Chapter 3 #2
“Ye havenae given me much indication to think otherwise. Ye marched into me home, claimed me room, dragged me to a ridiculous event, and now ye’ve forced me to follow ye to London! So excuse me if I have a sense of self-preservation.”
The Duke clenched his jaw. “I am sorry you are unhappy with the circumstances, My Lady, but this is how the world works. The house you so vehemently call yours was your husband’s, and my uncle’s after him. God knows why my uncle did not claim it from you, but it was never your property.”
She jutted her chin. “Aye, it was never mine by law. But I kept the roof from cavin’ in and fed half the village when no one else would.”
The Duke’s nostrils flared, but he held his ground. “And I do not belittle that, Lady Inverhall. But sentiment does not rewrite deeds. I am the rightful heir. And while I did not ask for this responsibility, I will not shirk it.”
She frowned. “It doesnae feel like a responsibility. It feels like a punishment.”
“That is not my doing,” he said flatly. “You are angry with the world, and I happen to be the man standing in front of you. Convenient, perhaps, but misdirected.”
“I daenae want to be in London,” she said more softly.
“And yet here we are.”
His voice was like iron—cold, unbending. She glared up at him, willing him to say something cruel, something unforgivable, so she might hate him properly.
But he only looked at her, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable. A long silence stretched out between them.
Elspeth felt the profound exhaustion of the journey finally settle deep into her bones as she took a step back from him. Her shoulders slumped, and her knees grew weak. With a defeated sigh, she grabbed the blanket and climbed into the bed, still in her day dress.
“Are you not going to change into sleeping clothes?” the Duke asked. “Are you that stubborn? Are you aware that you smell?”
She did not answer. Instead, she merely rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, savoring the simple comfort of clean bedding.
Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of their breathing filled the small room as they both succumbed to sleep.
She dreamed of rolling hills, tall trees, and a valiant duke riding a dark horse until—
Do I have a fever?
Elspeth woke up the next morning with a jolt, her eyes heavy as she slowly blinked them open.
She was warm, far too warm. As her awareness grew, she felt something firm press against her back.
Her eyes flew open. A shiver skittered down her spine. She looked over her shoulder and froze.
The Duke lay behind her, his chest pressed to her back, one arm slung around her waist. Her breath caught, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp threatening to escape.
Good heavens!
In her shock, she jerked forward, scrambling off the bed and tumbling with a loud thwack on the hard floor.
Damn, that is goin’ to bruise!
She rolled onto her hip and rubbed her backside.
She rose to her knees and peeked over the side of the bed.
The Duke opened one eye, then both, looking at her.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well, Lady Inverhall?” he asked, his voice deep and gravely from sleep.
A tiny smirk formed on his lips, clearly amused by her tumble.
“Daenae ye dare good mornin’ me!” she spluttered, rushing to get up.
He pushed himself up on his elbow, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement in the early morning light that shone through the small window.
“Oh, but I dare. And it seems, despite your protests, you found my company quite comforting in the night. Perhaps you do like comforts, after all.”
“It is too early for yer nonsense—”
“What were you trying to achieve, curling into me like a little cat?”
Elspeth scoffed, her cheeks burning hot with rage and something else she dared not name.
She needed to get out of this room, to get back on the road. She abhorred the idea of London. She could not stomach traveling with this man any longer, nor fight the pull of being in such close proximity. He unnerved her.
“Nothin’! I was achievin’ nothin’ but a good night’s sleep, which ye clearly ruined!” she finally answered as she stormed over to the little wooden chair in the corner and hastily put on her shoes.
She squared her shoulders and stalked out of the room, the Duke’s soft chuckle echoing behind her.
Arse.
A week later—a long, terrible week filled with stale food, shabby inns, and the relentless clip-clop of horses’ hooves—the imposing facade of Arrowfell House loomed before them. Its dark stone and severe lines were only eclipsed by Elspeth’s sour mood.
She should be glad to have finally arrived at their destination; the journey from the Highlands had been exhausting.
After that night at that inn with the single bed, she found herself subjected more to silence than actual conversation. She was grateful for the quiet, though, as it allowed her to make up stories about the people they passed, just as she had when she was a young girl.
Whenever she had walked into town, she would conjure elaborate tales with her mother and nursemaid, Morag, taking inspiration from passing elements of nature, the setting, or the people.
She became lost in her thoughts as her eyes flitted to a thin, old man hobbling down the street with the most obnoxious cane she had ever seen.
It was long and golden, like a staff that an ancient king would have.
She imagined he was the long-lost grandson of a French king who was usurped, and someone no one knew about, and the relic was passed down in an unmarked trunk.
“Well,” the Duke said, pulling her out of her thoughts. She noted how his voice became clipped as the carriage finally rattled to a halt. “Here we are, My Lady.”
He may as well be talkin’ about a grand vacation, not me new prison. It is time to face me fate.
Elspeth grunted, her gaze fixed on a distant gargoyle leering from the roof, its teeth jagged points.
“Charmin’,” she muttered, though the word was laced with sarcasm as bitter as their last meal. “Looks like it has been waitin’ to swallow me whole. Aye, and those iron fences ye have around the property will be sturdy enough to keep me caged.”
The Duke sighed, a sound of weary exasperation, as he removed his gloves one finger at a time. “It is a most fine townhouse, Lady Inverhall. And for now, it is your home. I will make sure that you have everything you need. You could fare much worse.”
“I daenae need yer charity.”
“Even so, I do wish you to consider this a home. I want you to feel comfortable—”
“Me home is in Scotland. By the loch, with heather on the hills and the wind in me hair,” she said wistfully, turning to face him, her chest heavy with sadness.
“Ye have dragged me away from everything I’ve kent for yer convenience.
What harm would it do to let me stay at Inverhall? Did ye even consider—”
He stiffened. “I considered what was necessary. What is best for our futures.”
“Our futures?” Elspeth scoffed, pushing past him to the carriage door. “Or yer own?”
She did not wait for his reply, stepping out onto the cobbled drive. He leaped out of the carriage, following close behind as they entered the townhouse.
“Lady Inverhall,” the Duke announced, leading her through the ornate front door and into the grand foyer.
“These are the servants who will see to your needs. You will stay with us until a suitable match has been secured, and that is all.” He turned to his housekeeper, a formidable woman with a no-nonsense air.
“Please show Lady Inverhall to the guest room.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said with a small bow. “Lady Inverhall, I am Mrs. Whipple. If you would kindly follow me, I will introduce you to your maid later this evening.”
Elspeth barely had time to glare at the Duke before she was whisked upstairs, leaving him alone in the foyer. She listened to him in the distance, barking orders until his voice finally faded away.
She had to walk quickly to keep pace with Mrs. Whipple, and before she knew it, they had gone up the grand staircase to the second floor.
Her quarters were located on the east side of the house, with large picture windows that overlooked the gardens and serene jade walls.
She looked at the elegant four-poster bed, adorned with a lush gold brocade duvet and oversized pillows.
In the corner was a vanity set, carved from marble, complete with a large mirror that shimmered in the morning light.
“We will have your belongings brought up quietly,” Mrs. Whipple offered. “You can feel free to rest and settle yourself before the dinner party this evening. You must have had a very long journey, My Lady.”
“Dinner party?” Elspeth echoed, nervousness coating her now dry throat.
“Why, yes. His Grace informed us that you will be attending Lord and Lady Ashworth’s dinner party. It is just a few houses down from here.”
“Aye, I see,” Elspeth murmured, plopping down on the most comfortable bed she had ever lain in.
Later that night, Hugo waited in the foyer of Arrowfell Townhouse to escort Lady Inverhall to a dinner party. It was to be hosted by Lord and Lady Ashworth, a notable couple in London society who ran in the same circles as him.
Much as he wished to recover after such an arduous journey, time was not to be wasted. There would be many eligible bachelors in attendance and connections to be made.
Hugo watched the Dowager Marchioness descend the grand staircase, wearing a painfully simple dress of lavender muslin that hugged her curves well enough, but was out of fashion by several years.
Her wild brown hair was pulled up elegantly, with only a few curls framing her face.
He watched as one of his maids, Abby, trailed behind her, knowing that it was her good work.
“Well done, Abby,” he praised with a nod. “Lady Inverhall is a vision.”
“It is all Her Ladyship’s doing, I can assure you, Your Grace. Lady Inverhall is a delight.” The maid curtsied.