Perhaps this was a bad idea, Ruan thought, his stomach clenching as he guided the horses up the drive of Pemberton Hall. Olive sat, ram-rod straight, beside him, and Polly sat silently beside her. He had innocuously suggested, the day before, that his wife might like to visit his childhood home, and Olive had jumped at the idea. When he had collected her at the boarding house that morning, he discovered why: Polly wanted to see her sister.
Ruan had felt like a selfish git as he helped the Northern lass into the gig. He had been so preoccupied with Olive, that he had forgotten how much Polly probably missed young Emily, whom she was rarely separated from. Though she had probably found consolation in the fact that Emily been left in the care of the very able Mrs Hogg, who doted on the young girl.
The Housekeeper and Emily's sister stood at the door to greet them as Ruan steered the gig to the front steps of the house. He waved hello, before hopping out and assisting Olive and Polly from the vehicle.
"Polly!"
Young Emily, who now that Ruan thought on it was probably nearly twenty, tore down the front steps and launched herself at her elder sister. Polly staggered backwards at the force with which Emily threw herself on her, but she did not fall, merely wrapped her arms around her sister in a warm hug.
"Oh, I have missed you," Emily said, as she drew away from the embrace, "I have a new pet chicken, called Maisie. Mrs Hogg says her eggs are magical, though I told her not to be silly, eggs aren't magical only fairies are."
"Indeed her eggs are," the stout housekeeper called, as the group ascended the front steps of the house. "They make the finest puddings known to man, and I have one cooling in the kitchen for after luncheon, your Grace."
"Thank you Mrs Hogg," Ruan replied, casting a warm smile at the woman whose food had been the highlight of his childhood, "Allow me to introduce--"
He paused abruptly; what on earth was he supposed to introduce Olive as? The woman he had married, but had failed to bed? His poor housekeeper would drop dead if he shared that bit of information with her!
"Olive," his wife smiled at the housekeeper, neatly side-stepping Ruan's discomfort. "It's wonderful to meet you Mrs Hogg, I have heard so much about you and Pemberton Hall. Many people in St Jarvis have told me it's the most beautiful house to be found in all of Cornwall."
Mrs Hogg preened with pleasure at this statement, and led Olive inside, pointing out the different architectural merits of Pemberton Hall as they went. Polly and Emily discreetly said their goodbyes to the Duke, and disappeared across the manicured lawns to their small cottage. Ruan watched the pair for a moment, obviously giddy and in high spirits, his heart aching. What would it be like to know love as unconditional as the two Jenkins sisters shared? He had never known, even as a child, what it was like to have someone love him so. His memories of his mother were hazy at best, and while he had a few images of her kissing and hugging him, he wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't made them up. His father had always held him at arm's length, and as a boy he had longed for affection that wasn't provided by a dutiful staff member.
If I have children, he vowed as he watched Polly and Emily disappear from sight, I shall let them know that they are loved. He felt a stab of protectiveness for his yet fictitious offspring, and hastily followed his wife and housekeeper inside. There would be no children if he couldn't persuade Olive to return to the marriage bed.
His wife and Mrs Hogg were still in the entrance hall, viewing the many portraits that lined the wall.
"This is the late Duke," Mrs Hogg said, waving a hand at an intimidating, gilt framed portrait of Ruan's father. There was little resemblance between father and son, the Fifth Duke of Everleigh had been fair, while his son had favoured his mother's dark colouring. "And this is His Grace, ooh he must be only four or five in this, with the late Duchess. Wasn't she beautiful?"
Ruan remained silent as he watched Olive take a step closer to the painting of him and his mother. Her face seemed to soften as she viewed the image of him as a child; Ruan felt a momentary pang of embarrassment, for in the painting he was dressed in foppish pantaloons and his hair was long and curly, like a girls.
"You were adorable, your Grace," she said finally, glancing at him with warmth in her eyes.
"Pshaw," Ruan replied dismissively, though a jolt of pleasure traversed him at her words, and he struggled to keep a grin from erupting on his face. What was wrong with him? He was a Duke, he wasn't supposed to wag his tail like a puppy when a woman declared him adorable!
"We have embarrassed His Grace," Olive whispered to Mrs Hogg, linking her arm through the older woman's. The two ladies headed in the direction of the Blue Parlour, with Ruan following behind. Tea was served in the bright, airy room, which looked out over the rose garden. Mrs Hogg bustled about, directing skittish maids, and not sitting down herself until Olive begged her to.
"Tell me more about Pemberton Hall," she pleaded, and with a show of humble reluctance -which soon passed -Mrs Hogg took a seat on the divan opposite Olive, and began to school her on the running of the house. It was all new information to Ruan, who had not known how much effort went in to keeping a home he rarely frequented running smoothly. Cleaning, gardening, repair work -- it amazed him what went on in the house without his knowledge.
"It sounds like you are doing a most admirable job, Mrs Hogg," Olive said with a smile, as the housekeeper finished speaking. Olive turned to Ruan, her eyebrows raised, "Does it not, your Grace?"
"Lud," Ruan gave his housekeeper a roguish smile, "I had no idea how much work you did. Remind me to give you a pay rise Mrs Hogg."
The older woman beamed with delight at the praise, and rose from her seat, brushing down her apron.
"Thank you, your Grace," she said with a neat bob of her knees, "Now I really must get back to work. I'll leave you to show Olive the rest of the house."
The door closed behind her with a firm click, leaving the Duke and his wife alone. A moment's silence ensued, in which Ruan stared fixedly at the China cup in his hand. It was absurdly small, and looked even smaller as his hands were so large, though the one in Olive's hand seemed a perfect fit. She was perfect; small and delicate, and utterly untouchable.
"Who is that?"
Ruan raised his eyes to where Olive was pointing, even though he knew instinctively what it was that had aroused her curiosity.
"That's Catherine," he said, standing up and walking over to the portrait which hung above the fire-place. The Blue Parlour had always been Catherine's favourite room in the house, so it had felt more appropriate to hang her picture here. He started slightly, as he felt a touch on his sleeve, but relaxed when he realised it was Olive, who had come to stand beside him. She patted his hand consolingly as she gazed up at the picture of Catherine.
"She was very beautiful," she offered; for it was the truth. Catherine had always been a beauty, with dark locks and deep brown eyes set against alabaster pale skin. It was a restless beauty however; even in the portrait she looked agitated, as though she wished to be anywhere than there.
"Polly told me everything," Olive said, after they had stood in reflective silence for a moment. Ruan turned to look at her in confusion; "Told you everything about what?"
"About Catherine. About you and Catherine. Don't be angry with Polly," she added quickly, seeing the look on Ruan's face. "She just wanted me to know what a kind and generous hearted man you are. And you are, Ruan, you truly are."
Her soft voice speaking his name caused him to shiver with desire, and her hand on his seemed to burn his very skin. He encircled her wrist with his own hand, and pulled her gently toward him, so that she was pressed against his chest.
"If you think that, my dear," he whispered, looking down into her green eyes, "Then will you consent to be my wife?"
Olive licked her lips, a nervous act, no doubt, but one which left Ruan aching with need for her.
"Perhaps," she consented, shyly dropping her eyes to his chest, "Though we did agree that a courtship is not complete until the couple have danced together at least once, did we not?"
Ruan groaned at her teasing words; he was aching for her so much that it was nearly painful. Still, at least she seemed to have softened toward him; in fact, he would go so far as to say that she now actually appeared to like him. A marked improvement on the first days of their marriage.
"I wish," he said softly, and she glanced up at him again, her eyes full of questions. "I wish that I had courted you properly the first time Olive," he continued, feeling relief as he divested himself of the guilt he felt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I went about everything the wrong way."
He watched his wife frown as she considered his apology.
"I wish you had too, your Grace," she finally replied in a light, teasing tone. "Now the future of our marriage rests on your ability to Waltz..."
It would be the best waltz of her life, Ruan thought with determination. Then once it was done, he would take her by the hand and lead her to the nearest bedroom - scandal be damned!