Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day passed slowly for Aurelia. Although she was assured she would meet the duke at breakfast, the breakfast table—once she found it; a footman had to lead her there—was empty.
And indeed, the small luncheon she ate in the blue room, overlooking the distant sea, was perfectly pleasant and alone, as was her supper.
She was not accustomed to eating alone. Either she ate with the fellow servants downstairs, or she ate with the Duchess of Fenwick, if company was thin on the ground and the duchess desired someone to speak to. When her mother and uncle were still alive, she had eaten with them.
Thus, eating by herself, waited upon by several silent footmen, was a new and not altogether pleasant experience.
If she had been merely Aurelia Dufort, she might have attempted to engage the footmen in conversation, but she was now Aurelia Hale, the Duchess of Ravenhall, and duchesses did not converse with footmen as a general rule.
Her position made her feel lonelier than ever.
It might have been at least bearable if the duke were by her side, but she had not so much as caught a glimpse of him all day. He had to be avoiding her; she had even loitered outside his bedchamber for an embarrassingly long time in the hopes of seeing him, but had seen and heard nothing!
Mr. Fellows and Mrs. Hodge were equally unhelpful, responding vaguely to her desire to see the duke.
Eventually, later in the evening, Aurelia retired to the library to read.
The Duchess of Fenwick had firmly believed novels were a threat to feminine virtue and wasted no opportunity to say so.
Which made it all the more satisfying to find an entire wall of them tucked behind the manor’s worthier tomes.
Nothing published in the last ten years. No women authors. But still, plenty of stories with swooning, swordplay, and scandal. She could work with that.
By the time she finally peeled herself away, her candle was burning low and her eyes ached from squinting at tiny print. She collected the stub of wax and made her way toward her bedchamber.
Then she heard it. A low groan.
Her heart in her mouth, she stopped again, listening.
There! Another groan, this one a fraction louder.
Coming from the duke’s suite…
She contemplated the situation. Mrs. Hodge had made it very clear that she was not to venture into the duke’s chambers; the entire east wing was out of bounds to her, despite being mistress of the house.
But when another low, pitiful groan reached her, the last of her uncertainty fled. If the duke was ill, he may not have anyone attending him. Surely she could not be punished for going out of her way to help him?
Stopping only to replace her candle with a new one, she hurried down the corridor, her candle flame dancing.
As she approached, the groaning grew louder, feverish in quality.
Fortunately, the door behind which the groaning emanated was unlocked, and she let herself in, acclimating to the dark light.
She was in a dressing room, well-appointed. Beyond, through an ajar door, the groaning was louder still, and accompanied by the brushing of material against itself.
The duke, presumably, tossing and turning.
Her heart in her mouth, she entered his bedchamber, her eyes going immediately to the figure on the bed.
As she watched, he groaned again, evidently in pain, and tossed helplessly to the side.
From here, she could see he was a large man, brought low by fever.
It was a strange sight to see such a powerful person brought low, but now that she was here, she could help.
“Fear not,” she whispered as she approached, in case he was of sound enough mind to process her arrival. Or, even, to wonder who she was.
They had not met, but even in this light, and even when he was sick with a fever, she recognized his familiar bold features. That strong jaw and aquiline nose.
“I am Aurelia, your wife.” The words felt odd to say in her mouth. “I’ve come to help.”
His eyes opened at the sound of her voice, but he looked at her unseeingly. “Kate?”
She hesitated, wondering if she had forgotten a member of staff named Kate. And, for a moment, she considered pretending she was them for his state of mind. The urgency with which he had looked at her—as though he wanted nothing more than for her to be this other lady…
But she couldn’t lie.
“No, Your Grace.” She placed the candle down on his bedside table and found a bowl of water left on the dresser by his valet. Finding some cloth, she dipped it in the cold water and approached the duke again, laying it gently across his forehead.
He sighed, eyes closing in relief. But his hot fingers closed around her wrist. “…why are you here, Kate?”
She knew of no one called Kate, and although she had yet to meet all the staff, she was almost certain none of them were named Kate either.
“Your Grace—” she coaxed as gently as she could, “I am quite unsure as to who you’re referring to.”
Still half asleep, his grip on her wrist slackened, and his face smoothed. Aurelia drew up a chair, propped her chin on her palm, and simply watched him.
Such an outlandishly handsome man…
She had never come into such close confines with a man this young and elegant before. He looked to be around thirty, with fine lines on his forehead, but his skin was smooth save for that. There was stubble on his jaw and cheeks.
Had he not left his room all day? While she had been grousing about his avoidance of her, had he been abed, sick? She regretted her quick judgment now. Still, she could help here, in the middle of the night, and for that she was grateful.
When the cold compress on his forehead grew too warm, she replaced it. She stayed with him—for quite some time—with only a novel for company, when the dawn light shone through the curtains and his fever finally broke.
When he lay still and quiet, she left the room, abandoning her candle without thinking, lost in her thoughts and exhaustion as she groggily ambled back to her bedchamber. Instead of calling for Jane, who had surely gone to bed rather than wait up for her, she merely collapsed on her own bed.
So that was the duke…
That was the man she had married.
A shiver of excitement coursed through her. Close by, he was more striking than he had been at a distance, and he had not been avoiding her; he had been ill.
All was not lost after all. And now, she had an excellent feeling about finally meeting him.
Thanks in part to her late night, Aurelia slept in and entirely missed any chance of a breakfast with the duke.
By the time she emerged from her bedchamber, it had passed noon, and she partook of a small luncheon in the blue room, as she suspected would become her habit.
Over the course of the afternoon, she met the staff, right down to the scullery maids, and made a note of their names and occupations.
Having lived and worked below stairs—in a manner of speaking—before, she had some insight into beneath all the velvet and silver, and the hierarchies that took place there.
Not that she could say so aloud. Certainly not to Fellows. And definitely not to Mrs. Hodge. If either of them suspected she’d ever been anything less than a proper lady, she rather thought they’d have her packed up and carted off before the duke had time to object.
If Mr. Arnold hadn’t found her in her previous occupation, and if it hadn’t been made plain to her that her situation was, in part, the reason for the duke selecting her as his wife, she would have assumed he was also ignorant.
What sort of duke wished to have a wife like her?
She would find out soon.
Her chest bubbled with excitement as she finally made her way to the dining room when it came time for dinner.
Just as she had suspected, the duke was standing there already, his hands tucked neatly behind his back.
He turned to look at her, and she got her first experience of the duke’s attention fixated on her.
His eyes were a dark brown, piercing, and slightly narrowed as they took in her face.
Did he think her pretty? Was she living up to his expectations?
She dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace. My name is Aurelia.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” His deep baritone was clipped, and he gestured to the chair at the opposite end of the table. They were so far apart. No doubt that was what civility dictated, but she wished she could take hold of civility and toss it away. At least for today.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said as she sat.
“My apologies for not doing so sooner. I found myself somewhat… under the weather.”
“That’s all right.” She smiled a little to herself. “You were practically delirious.”
He stiffened. “Pardon?”
Was this something she should never admit to? Was she not supposed to have seen him when he was ill?
“When I cared for you last night,” she frowned. “Do you remember nothing?”
“I thought I dreamed—” He shook his head, his expression sharpening. The irritation in his eyes stabbed at her. “Did Mrs. Hodge not tell you that my wing is forbidden?”
“She did,” Aurelia murmured, so shocked that instead of gratitude, he was offering her ire. She could only gape at him. “But I could hear you groaning, and you were evidently in pain. There was no one else to sit with you until your fever broke. What was I supposed to do?”
His fist clenched subtly on the table. “You ought to have left well enough alone.”
“You know, most people would have responded to my help with a simple ‘thank you’. I do not expect much, but that would have been sufficient.”
His gaze sharpened. “I will not be thanking you, Miss Dufort, for flouting my rules.”
Aurelia tossed her napkin to her place and stood, angry now. “Is that so? And if I hadn’t cared for you? If you thought I was the kind of lady to let others suffer, then I’m afraid you are in for a disappointment.”
His eyes flashed, but he didn’t rise. Perhaps he was still ill. His skin still looked a little pale, though irritatingly enough, it did nothing to detract from his attractiveness. Given how he was behaving, she would have preferred if it had.
“I had hoped you would know better than to test the mettle of a duke.”
“Is a duke of stronger will than the average man?” Unable to hold back, she approached him, her head held high, her heart hammering in her chest. She recalled the way Lord Redwood had touched her without her permission, thinking she was the sort of passive girl to allow such things.
She had been dismissed because of it, but the duke had married her.
He could not dismiss her now. And she would not allow him to tread all over her.
He tilted his chin up to look at her as she approached, challenge in his eyes. “I think you have underestimated me,” he muttered calmly.
“And I think you have underestimated me.” Placing her hands on the table, she leaned forward. “What reason do you have for telling me not to enter your wing? Why am I to be kept away?”
“That is none of your concern.” To her irritation, he looked at her with a curled lip, not seeming in the least surprised or intimidated by her temper or the fact that she dared stand up to him. Internally, she was quivering, hardly able to believe she was defying a duke of all people!
But she had sacrificed her sleep to sit by his bed and ensure he was all right. Yes, she had broken some silly, incorporeal ‘rule’, but how could she have known he would treat her like this?
“It is my concern,” she insisted. “I am your wife now—”
“In name only,” he interrupted.
“If that was the case, why marry me at all? We both know I hardly match you in station.”
Impatience flickered deep in his eyes. “That had nothing to do with my decision to offer you my hand in marriage.”
“It seems the next time I hear you crying out in pain, I should leave you to your fate then.” She bit the words out.
“Admittedly, perhaps it was forward of me to assume you would thank me for sitting by your bedside for hours, sacrificing my own sleep and comfort, but I suppose I have always been prone to optimism. I will take dinner in my room. Good day, Your Grace.”
She whirled, intending to storm out of the room, but as she did, she caught her thigh against the table. Stumbling, caught off balance, she lost her poise and pitched forward.
A thick arm swooped around her waist instantly.