Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“ I thought that the whole thing was a dream,” Gwendoline admitted with a soft smile, swirling the wine in her glass as she stared off into the distance.
Damian watched his wife. It was all that he had done—and been doing—lately. While he wanted her to focus on him, he cherished her unguarded moments. If only he knew how to paint like Eric Westback—he would repeatedly paint her face and fill a room with images of her.
The first time he met her, he was struck by her beauty. He could admit it freely now. However, back then, he was bound by the need to avenge the people he had lost—the ones Montrose had hurt. He was also riddled with suspicion. He didn’t know if he could trust her.
A sensible man might say that he still couldn’t trust her. What they had was still new. Still, the past few weeks had proven just how insatiable he was when it came to her—and she was the same.
Gwendoline had moved into his room. Her clothes and perfume were still in her bedchamber, but she always spent the nights with him. He now knew each freckle and curve and had memorized the sound of her sighs and moans.
During the days, though, they were occupied with their responsibilities. It was a blessing to have a wife who reminded him of the dangers of not managing the estate well. He needed a sensible woman to pull him away from his obsessions, except the one that mattered.
Her.
“What was a dream?” he asked.
“That time during the storm, when you…” she trailed off, her cheeks pinkening.
“When I claimed you as mine, you mean?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he rested his hand on her thigh.
She gasped softly at his touch.
“Yes. We never really talked about it, Damian,” she said.
It was a wonder to him that she still got embarrassed about calling him by his first name.
“We did other things that made up for it,” Damian quipped.
He loved seeing his wife blush. She had always been beautiful, but she looked phenomenal when her cheeks turned pink.
“Oh. Well, Damian,” she teased back, “you need to do more talking to persuade me to do more of those.”
He grinned at that and raised his teacup in a mock toast.
He had found himself drinking less brandy and wine when he was around her. He didn’t want to miss anything, not her smiles or the nuances of the emotions that played on her face.
“We are going to do more walking, too,” he confirmed. “Tomorrow, we will visit a village with Evan.”
“With Evan?” Gwendoline’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
After retrieving the critical documents, the three did not meet to discuss anything regarding Montrose. Damian wanted to attack, while Evan advised caution. It was why Evan had been shadowing them more often lately.
“Yes. It’s better this way.”
Gwendoline nodded slowly, the mischievous spark in her eyes replaced by a more thoughtful fire.
As planned, the trio headed off for the village the following afternoon.
Since she got married, Gwendoline had mostly interacted with the ton or with the servants at Greyvale. It would be her first outing in the village, where she was supposed to get off the carriage and see the people up close.
That was what they did. Gwendoline stepped down from the carriage with a blend of excitement and apprehension. She exhaled heavily as she looked left and right.
The village near Greyvale, Willowbrook, was a quaint little community with cobblestone streets. Though the place had a relatively small population, the shops were bustling, and all the buildings seemed well-kept, unlike the places Gwendoline had been to with Timothy.
However, walking around with the Duke of Greyvale was different. The people of Willowbrook paused whatever they were doing to stare at them or whisper about them.
Gwendoline was sure that she was being judged. She clasped her hands in front of her as she began to shift on her feet. Her husband seemed to have noticed, for he reached for her hand. She didn’t even notice that he had alighted from the carriage with ease.
It must be him they’re looking at.
She took a deep breath and adjusted her bonnet with her other hand. The slight chill in the air made her stiffen and hunch over. Damian pulled her shawl tighter around her, and she looked up at him gratefully. But at that moment, he chose to withdraw, surprising her and leaving her a little hurt.
Gwendoline shook her head almost imperceptibly, trying to shake off the cobwebs. She reminded herself that whatever they had so far was merely physical. There were no promises made.
No matter what her opinions were on how he felt about her or how he should feel, she could not help but notice his imposing figure. He had his cold facade back on. It was like meeting him for the first time, which made her heart sink.
On the other hand, Evan was the complete opposite. He was the sunshine to Damian’s storm, languidly stepping out of the carriage with a big grin on his face.
“What a charming place,” he declared, loud enough for those nearby to hear.
Some flinched at his voice, but most seemed to warm up to the trio, even going so far as walking closer and observing the well-dressed visitors more closely.
However, Gwendoline noticed something strange. Even though Evan had caused a stir, the villagers’ eyes kept returning to her and Damian. She tried not to make it bother her, but she could feel her palms sweating. She wiped them on the skirt of her dress.
“Where should we begin?” she asked, turning to him.
Damian didn’t look too pleased, his dark eyes sweeping over the streets.
“Let’s walk through the square first. At least we will see what they are selling,” he grunted.
Although Gwendoline suspected that he was not telling her the whole truth, she nodded agreeably, a smile plastered on her face.
She could feel everyone watching them. An argument, no matter how small, wasn’t what she needed right now. Not what she wanted to show the people of Willowbrook.
She clasped her hands together and kept them in front of her, away from Damian. She wasn’t opposed to a stroll through the village. She needed a change of scenery. Balls and social calls were lovely, but being out in the sun and interacting with regular folk was much better.
As they began their stroll, she felt Damian put his hand on her lower back. She masked her surprise, smiling and nodding at people as if having her husband so close to her in public was the most normal thing in the world. Behind her ribcage, though, her heart pounded painfully.
They passed a bakery first. Gwendoline inhaled the warm scent of fresh bread. She had often ventured into Greyvale’s kitchen, but there was something special about smelling freshly baked goods from an actual bakery.
A young woman stood by the fresh bread inside the bakery. It was easy to see her through the glass. Gwendoline sauntered toward her, noticing how the woman looked away after glancing in their direction. Undeterred, she stepped closer to admire the display of pastries.
“These look wonderful,” she praised, smiling at the woman.
She could only guess that she was the owner, baker, or the baker’s wife. They were harmless presumptions, but she didn’t want to voice them. Instead, she focused on the products on display.
“Do you recommend anything in particular?”
The woman blinked, apparently surprised by Gwendoline’s question. It was strange, given that she was minding a bakery and should expect people to ask about her pastries.
“Your Grace, the honey tarts are quite popular,” she replied in a soft, kind voice.
“You know who I am? Who we are?”
“Of course, Your Grace. People have been excited about your visit. Someone has already rushed here, talking about how the Duke and Duchess of Greyvale have finally graced us with their presence. We’ve heard about your wedding.”
“Oh,” Gwendoline murmured. She had not expected to be recognized here. Then again, Willowbrook was part of the duchy. “I’ll take two honey tarts. Oh, never mind. I will take a dozen.”
She reached for her reticule, but Damian took her hand.
“I’ll handle it,” he said gently but firmly.
“Do you own this shop, if you don’t mind my asking?” Gwendoline asked.
“Yes. It’s my husband’s and mine. My husband is the baker.”
“Oh, wonderful. Now, I know who to thank when we come back to Willowbrook.”
“I do hope you will enjoy the honey tarts,” the baker’s wife said earnestly, quickly handing the pastries to Damian after he paid.
Gwendoline furrowed her brow at the interaction, but she held her tongue. Instead, she said, “Thank you for the honey tarts. We hope to return soon.”
They rejoined Evan outside the bakery. He seemed to have been scanning the crowd, his hands on his hips. There was barely any trace of the humor Gwendoline knew him for, but she knew that he was simply taking his job seriously.
As they walked on, she couldn’t help but break the silence. “The villagers of Willowbrook seem kind.”
“Oh, they are, Your Grace,” Evan murmured agreeably.
“Well, they also seem anxious. Maybe apprehensive?” Gwendoline looked at Damian pointedly. She needed answers.
He merely shrugged. “They’re not used to me.”
His tone was cold and monotonous. Gwendoline didn’t like him like this.
Evan was walking a few paces behind them, but he jogged to catch up when he heard Damian’s response. “Not used to you, Your Grace? Might they be afraid of you?” he teased with his usual knowing grin.
Damian glared at him, but he remained unfazed.
Gwendoline could tell that Evan was not in the least bit afraid of his master. What they had was more of a friendship than a master-employee relationship—at least as far as she could tell. Evan’s laughter seemed to confirm it.
“What? But surely you must know how people perceive you, Your Grace. You are not the most approachable man. Add your title and wealth to that, and people get nervous.”
Gwendoline chuckled, yet she felt a little sorry for Damian—not that she would ever admit to that. She glanced at him to see his reaction.
The glare was gone, replaced by a more neutral expression. Usually, she would worry more about him whenever he retreated behind that facade, but she caught a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He was not wholly displeased. If at all.
The trio continued their stroll, occasionally speaking with villagers. Gwendoline found herself warming to the people. The conversations became more manageable for her, making her heart feel full. She had never felt like this before.
“How are you and your family?” she asked an elderly man of perhaps eighty.
“We are well, Your Grace. Uh…” The old man trailed off as he looked at Damian nervously.
“Don’t worry about the duke. He might look sour most of the time, but he has a kind heart,” Gwendoline reassured him.
Damian simply raised his eyebrows, but she knew that he didn’t mind.
“We have not been doing well as of late, Your Grace. The crops in Willowbrook are not doing as well as in the rest of the duchy.”
“What methods have you been using, and were you rotating your crops?” Damian asked gravely, much to Gwendoline’s surprise.
“I-I don’t know, Your Grace. My sons and grandsons, like the other young men of Willowbrook, are the ones who have been working in the fields. I did hear something about poor drainage.”
“Mm. I will ask some of my men to look into it. I am surprised that I have not heard about these issues before. The other villages have been earning a lot from their crops.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Your support will certainly aid Willowbrook,” the old man said, his voice breaking a little.
“You are most welcome. It is my responsibility to see to the needs of each village in Greyvale,” Damian murmured, slightly bowing.
The gesture of courtesy touched Gwendoline, and judging from the unshed tears in the old man’s eyes, she guessed he was touched, too.
After exchanging a few more words with the old man and his grandchildren, who came rushing to the group, Gwendoline noticed a woman in her fifties approaching them. The woman had the same creased forehead and worried expression as the baker’s wife.
“Good day, Your Graces,” she greeted, bobbing a little curtsy.
Her hands trembled a little, but she seemed to grow more confident the longer she stood there with the group.
“Good day,” Gwendoline returned warmly.
“I’m Antonia, Charles’s daughter,” the woman said, gesturing toward the old man. “We are honored by your presence.”
“We are glad to be here.” Gwendoline smiled. “But I do want to know why the villagers seem nervous around us. Is it really because of my husband’s stern demeanor?”
“Your Grace,” Antonia began. “The villagers of Willowbrook are usually apprehensive about any visit from the gentlefolk. We know the duke can be, uh, serious.”
Damian cleared his throat but managed to affect a less-than-intimidating look. Gwendoline noticed that he attempted not to look at Antonia directly.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” Antonia nearly whispered, looking up at him. He merely nodded at her as if to urge her to continue. “The real reason people are nervous is the gossip that had been spreading about Your Graces.”
“About us?” It was Gwendoline’s turn to raise her eyebrows. She pointed at herself.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Antonia replied sadly. “When you were married, word spread that you and His Grace had eloped. There was a lot of talk about it. I swear I didn’t partake in it, Your Grace. I am not one for gossip. However, it was difficult to tell anyone that it wasn’t true when I myself wasn’t certain either.”
“I’m certain Montrose spread that story,” Damian grumbled.
“It doesn’t matter, Antonia. You can tell the rest of the villagers that whether the stories are true or not, we can at least show you that we are not terrible people.”
“I can try to change their views of you. Oh, you’re looking at them, Your Grace. Those are my children,” Antonia said when she noticed Gwendoline watching the little ones playing with a wooden top.
She motioned for the children to stop playing for a moment and come closer.
“Good day, children. I am sorry to disturb your playtime, but I must say that is a clever toy. Who made it?” Gwendoline asked.
A boy with a freckled face stepped forward. “My father did, Your Grace,” he answered proudly, his little chin tilted up.
“May I try it?” Gwendoline asked gently.
She was never much for games, merely because children had often teased her when she was younger. They thought she would be ungainly and unskillful, and she simply believed them and never tried.
The children giggled. Some of them covered their mouths, but there was no malice in their shining eyes. One of them, a girl of about four, even hid behind Antonia, feeling a little shy.
The boy with freckles, who seemed to be the eldest at about ten or eleven, handed Gwendoline the top. Her first attempts were clumsy, to which the children laughed nervously. She gave them a reassuring smile to show them that she wouldn’t throw a tantrum like possibly another member of the ton.
For the children, they saw a wealthy woman trying to do well in their game. For Gwendoline, it was so much more. It was a means of reclaiming her childhood. Her confidence. She laughed with the children at every mistake—something she would not have minded doing if she had friends at a young age.
Each attempt became better and better as her heart seemed to grow bigger and bigger. The hem of her dress was already dirty, and her hair was loose, but she felt more alive than she ever had before.
Well, aside from when she was with Damian.
Damian watched his wife play with a spinning wooden toy with children aged four to eleven. He couldn’t help but watch the five children and their mother with some judgment.
How can someone have so many children they can’t afford to raise?
Then, he saw what the children were doing to Gwendoline. Making her laugh. Making her not care about being dirty. Making her forget her insecurities.
He realized that his thoughts were born from prejudice based on what his father had taught him growing up.
His arms were crossed over his chest, but he found himself opening up to the scene.
Evan stood next to him, quiet admiration evident on his face. “She’s good with children,” he noted, sighing appreciatively.
Damian looked at him sharply. He knew that his man used to play such games when they were children. There were other games that he had begged his father to let him play to no avail.
Damian had envied Evan, back then. For his ability to play with any toy or in any game. For his sweet freedom.
His gaze returned to his wife, entranced by how she easily interacted with the children. Her smile was warm and genuine, unlike many women who had tried to win his affections.
Damian nodded, his eyes not leaving his wife as she continued to play with the children. “Better than I’ll ever be with children or with villagers. All kinds of people,” he admitted with a sigh.
“You are husband and wife. Perhaps you should let her handle this side of things,” Evan suggested tentatively, watching for his reaction. “You have never cared what others say about you, but you may need to work on your diplomacy. Her Grace may be your way to the people’s hearts—not that you are unlikable. But you have your other priorities.”
Under different circumstances, Damian would have taken the comment as criticism. However, he could see that Evan was right about Gwendoline. She could connect to people in a way that he couldn’t. It came naturally to her. Still, there were some things about her that he was still figuring out.
After a few more minutes, Gwendoline rejoined Damian and Evan. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was disheveled, but it looked great on her. Her eyes were still dancing with excitement. Damian wondered what she would be like as a mother. Then, he recoiled from the thought in horror.
“I had so much fun with Antonia’s children!” she exclaimed, looking even younger than she already was.
It reminded Damian of her inexperience and how Montrose had taken advantage of it. It reminded him of one of the reasons they were at Willowbrook at all. He needed to know whether Montrose had been poisoning the people’s minds against them.
Damian felt several emotions at once—joy at Gwendoline’s happiness, anger at what Montrose had done, and uncertainty at how the woman in front of him had managed to get under his skin. His bones.
“You seem to have made a good impression on the children,” he observed, his throat suddenly tight.
“Did I?” she asked, her face glowing. “I thought they just wanted to show me how to play with their toys.”
“Oh, they loved you! I’d wager they’ve never seen a duchess spin a top. You will be the talk of the village by nightfall.”
“I’m already the talk of the village,” she muttered.
Damian felt the urge to shield her rise in his chest. It was unfair that she was even related to Montrose and that he wouldn’t give up on making her life hell.
Damian did not comment, though. He let his anger simmer. The fiery feeling did somehow abate as they continued their stroll. He couldn’t help but smile at his wife’s eagerness to visit more shops. There were fancier ones in London, but she pranced from one shop to the next like a child who was promised candy. By the time they returned to the carriage, the sun was about to set.
For the first time in a long while, Damian was awed by the orange, pink, and purple hues in the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. He hadn’t expected that they would take so long to return to the carriage, but the coachman was prepared for anything.
“It certainly went well. Don’t you think?” Gwendoline asked.
Damian felt slightly annoyed she was looking at Evan more for a reaction.
The duke and duchess sat together, with Evan across from them. Damian reasoned that perhaps it was easier for his wife to look across than turn to him.
No. He knew that Gwendoline felt more comfortable with his man. It was nobody’s fault but his.
“It did,” he agreed, keeping his voice soft.
Gwendoline’s head snapped toward him as if she was surprised to hear him voice his opinions. Even Evan raised an eyebrow, but he kept his mouth shut. Damian could tell that he didn’t want to interrupt whatever was going on.
The rest of the journey was quiet, but it made sense, given the activities of the day. Damian noticed with pleasure that Gwendoline’s cheeks were still flushed from exertion and happiness. They initially decided to make the little trip to see what the villagers thought of them—of him . Instead, they ended up doing so much more than learning of the damage Montrose had done to their reputations.
Much of the damage had been self-inflicted, anyway, Damian had to admit to himself.
He glanced at his wife. She was so serene that she looked like she would fall asleep any time.
So peaceful. So innocent.
For her, the visit was about giving some of her time to the people when he was using it to fuel the fire that was already burning within him. Anyone who got too close to his feelings would be scalded, and he hoped she wouldn’t suffer that fate.
“We’re almost there,” Gwendoline mumbled sleepily but happily.
Undoubtedly, she felt proud that she knew the route to Greyvale better now.
“Yes, we’re almost there,” Damian agreed, but his thoughts were on Montrose.