Chapter 8 #2
“Duchess Juliana was famous in the neighborhood for her equestrian skills and archery. People still talk of Juliana’s Fence to the east of Ravenhill Forest. Supposedly, she was the only lady who could jump it, and even many gentlemen take a fall there.”
“How brave!” Rose had marveled, wishing that she had such courage, physical or otherwise.
“Yes, a strong character. The duchess lived to almost a hundred years, and bore three sons and two daughters, all of whom lived to adulthood. She even found time to write her own poetry, although it was naturally unpublished outside the family circle…”
The story of this remarkable woman’s life animated Rose’s day and she wondered whether there might be some further record of her in the library. Dorian might know, but he was not here.
Sighing, Rose picked up her spoon and ate her soup in solitary contemplation.
Three sons and two daughters… How fine it would be to have a big, happy, healthy family like that around her someday, just like Duchess Juliana.
She could aspire to that much, if not any real skill in riding, archery or poetry. Couldn’t she?
A husband and wife spend much of their time together, day and night…
With a frown, Rose recalled Josephine’s unsatisfactory answer to her questions about she had gotten with child.
She never had succeeded in having a conversation with her mother on the subject as her friends had recommended.
The Duchess of Westvale had been far too taken up with her husband’s health and the mitigation of Rose’s scandal in the days before the wedding.
Even Josephine’s prediction that Rose would understand better on her wedding night had come to nothing.
On her wedding night, Rose had read one of her favorite novels, cried a little for homesickness and sadness, and then gone to sleep.
When she woke in the morning, she felt no different from the day before.
It suddenly occurred to her that her husband might be at fault.
He had evidently deliberately placed Rose’s rooms at some distance from his own and only occasionally even joined her for meals.
If having a child somehow arose from the proximity of husband and wife, then Rose would presumably end up childless forever.
She was sure that Duchess Juliana would not have stood for this.
Making a decision, Rose put down her napkin and stood up from her chair before the next course could be served.
“Is the duke out from the house?” she asked the footman who had leapt forward to shift her chair.
“I do not know, Your Grace,” the young man answered uncomfortably and Rose went to the door of the dining room, crossing paths with the senior maid now bringing in plates of roasted meat and potatoes on a tray.
“Do you know where the duke is?” Rose demanded, hoping that she was not being rude.
“His Grace is eating in the library, Your Grace,” answered the woman without any change of expression. “He is not to be disturbed. Shall I set out your plate?”
“Not yet. I must speak with my husband,” Rose declared.
My husband… How odd the words sounded when spoken aloud, and yet that was what Dorian Voss was. He might have instructed the servants not to disturb him but Rose was his wife.
Before she could change her mind, she walked to the library and knocked on the door.
There was no answer or sound from within at all.
Was the maid mistaken? Had the duke already eaten and gone out?
Rose knocked again, without result and then pushed open the door a little way.
She did not know what she had expected to find but it wasn’t this…
At a table on the far side of the room, lit by a blaze of candelabras, Dorian Voss was working intently at a large paper sketch set up on one of the tables. It seemed to be the outline of some sort of forest scene. An untouched plate of food and glass of wine lay on a smaller table nearby.
The duke was in his shirt sleeves, his hands and linen marked with charcoal and his hair falling freely over his brow. Smudges on his cheeks and temples showed where he had pushed it aside. How intent he seemed on his work! While disheveled, his appearance struck her as entirely natural.
While natural, Dorian was also strangely fascinating to watch in this pursuit, as though Rose were observing a wild animal in its natural habitat. She could not take her eyes from him although her heart had begun to beat as quickly as though she was running.
When the duke cleared his throat and shifted around his table, Rose started, conscious that she was staring and afraid that she had been spotted. Closing the door over quietly, she withdrew. Rose had not done anything wrong, but sensed that she had in some way intruded on Dorian’s privacy.
She turned on her heel, intending to return to the dining room but found herself facing the small and dynamic figure of Mrs. Jennings tripping across the hallway towards her.
“There you are, Your Grace. Your food will be getting cold in the dining room. Mabel was worried that you might be…ill, but I knew there was little chance of that. There will be talk, you know, if you seem to be off your food. Remember that if any meal is not to your liking, the kitchen can prepare you something else.”
“Oh, no. I am perfectly well, Mrs. Jennings,” Rose answered, feeling as guilty as a child caught in mischief. “Dinner was very good, as it always is. I am sorry that I walked away like that. I shall go back and eat now.”
“Yes, that would be best, Your Grace,” agreed the housekeeper sounding ever more like a school-mistress in her dealings with Rose. “Come along, now.”
“What is to do?” broke in the deep voice of the Duke of Ravenhill and Rose’s heart fell.
Now she would have to admit her foolish behavior to her husband. Would he be cross?
Glancing at him, she was surprised and relieved to see that characteristic little smile of amusement on his lips. While she did not want to be thought funny, it was better than being scolded.
“I am going to finish my dinner now,” Rose declared, looking between the housekeeper and the duke. “I did not mean to cause any inconvenience.”
“So I heard,” he stated calmly and then turned to the housekeeper.
“Mrs. Jennings, your solicitude for my wife’s health and wellbeing are commendable but remember that she is the Duchess of Ravenhill.
She may eat when she wishes to eat, leave the table without challenge and go wherever she wishes in this house.
You are housekeeper here, not governess. Is that understood?”
The duke’s words were firm although not severe and the housekeeper quickly nodded in response. He was evidently a man used to being obeyed, especially in his own home. The charm of his smile likely helped too, even with women of Mrs. Jennings’ age and temperament.
“Of course, Your Graces. Forgive me for overstepping,” said the small woman with a curtsy to both of them. “Thank you for understanding that I was motivated only by concern for Her Grace.”
“It will not happen again, I am sure,” added the duke. “You may go about your work, Mrs. Jennings. You will come with me, Duchess Rose.”
Taking her arm, Dorian Voss drew Rose with him into the library and closed the door behind them.
“So, would you like to tell me how you have been getting along with the household?” he asked with pointed politeness. “Is it only Mrs. Jennings who has the better of you at present, or the entire staff of Ravenhill House?”
Rose blushed at this mild accusation, unable to entirely rebut it.
“I am sorry. I really did not know I was causing such a fuss by leaving the dining table when I did.”
The duke sighed and shook his head.
“You are a duchess now, Rose,” he added. “It is not the place of Mrs. Jennings or anyone else to scold or supervise you. If you are to be mistress here, you must learn to assert your will.”
“Yet you are scolding me now, are you not?” Rose pointed out to him, unsure why she should find it easier and more tempting to challenge Dorian Voss than Mrs. Jennings, her own family or anyone else. “Ought I to allow that or not?”
The Duke of Ravenhill laughed at this burst of spirit.
“Scolding? Hardly. It is not in my nature, Rose. But if I were taking you to task, it would be as my wife, not merely a duchess. Surely a husband has that right. Or do you disagree?”
Rose frowned and shrugged. She had promised to obey him in the wedding service, even if she could not remember saying the exact words.
“I do not know how to be a wife yet, any more than a duchess, but I hope I am learning both.”
Dorian Voss nodded, his dark eyes twinkling with some unspoken humor.
“As my wife, did you not find it necessary to knock before you came into the library earlier? I assume it was you who opened the door.”
“I did knock!” Rose protested defensively. “I knocked twice but you didn’t answer so I opened the door a little and looked inside. You were too busy to notice me so I went away again. Anyway, you told Mrs. Jennings I could go wherever I want in the house.”
“So you may,” the duke agreed. “I only like to know when I have company. That is all. But why come in here at all? Did you want a book to read with dinner? You may certainly choose one now.”
“I did not want a book,” Rose answered crossly, wanting to be taken more seriously rather than teased at this moment. “I came to find you, Your Grace.”
“Dorian,” he corrected her, with that smile that made butterflies flutter in her stomach. “My name is Dorian.”
“Dorian,” Rose made herself say, hearing the name emerge rather defiantly. “I came to find you, Dorian.”
With a sigh, the Duke of Ravenhill folded his arms and fixed those dark eyes upon her once more. He was still only in his shirt sleeves and utterly unselfconscious with it. The smudges of charcoal on her husband’s face only enhanced the handsome cast of his high-cheekboned features.
“Why?” he said, and left the word hanging there.
Flustered by this question and the intent nature of his gaze, Rose turned away briefly.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she told him after a few moments’ thought.
“I know you have. It seems to me that is no good thing. As we are married, should we not be together more? The last Duchess of Ravenhill, Duchess Juliana, had five children, you know. If we do not eat dinner together, how will I ever have any?”
The duke was unable to hold back a loud guffaw of laughter and this both frustrated and annoyed Rose. Had he not understood her? She had done her very best to speak clearly.
“I cannot see what is so funny,” remarked Rose with dignity.
Without further ado, the duke crossed the small distance between them and drew her into his arms. Before Rose could do more than gasp, his mouth was on hers again and she was melting into his kisses.
This time, her hands were at Dorian’s face of their own accord, stroking his jaw and fastening in his hair.
Rose did not know why he should embrace her so, but it felt wonderful.
“My beautiful, innocent Rose,” he said softly as he pulled back. “I shall eat dinner with you whenever you request it. However, do not be disappointed if it does not produce the result you seem to expect. Children do not come from eating roast meat and vegetables, nor even apple pie and custard.”
There was a peculiar ache inside her now, a longing to be held closer by this man rather than released from his grasp. Dorian’s knowing eyes and handsome smile provoked both this longing and a simultaneous urge to slap his charming face for not taking her words more seriously.
“Do you not want children, Dorian?” Rose asked him directly, although still breathless and dazed from his embrace. “I should take care of them, you know. You need not worry yourself with that.”
“You are not ready to have children, Rose,” the duke said bluntly, a touch of laughter still in his eyes. “Everything you have said tonight only confirms it.”
Tears filled Rose’s eyes.
“What can you mean by that?” she said. “I want to have a child someday, and we are married.”
“When you have the understanding to ask me knowingly for what you want, I shall give it to you,” he promised solemnly. “Not before then. You will understand one day.”
Baffled and frustrated, Rose bit her lip and backed towards the door. Why did everyone say things like this to her? She was tired of not understanding now.
“I shall never ask you for anything, Dorian Voss!” she declared in an angry voice and fled the room.