start to the day. ‘Hardly a satisfactory solution.’
Her smile faltered and he felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. ‘You are sure you feel well enough to ride this morning?’
‘I do.’ A puzzled frown creased her forehead. ‘I cannot think what came over me on the journey.’
Intending comfort, he took her hand in his, small and fine boned and so very breakable. ‘Travel sickness. It can affect the best of us at times.’
To his pleasure, she did not pull away. He brought her hand to his lips before reluctantly releasing her fingers. She was his wife, not his lover. ‘We will not overdo things today. I have only one call I must make.’
She gazed at him, her amber eyes strangely soft. ‘Did you remember to send a note round to Beauworth? We should not be remiss in answering his invitation.’
‘As promised. I will let you know his response.’ He glanced at her barely touched plate with a sense of unease. Was she not well and simply afraid to tell him? ‘Jaimie said he thought it might rain later.’
She pushed the eggs on her plate around with her fork. ‘Do Jaimie’s predictions usually prove true?’
‘About half the time.’
A small smile played about her lips. ‘Good to know.’
Something painful tugged at his chest. Why, because he’d made her smile? Such nonsense. He picked up his cup and sipped at his tea. ‘Eat.’
For a moment he thought she might take issue with his request, or rather his order. Apparently his wife was another one who did not respond well to orders and nor did he usually find himself dishing them out to the females of the species. He preferred to get his way by more subtle means, but seeing her pick at her food when she had eaten so very little these past two days was concerning in the extreme. He offered her a mollifying smile as she glanced at him from beneath lowered brows.
To his relief, she resumed eating and, while he pretended to read his newspaper, she finished everything on her plate.
He rose to help her with her chair, enjoying the scent of jasmine as she stood. ‘Are you ready?’
‘But for my hat and riding gloves.’
He walked her out to the hall. ‘I will meet you outside.’
He paused in the hall to watch her mount the stairs, the sway of her hips in the full riding gown a delight to behold. He caught Grindle eyeing him with an indulgent expression and frowned. ‘Something wrong, Grindle?’
The man flushed. ‘No, Your Grace.’
Puzzled by his embarrassment, Alistair strode out the front door where Jaimie was waiting with Bella and Thor.
As he’d requested on the spur of the moment, a blanket had been tied on behind Thor’s cantle. Another impulse brought on by his wife’s company. He pressed his lips together to stop himself from requesting its removal. He was, after all, on his honeymoon in a sense.
Jaimie touched his cap and looked expectantly towards the front door.
Alistair narrowed his eyes. Apparently his duchess was fast becoming a favourite with the staff. As she had in London. He quelled a sudden welling of pride. Such emotions would be his undoing.
‘How is Bella this morning?’ he asked Jaimie.
‘In fine fettle. Well rested after her journey, but not in the fidgets.’
‘Good. Her Grace is an excellent horsewoman, but the terrain is unfamiliar.’
‘Bella will stay close to Thor.’
True.
When Julia joined them, she smiled at the stable master. ‘Good morning, Jaimie.’
The man gave her a shameless grin. ‘Your Grace.’
Alistair boosted her up on to Bella, handed her the reins and swung up on to Thor.
‘Where are we going?’ Julia asked as they trotted down the drive.
‘First to the home farm as we’ve some new arrivals, and then I thought I would show you one of the local villages and some of the park.’