Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“What do you think of this plan, Mrs. Fletcher?” Daphne asked.
“Th-that looks perfect, Your Grace,” the housekeeper remarked, her face lighting up.
After the duchess ran out of the dining room, a strained silence descended between her and her new husband.
It lasted for three days.
She was not really surprised. Wolfcrest had secrets and important meetings. Of course, he’d go perform a few disappearing acts. She already knew better than to expect him to sit with her, walk by her side through the garden, or join her every teatime.
She threw herself into the duties of the Duchy.
As a people pleaser, she was prepared to use her relentless well of energy to tackle one task after another.
She would not stop until she made the village a better place for the people.
And, because she remembered what the Duke said at their last shared meal, she kept his best interests in mind as well.
The Duke had called her proper and defiant. She would be both, but she would make her qualities useful.
“So, do you think that Margaret would be best able to help you with some of the tasks?” she asked.
Mrs. Fletcher, as the housekeeper, was highly competent. However, the estate was too large to be handled by one woman alone. So, Daphne decided to find someone who could assist her in the more tiresome and tedious tasks.
“Yes, I believe so, Your Grace. Thank you,” the housekeeper said brightly. “I’ve worked for the family for decades and am happy here. However, we still follow the same rules as when the late Duke was alive.”
“His Grace, my husband, has not tried to do anything here at the estate?” Daphne asked, genuinely curious.
“Even if he wants to, he has several other responsibilities to take care of, Your Grace. He wouldn’t have the time to devote to maintaining the estate.”
“Mmm. Well, I do have the time, and I dislike being idle. What about your families and accommodations?”
“We have houses within the estate, Your Grace. That has never been a problem. My son and daughter are also employed by His Grace. Most of us have family members in the main house, although we also have family waiting for us in our houses.”
“Given by His Grace?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
There was no hint of anything other than pride in Mrs. Fletcher’s face. She seemed to be pleased and contented with her situation at Wolfcrest.
“Oh. That’s wonderful,” was all that Daphne could say.
What was I really expecting?
No matter how mysterious her husband’s activities might be, he had been generous with the people who worked at his estate. And, perhaps most importantly, the Duke had saved her from a scoundrel.
Her reactions to him? Entirely her fault.
Still, she began enjoying transforming Wolfcrest’s charcoal-gray drawing room’s design with something warmer. She also ensured fresh flowers were delivered regularly, if not daily, without further burdening the staff.
Lilacs. Tulips.
She wanted to keep him guessing. So, there were no more roses and orchids. Reading chairs were placed near the large windows. She could now breathe. The Wolfcrest estate could do the same.
Daphne also suspected that she would awaken the Duke’s curiosity. Indeed, she was right. He noticed everything. She caught him regularly flitting back to the drawing room to peek at the changes she’d applied so far in the area.
She tried her best not to comment, to just let him be, but she was losing a battle with herself.
“The Duke of Wolfcrest has been seen admiring a window,” she announced, taking on the tone of a theater host. “What a remarkable sight.”
“I am admiring the light, Duchess,” he retorted. “The room seems brighter. Perhaps it’s because you stand in it.”
She laughed at his attempt at flirtation, though she felt a little relief from it. Where had he been? She guessed he didn’t want to talk to her after what happened.
“It’s not my presence, not directly anyway, Your Grace,” she said, trying to be focused. “You must have noticed that the glass had been thoroughly scrubbed.”
“It does not change the fact that you are now the light of the estate, Duchess. You made all this happen. You make old things appealing again.”
The way he was watching her suggested that he found something else more appealing, but she held strong and did not move any closer to him. Then, after a beat, he frowned and looked at her as if she was not his wife but a colleague, instead.
“Do I disrupt your duties?” he asked, scanning the rest of the room.
“Mm. You can probably say slightly,” she replied, keeping her face serious even though she wanted badly to smile at this man.
“Mm.”
Suddenly, he looked pensive. She was surprised at the way he looked like he was shutting down immediately after he had shown her activities interest.
“You are right,” he conceded, after seemingly studying her with his amber eyes. The surrender surprised her.
It was like a dance with him. He’d blatantly flirt with her. Then, he would take several steps back. It was confounding to try to keep pace with him. So, Daphne stood silently and waited.
What will happen next?
The Duke stepped away from the window and crossed the space between them.
Flecks of gold threads in his locks of hair were highlighted as he left his place at the window and took up space directly in front of her.
Daphne gulped. Try as she might to control herself, she could not help but be unnerved by their sudden proximity.
“You are not a child, Duchess. You are the only person who has ever shown any interest in defying me. Most people would say yes to please me or to appease me, not because they truly agree with me.”
His eyes inexplicably drifted to her mouth—the same mouth that could not say anything at the moment. Her lower lip trembled. Something must have happened to the air around them because she could not breathe.
“But that’s what I like about you. You aren’t afraid to be yourself with me.”
Daphne wanted to protest and tell him that yes, she was afraid.
She was afraid of how she was leaning toward him instead of away from him.
She was frightened by his ever-changing moods, and she worried that she might never truly understand what mattered to him.
But more than anything, she was terrified of the secret self he kept locked up tight.
While he was kind and generous to his staff, there was another version of the Duke—one that was commanding and perhaps… something else entirely.
“I—Your Grace, I’m always afraid,” she admitted, but not specifically about how she behaved around him. “Men like my father and Briarwood made me so.”
“You aren’t afraid of me, at all, Duchess,” the Duke said, now so close she could smell him and feel the heat radiating from his body. “I believe you are more afraid of yourself when you are in my presence.”
She held back a gasp. He was right. After all these weeks they’d spent pirouetted around one another, he had finally drawn close enough to read her completely.
His breath was on her. So close. Her lips parted and Daphne wondered if her husband would kiss her there in the corner, surrounded by the light he’d just been admiring.
Then, he stopped an inch from her mouth, leaving the warmth and minty smell of his breath on her. She clenched her fists in an effort to stop herself from trembling.
“Know this. You have my full attention, my wife. I have other responsibilities, but nobody has both fascinated and tested my patience at the same time,” he murmured, his body still leaning towards her.
This time, she tried not to flinch. “Good, then. I have been hoping to gain your attention and your approval, Your Grace. I am partially satisfied to know that my efforts have not been entirely wasted on you, husband.”
The Duke of Wolfcrest stared at her for a long, glorious moment.
Daphne did not break eye contact with him.
She wanted him to see her, to truly see all she had done.
Daphne wished that her husband knew how much she craved his attention and that at this moment, she would be willing to do practically anything to keep him fixed right in this spot.
But, almost as if the Duke could sense her yearning and was bent on denying her the privilege of continuing to stare deeply into his eyes, he straightened himself and ran a hand through his hair.
Is he angry?
Daphne did what she could to read his expression, but she found the task challenging. His features were suddenly inscrutable.
Is he hesitant to give into his own wishes…as well as fully satisfy mine?
He gave her a clipped nod, took a deep breath, and said, “I shall then seek less demanding company this evening.”
She was speechless. She had not wanted the Duke to misconstrue her words and think of her as demanding anything for him.
She wanted him to embrace her, to fall naturally into her arms, and give her what she longed for throughout the days and nights.
While she wished for his touch, the Duke put distance between them.
He did not understand her needs and desires and would not allow her to correct his assumptions.
Adrian believed that after that confusing encounter with his proper wife, the best thing to do was seek Mr. Kettering at The Serpent’s Coil. Though the name carried a negative connotation, the tavern was mostly respectable and could be found three villages away from Wolfcrest.
The Coil catered to the various men the Duke worked with—merchants, landowners, and investors.
Deals here were straightforward, free from the social pretenses of London.
Still, Adrian was mostly here for Edward Kettering, his right-hand man and the manager of the Obsidian Card.
When discretion and sharp thinking were required, the Duke relied on Kettering, who was also a trained accountant.
Upon his arrival, the forty-five-year-old manager was already sipping on a beer.
“Your Grace,” the other man greeted, rising to show the Duke respect.