Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The following day, the golden light of the late afternoon dimmed, casting the corridors of Dawnhurst House into long, melancholy shadows.
Anne did not let herself hesitate. If she stopped to consider the Duke’s need for privacy, she would never find the courage to knock.
Be brave, she told herself. For Felicity, if not him.
She found him in his study, which always seemed to smell of old parchment and repressed emotion—if that had such a smell.
He did not look up immediately when she knocked on the door and poked her head in. He was bent over a ledger, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by a single desk lamp. Papers were strewn about, and a cold cup of coffee sat at the corner.
He looked tired.
“Duke,” Anne said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I trust you are having a good day.
The Duke’s quill paused before he set it down. He looked up at her, his blue eyes cool and assessing. A shiver ran down her spine.
How can a man be so off-putting and yet so alluring?
“Anne. I was not expecting you until dinner.”
“I was in the west gallery today with the girls,” she began, stepping further into the room. “The treasure hunt led us there.”
“Treasure hunt?”
“Yes. It was Felicity’s idea.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Well…”
“Well, what?” He prompted.
“I uncovered a portrait. Of Felicity’s mother.”
Your late wife.
The change in him was instantaneous. The air in the room seemed to crystallize, growing as brittle and cold as an icicle. He stood slowly, his movements possessed of a sudden, dangerous rigidity. He stepped out from behind his desk and strode with purpose toward her.
“That room is off-limits,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, warning growl as he loomed over her. “The portrait should have remained covered. It will remain covered. Do you understand?”
“But why?” Anne probed, not backing away.
“Felicity was there. She was heartbroken, William,” she whispered, using his Christian name in a bid to appeal to his senses.
“She told me you never speak of her. She is a child who hungers for a ghost because she has nothing else to hold onto. She needs more.”
William’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“You do not understand the situation, Anne,” he gritted out, as if her name was a curse.
“You have been in this house for a matter of days. Do not presume to lecture me on how to manage my daughter’s grief or my own household.
I know what is best for her. That is final. ”
“I understand loss more than you can fathom!” Anne cried, her own temper flaring.
“I lost my mother, William, then my father! I know the hollow ache of trying to piece together a face from a memory that is fading. Felicity deserves to know who she came from. She deserves a mother’s history, even if she cannot have her presence. Believe me…”
William took another step toward her, his presence looming and dark, yet smoldering beneath the surface. Anne could not remember the last time she had such a charged conversation, if ever.
“It is best to leave the past in the past.”
“But—”
“To stir it up is to invite unnecessary pain. It is not pragmatic. I have spent years ensuring Felicity is protected from that… that weight. I will not have it undone by a misplaced sense of sentimentality. She is a smart, strong young girl.”
“She is, but that is not the point! This isn’t about sentimentality. It is honesty,” Anne snapped. “You are starving her of her own identity to spare yourself a few uncomfortable conversations. It is weak.”
She regretted the word as soon as it escaped her lips, but she kept her shoulders squared and did not apologize.
“Enough!” William’s voice cracked like a whip. The scar on his cheek flushed a dull red. “This is not a matter for discussion. You are my wife, Anne, but you are not the arbiter of my past. You will stay out of the gallery, and you will not speak of this to Felicity again. Is that clear?”
“Like crystal.”
Anne felt the sting of his dismissal like a punch to her gut. Her chest constricted with sharp dread, but not of him. She felt impossibly small in comparison to the wall he had built. Seeing it in such relief was harrowing.
“I will take my leave, Your Grace,” she said, her voice trembling with hurt. “I see that silence is indeed considerably less trouble for you. I shall leave you to it.”
She turned and stormed out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the hollow of her ribs.
An hour later, Anne sought a distraction in the only way she knew how—duty. Her mother had always told her that idle hands were the devil’s playground. And so she met with Mrs. Alderton in the small morning room to discuss the linens and the upcoming spring cleaning schedule.
It was something she excelled at. Yet her mind was still on the dark gallery, on Felicity’s tear-streaked face. She could not forget it, try as she might.
“Mrs. Alderton,” she said, setting down a list of things to procure.
The housekeeper looked up expectantly. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Anne hesitated, then leaned forward. “I found the portrait in the west gallery today. The one of the late Duchess.”
The older woman’s face immediately shuttered. She smoothed her apron with trembling hands. “I am sorry if I did not inform you, Your Grace. His Grace does not like that room being opened.”
“I know,” Anne murmured. “He was quite firm on the matter. But Felicity is hurting. She thinks her mother is a secret because she was too precious to speak of.”
“I see,” Mrs. Alderton said softly.
Given her desire to confide in someone, to have a friend in these silent halls, Anne continued, “His Grace won’t tell her anything. He won’t tell me anything.”
Mrs. Alderton sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to deflate her narrow shoulders. She looked toward the door to ensure they were alone, then turned back to Anne with something like pity in her eyes.
“I promise, you may talk to me, Mrs. Alderton. I need an ally in this house, and I am at your mercy. I promise, I will not tell His Grace of what we speak.”
“Well, it isn’t that she was too precious or some saint, Your Grace,” Mrs. Alderton whispered. “Oh, I truly… I must speak plainly. Is that agreeable?”
“By all means,” Anne allowed, unable to suppress her curiosity as she stepped closer to the woman. “I appreciate your candor.”
“It’s quite the opposite. The late Duchess… she wasn’t a warm woman. Not to the staff, and certainly not to His Grace.”
Anne blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“When Lady Felicity was born, the former Duchess… she had no interest in the nursery. She spent all her time either in London or visiting friends. This was before I had this townhouse, and I spent much of my time at my former estate. She didn’t hold the babe, not once if she could help it.
She called the child a ‘noisy inconvenience’ to her figure and her social life.
” Mrs. Alderton shook her head sadly. “His Grace… he tried. He doted on the baby to make up for it, but well, Her Grace died in a carriage accident on her way to a house party she’d been told not to attend.
She left nothing but cold memories behind. ”
Anne felt the blood drain from her face. “So, he doesn’t stay silent because he misses her…”
“He stays silent to spare Lady Felicity the pain of knowing her mother didn’t care for her, at least not in a way a mother should,” Mrs. Alderton confirmed. “He’d rather his daughter think him a sullen man than let her know she wasn’t wanted by the woman who gave her life.”
“Oh goodness,” Anne gasped, stunned.
She sat back, the weight of the revelation hitting her with the force of a physical blow. She thought of William’s stiff silence, his rigid jaw, and the way he had fought her so fiercely in the study.
He isn’t protecting himself. He is protecting Felicity from the most devastating truth a child could learn.
Suddenly, his silence didn’t seem like a fortress of solitude anymore. It seemed like a shield, one he had been carrying alone for a very long time and out of necessity.
There must be a better way.
Mrs. Alderton’s revelation lingered in Anne’s mind, shifting the way she viewed the rigid manner of her husband. The next morning, she sought him out in his study, though this time she carried a silver-edged invitation as both a shield and a peace offering.
“We have received an invitation to Lady Margine’s soirée on Friday,” she announced, placing the card on his desk.
William didn’t even look at it. “Send our regrets. I have no desire to spend my evening navigating a room full of people who trade in gossip as if it were currency.”
“It isn’t for us, Duke. It is for Felicity,” Anne countered, her voice softening but remaining firm.
“She is already asking about Almack’s and the expectations for a girl of her station.
If we remain reclusive, the world will invent its own reasons for our absence.
It would benefit her future reputation if her father and stepmother were seen as active members of society.
It is for her benefit, I assure you, that I advocate for such an outing. ”
William finally looked up, his brow furrowing. “Felicity is years away from her debut, Anne. When the time comes, her dowry and her lineage will be more than sufficient to attract any suitor worth having. She is above all that.”
“A dowry may buy a husband, but it does not buy a welcome,” Anne challenged, the tension between them crackling like a log thrown on a roaring fire.
“You of all people should know that the ton is a most predatory beast. If she enters society as a stranger, they will devour her. She needs a foundation, a network of alliances that begins now. A steady foundation for her future.”
William’s jaw tightened, that familiar, telltale sign of a brewing storm, and she held her breath.
“I will not have her paraded about like a prize heifer before she is even out of the schoolroom. I will not throw away her last moments of childhood—”
“I am not suggesting we parade her about! I am suggesting we exist in the world so that she doesn’t feel she has to hide from it.” Anne stepped closer, her green eyes locked onto his. “You cannot protect her by keeping her in a vacuum, William. Eventually, the air will rush in.”
They stared at each other, the space between them charged with a frustration that felt dangerously close to attraction.
Anne found herself involuntarily pushing out her chest, daring him to look at her. She knew he loathed being managed, yet he saw the cold logic in her words.
“Fine,” he ground out, the word sounding like a concession of territory. “We shall go. But set your expectations accordingly. We arrive late, we stay for two dances, and we leave the moment I decide the air has become too thin. Is that understood?”
Anne felt a small surge of victory, though she kept her expression neutral. “Perfectly. Thank you, William.”