Chapter 2
Two
C edric Hall, the Duke of Haremore, breathed deeply, the crisp spring air filling his lungs as he adjusted the reins of his stallion. The rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves against the damp earth and the steady murmur of his steward, Johnson, made for a calming backdrop to his morning rounds.
“This spring looks to be a good one, Your Grace,” Johnson was saying. “Potatoes, barley, wheat—all the crops are showing promise.”
Cedric nodded absently, his eyes scanning the rolling fields. The quiet, predictable patterns of the estate gave him a sense of order he craved, a peace that was so often elusive elsewhere.
He muttered a low, “Good,” more to himself than to Johnson, his attention drifting to the soft rustling of leaves in the distance.
Only, the rustling grew louder, until he was certain that it was not, in fact, the trees and wind making the sound.
The peace was abruptly shattered by the distant rumble of an approaching carriage. Cedric’s hand tightened on the reins as the vehicle came into view, the Haremore crest unmistakable on its side. The carriage sped past, bound for the castle, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.
Cedric closed his eyes for a brief moment, muttering under his breath, “Of all the blasted—” He stopped himself and let out a slow breath, calming his growing frustration. “I hope it’s not who I think it is.”
Without hesitation, he turned his stallion around, nudging the beast into a gallop toward the castle. The pounding of hooves mirrored the quickening of his pulse, dread settling heavily in his chest. He reached the front drive as the carriage came to a halt, the sight of it only confirming his suspicions.
Dismounting, Cedric handed the reins to a waiting stable boy just as Potts, his butler, came rushing down the front steps. The man’s face was flushed, his voice breathless as he approached.
“Your Grace, it is the Duchess. She has arrived without notice.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to be told who had just arrived in that carriage. He sighed as he turned to face the vehicle.
The carriage door opened, and a gloved hand emerged, dainty and poised. Potts turned to him, a pointed look in his eyes that Cedric could not interpret. He could only watch the hand linger in the air.
After a brief pause, Potts hurried forward, his movements frantic, and helped her down. Cedric blinked.
Good Lord! I was supposed to do that! Where are my manners?
When she stepped onto the drive, his breath hitched, though he cursed himself inwardly for the reaction. She looked radiant, her dark blue cloak edged with fur framing her face, the hood set just so to highlight her chestnut-brown hair. Her bright blue eyes widened as they met his, surprise flickering across her features.
“I did not expect someone else to assist me out of the carriage.” One of her eyebrows was arched, and she reminded Cedric of the typical, pompous lady one would find promenading around London.
Though he felt a tug in his chest as he acknowledged her beauty.
More beautiful than on our wedding day .
The thought unsettled him because their marriage was meant to only be a formality, where he should not view her as his wife but as a duchess. He pushed it aside, clearing his throat.
“What is wrong?” he asked abruptly. “Why are you here?”
The directness caught her off guard, and she furrowed her brow slightly as she tilted her head.
Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin, composing herself with practiced grace. “Duke,” she said, her tone measured, “I trust you are well.”
He narrowed his eyes at the pleasantries, his irritation rising. “Is that why you’ve come? To inquire after my health?”
He cast a pointed look at the footmen unloading the mountain of luggage she’d brought. His gaze lingered on her cloak—clearly the latest fashion, if the recent bills he remembered signing were any indication. Though it would not do her any favors in this weather.
“Actually, I wished to speak with you,” she said. “There are matters we need to discuss.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And a letter would not suffice?”
“This is a delicate issue,” she replied calmly. “One that requires a proper conversation. It was necessary,” she added.
“This,” he said, gesturing to the bustling scene, “was not part of our arrangement.”
The Duchess frowned, her eyes darting briefly to the gathered servants. “I think,” she said pointedly, “this is hardly the place to discuss such matters. Unless you prefer to handle private affairs in front of your servants.” She lowered her voice so only he could hear her next words. “After all, it would not surprise me.”
Does she think me mannerless?
It seemed that she did.
Cedric felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward into a sardonic smile. Bowing slightly, he gestured toward the house with exaggerated politeness. “By all means, Duchess,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do grace us with your presence inside the castle.”
The Duchess blinked, clearly taken aback, her lips parting as though she meant to respond.
Cedric’s gaze flicked to her lips—plump, pink, and undeniably tempting. He clenched his fists at his sides, berating himself inwardly.
Control yourself, man.
With a small shake of her head, she turned on her heel and ascended the steps, her movements precise and deliberate. Cedric followed, his expression impassive, though his irritation simmered just beneath the surface.
She paused in the grand foyer, her eyes sweeping over the surroundings. Cedric tilted his head, waiting for some comment on the state of the interior or the lack of refinement.
The Duchess turned to face him. “Is the great hall always this cold?”
Cedric wanted to laugh. She said precisely what he thought she would. “This is Cumberland, Duchess. It is colder than most of England.”
She looked at the crackling fire, and he thought he saw her shiver. “What about the rest of the castle?”
“It is warm enough.”
“Something tells me we have differing definitions of ‘warm enough.’”
She made her way toward the drawing room. Cedric trailed after her, intrigued.
Her gaze swept over the space with a faintly critical air, one eyebrow rising. She took in the dark paneling, the heavy draperies, and the worn but well-kept furniture. When she turned to face him, her expression was guarded.
“Have you ever thought to redecorate the castle?”
Oh, I certainly married a princess.
“I do not indulge in unnecessary things,” he replied, then folded his arms across his chest, leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You seemed quite content with our agreement to lead separate lives,” he said, his voice sharp yet calm. “I must assume your visit comes with a purpose. Spare me the pleasantries and get to the point.”
The Duchess flinched slightly at his bluntness, but her composure returned swiftly. She drew in a breath, lifting her chin as if bracing herself. “My sister,” she began, her voice steady but tense, “is embroiled in a scandal. I need your help to fix her reputation.”
Cedric stiffened, the words slamming into him like a physical blow. His grip on the doorframe tightened, his mind unwillingly dragging forth memories he had long buried. The sharp pain of loss and betrayal surged anew, but he forced his expression into neutrality, though his jaw clenched tightly.
“I cannot help you with that,” he said abruptly, his voice clipped. He turned on his heel, about to walk out. “It would be inappropriate for me to interfere in your family affairs.”
“Duke, please?—”
Her voice, so calm yet insistent, made him pause. He felt her hand catch his sleeve, the delicate pressure of her fingers through the fabric startling him. He stopped, his entire body tensing.
Slowly, he looked down at the gloved fingers clutching the dark fabric of his coat. She must have noticed his reaction, for she quickly pulled her hand away, straightening her posture with a touch of awkwardness.
“I thought you didn’t care about being disrespectful to anyone,” she said, her tone edged with exasperation.
His lips curled into a humorless smile as he turned to face her. “You’re right. I don’t care about what the ton thinks,” he admitted. “But I do care about disrespecting another patriarch’s authority. Your father can manage his household as he pleases.”
She sighed, visibly grappling with her frustration. “I am not asking you to take over his role or challenge his authority. All I ask is that you attend a few events with us. Talk to a few people. Present a united front.” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “You may not frequent Society, but you are one of the most influential men in it. Your ties to the Royal Family alone could silence any gossip.”
His instincts screamed at him to refuse her outright, to avoid any entanglement with the ton and the vipers who dwelled there. Yet, her words, combined with her steady gaze, tugged at something deep within him.
“I would not ask you unless I thought your help was my last hope and the only thing that could save her.”
He felt the old, familiar guilt creeping in, tightening around his chest like a vice.
She stepped back from him, and her luminous blue eyes met his. For a moment, he found himself captivated.
Why must she look at me like that?
His defenses began to waver, but then she removed her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair.
The sight of her necklace made him freeze.
It was a ruby necklace—Cecilia’s necklace. The one their mother had passed down to her, the one Cecilia had worn on the last day he had seen her alive. Seeing it glinting around the Duchess’s neck now felt like a blow to his chest.
“Where did you find that?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.
She looked at him, perplexed. “In the townhouse,” she replied slowly. “It was in one of the jewelry boxes.”
“Take it off,” he said sharply, the harshness of his tone surprising even himself.
Her hand rose instinctively to the necklace, her brow furrowing. “I beg your pardon?”
“Take it off,” he repeated, his voice cold and unyielding. “And give it to me. In exchange, I will consider helping you.”
The Duchess stared at him, her confusion evident, but she said nothing. Slowly, she unclasped the necklace and handed it to him. He took it, his fingers curling tightly around the chain.
“When do you require my presence in London?” he asked, his voice sounding distant even to himself.
She hesitated, watching him as though trying to read his thoughts. “Perhaps in two weeks,” she said finally. “By then, the initial blow of the scandal will have faded somewhat.”
“Good,” he replied tersely, slipping the necklace into his pocket. “And when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning,” she answered softly.
“Good,” he said again, this time with finality.
Without another glance, he turned and walked out of the drawing room.
Audrey’s gaze lingered on the doorway long after the Duke had walked out. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, a flicker of anger threatening to rise.
How dare he leave without finishing the conversation?
Yet, another part of her wavered, unsure whether she should follow him or let him go.
Her fingers moved instinctively to her throat, brushing against the bare skin where the ruby necklace had once rested. Without its familiar weight, her neck felt strangely exposed, as if a part of her had been stripped away. A shiver ran through her, though the room was not cold.
It was never mine, she reminded herself. I had no claim to it. It was simply an object, and yet…
Her hand dropped, and she slumped onto the nearest sofa, sighing as the cushions swallowed her. The harshness of his reaction still puzzled her. What could have prompted such a strong response? What did that necklace mean to him?
The sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see Marie standing hesitantly in the doorway along with an older man with neatly combed gray hair and intelligent gray eyes. His posture was impeccably straight, and his demeanor bespoke years of service.
The man bowed slightly. “Your Grace,” he began in a smooth, practiced tone. “I am Mr. Alexander Potts, the butler at Haremore Castle, at your service. I regret to inform you that Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper, is away visiting our grandchild, but she will return tomorrow.”
Audrey rose gracefully, though her mind still swirled with unanswered questions. “A pleasure to meet you, Potts.”
Potts inclined his head again. “Your Grace, may I have the honor of showing you to your chambers?”
“Yes, thank you,” Audrey said with a small nod, her curiosity momentarily piqued.
Are the butler and the housekeeper married? How unorthodox!
She followed him out of the drawing room, Marie trailing silently behind them.
As they ascended the grand staircase, the light streaming through the high windows bathed the polished banister in a warm glow. Potts turned right at the first landing, then turned right again.
“How many rooms are in this castle?” Audrey asked.
“Thirty, Your Grace.”
“I imagine most are unused.”
And filling with dust, she wanted to add.
“His Grace has no use for them, but we keep them clean at all times.”
Audrey sucked in her lips, glad she did not comment on something she knew little about.
They walked down a long hallway, the silence broken only by the soft sound of their footsteps. Finally, they reached a door at the end of the hallway. Potts opened it and stepped aside, allowing her to enter.
Audrey stepped in and took a moment to survey the room. It was charmingly decorated in shades of rose and mahogany, the furniture sturdy and well-crafted. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the delicate floral patterns on the upholstery.
“I trust you find it to your liking, Your Grace,” Potts said.
Audrey tilted her head, considering her words. “It is… lovely,” she replied politely. And then, she couldn’t help but add, “But I expected it to be larger.”
Potts nodded, unfazed by her observation. “The rooms on this side of the castle are smaller, Your Grace,” he explained.
Audrey frowned slightly, a question forming in her mind. “Why is that?”
“His Grace instructed that these chambers be prepared for you,” Potts said evenly.
She tilted her head further, and then, as the meaning sank in, she scoffed inwardly.
How utterly extreme . But no matter, I wouldn’t wish to stay in the same wing as a brute like him anyway!
Potts offered her a bow. “If there is nothing else, Your Grace, I shall take my leave.”
“Of course,” Audrey said, dismissing him with a slight wave. As he disappeared down the hallway, she turned to Miss Smith with a faint smile. “I cannot wait to leave in the morning.”
Miss Smith nodded. “Nor can I, Your Grace.”
Yet, when Audrey woke up the next morning, the sight that greeted her beyond the window stopped her cold. The entire estate was buried in a blanket of snow, the fields and paths alike transformed into an endless expanse of white.
She ran from room to room, peering out of every window she passed. The storm had come overnight, relentless and unyielding.
“This cannot be happening,” she muttered, pacing the drawing room as she wrung her hands. “There is no way a carriage could make it through this! None! I was meant to leave this morning— this morning! ”
She turned toward the window, staring helplessly at the white expanse outside. The snow seemed to stretch on forever, burying the estate in its icy grip. Her breathing quickened as her frustration boiled over.
“Of all the wretched luck,” she said, half to herself. “Why now? Why here?”
“A pity,” came a deep voice from the doorway. “I suppose we are stuck together.”
Audrey spun around, her eyes widening as they landed on the Duke’s figure leaning casually against the doorframe. He was watching her with that same infuriatingly calm expression, as though her predicament were little more than a minor inconvenience to him.
“Stuck?” she repeated sharply. “Pray, how long is this imprisonment going to last?”
“You are no prisoner here.” The Duke stepped further into the room. “Snowstorms of this nature can last for days.”
“Days?” Audrey’s voice rose slightly. She gestured toward the window with an exasperated sweep of her hand. “In this frigid castle? How does one bear it?”
The Duke raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “The castle is perfectly habitable, I assure you.”
Audrey’s glare was immediate. “Perfectly habitable for whom, Sir? Polar bears?” She folded her arms and turned back to the window, muttering under her breath, “One would imagine that more suitable furnishings might at least retain some warmth.”
The Duke’s amusement grew as he approached, stopping just behind her. “Ah, so the true villain in this tale is my furniture? A tragic oversight on my part, no doubt. Shall I replace the chairs with roaring fireplaces and hot bricks?”
Audrey spun back to face him, nearly colliding with him. Her cheeks flushed—not with the cold, but from how close he was. He was too handsome, too tall, and too imposing!
“You mock me, Duke, but it is hardly absurd to suggest that more comfortable furniture might improve my stay.”
He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes gleaming. “You have taken it upon yourself to criticize Haremore Castle in its entirety?”
“Criticize? No. Observe? Certainly.” She lifted her chin. “And I observe that you might remedy these deficiencies without much effort.”
The Duke leaned in just enough to unsettle her, his voice lowering. “And yet, my dear Duchess, you shall endure it, for the current weather does not permit the acquisition of new furniture. However, I shall have the servants make the rooms warmer.”
Audrey swallowed, the space between them feeling narrower, while her heart pounded. She took a measured step back, her fingers curling into her skirts. “Surely there must be some recourse. A path through the snow or?—”
“The roads are entirely impassable,” he interrupted smoothly. “Any attempt at travel would result in certain failure.”
Audrey huffed, her gaze darting back to the window. “This is entirely unacceptable.”
The Duke’s smile widened, though it carried a touch of irony. “For you, perhaps.”
Her head whipped back toward him, her tone incredulous. “For you? You take pleasure in this?”
“Pleasure?” He gave a faint shrug, his indifference maddening. “I tolerate it. Unlike you, I am accustomed to discomfort.”
“Self-imposed discomfort! You are a duke! Why must you live like this?”
He glanced out the window. “Let us pray that the storm is kind enough to only last a few days.”
Few days… Heavens, no!