Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The carriage eventually jerked to a stop.
“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.
Through the window, Cressida could see Ashmere Castle rising against the sky, all gray stone and imposing towers.
Her new home. Her new prison.
Theodore opened the carriage door without waiting for the footman, stepping out into the courtyard with his usual controlled grace. He turned back, offering his hand to help her down, and she stared at it for a long moment before accepting.
His fingers closed around hers—warm, strong. But as soon as her feet touched the ground, he released her.
“Mrs. Agnes will show you to your rooms,” he said, already stepping back, already putting distance between them. “You should rest. It’s been a long day.”
“Theodore—”
“Duke.” His correction was gentle but firm. “We’re not alone anymore.”
Cressida looked around and saw he was right—servants had appeared out of nowhere, forming a respectful audience to their arrival. Mrs. Agnes stood waiting by the main entrance, her expression pleasantly neutral, though her eyes held the same warmth Cressida remembered from her previous stay.
“Of course.” Cressida lifted her chin, mustering every ounce of dignity she possessed. “Duke.”
She saw his jaw tighten at the formality, saw the muscle jump in his cheek. Good. Let him feel even a fraction of what she felt.
He moved closer then, so close that his breath tickled her ear. To anyone watching, it might have looked tender. Intimate. The picture of a new husband sharing a private word with his bride.
“You need to understand,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “You—” He paused, as though the words cost him. “You make me forget every lesson I’ve learned, every rule I’ve set. You tempt me to do things that only lead to destruction.”
Before she could respond, he straightened, his expression smoothing into blank courtesy.
“Welcome home, Duchess.” He sketched a brief bow, formal and distant. “Mrs. Agnes will attend to your needs.”
Then he turned and walked into the castle, disappearing through the doorway without looking back, leaving her standing alone in the courtyard with her heart racing.
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Agnes’s voice drew her attention back to the present. The housekeeper approached with genuine warmth radiating from her expression. “Welcome home. We’re all so delighted to have you return to Ashmere—as our Duchess, no less!”
Behind her, the assembled staff bobbed curtsies and bows, their faces carrying varying degrees of pleasure at her arrival. Cressida recognized several from her previous stay—the young footman who’d carried her bathwater, the maid who’d helped lace her into that scandalously tight sapphire gown.
“Thank you, Mrs. Agnes.” Cressida managed a smile despite the turmoil churning in her chest. “It’s… good to be back.”
If the housekeeper noticed her hesitation, she gave no sign. “Come, Your Grace. Let me show you to your chambers. You must be exhausted after the journey and the ceremony.”
Cressida allowed herself to be led inside, acutely aware of curious eyes following her progress through the entrance hall. The servants dispersed to their duties, though she caught whispered exchanges and poorly concealed smiles.
They thought this was a love match. A fairytale. The scandalous lady and the brooding duke, married in haste but destined for happiness.
If only they knew.
Mrs. Agnes guided her up the grand staircase, past the portraits of disapproving ancestors, down a corridor Cressida hadn’t explored during her previous visit. The housekeeper kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked.
“We’ve prepared the Duchess’s suite for you, Your Grace. It adjoins His Grace’s chambers, naturally, with a connecting door between.” She glanced at Cressida with knowing eyes. “Though of course, the door locks from both sides, should you require privacy.”
The implication hung in the air.
Cressida felt heat creep up her neck. “Of course.”
“Here we are.” Mrs. Agnes pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a bedchamber that took Cressida’s breath away.
The room was easily three times the size of her chamber at Bardwell House, decorated in shades of deep emerald and gold.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through tall windows overlooking the castle grounds, illuminating furniture that looked both antique and exquisitely maintained.
A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, its curtains embroidered with intricate patterns.
A sitting area near the fireplace included two chairs and a small writing desk.
On the far wall, she could see a door—the connecting door to Theodore’s chambers.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“The late Duchess had excellent taste.” Mrs. Agnes moved through the room with practiced efficiency, checking that everything was in order.
“Though we’ve updated the linens and such.
Your trunks will arrive from London tomorrow, but I’ve taken the liberty of having a few gowns prepared for your immediate use. ”
She gestured toward a wardrobe, then toward a young woman who’d been standing quietly near the dressing table. “And this is Molly. She’ll be your lady’s maid.”
The maid stepped forward, curtsying deeply. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, with dark brown hair pulled back neatly and intelligent hazel eyes that assessed Cressida with friendly curiosity.
“Your Grace.” Molly’s voice carried a soft country accent. “I’m honored to serve you.”
“Thank you, Molly.” Cressida studied her, seeing nervousness beneath her composed exterior. “Have you been in service for long?”
“Five years, Your Grace. I worked my way up from under-housemaid.” Pride colored Molly’s voice. “Mrs. Agnes recommended me for the position.”
“High praise, indeed.” Cressida glanced at the housekeeper, who looked pleased. “I’m certain we’ll get along splendidly.”
Molly’s shoulders relaxed fractionally. “I’ve drawn you a bath, Your Grace. I thought you might wish to refresh yourself after the journey.”
The consideration touched her. “That sounds wonderful.”
Mrs. Agnes moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you to settle in, Your Grace. If you need anything at all, simply ring for me.” She indicated a bell pull near the bed. “His Grace typically dines at eight, but I can have a tray sent up if you’d prefer to rest this evening.”
The thought of facing Theodore across a dining table after everything made Cressida’s stomach clench.
“A tray would be preferable tonight, thank you.”
“Of course.” The housekeeper’s expression suggested she understood more than she let on. “Rest well, Your Grace.”
After Mrs. Agnes departed, Molly helped Cressida out of her wedding gown with gentle, efficient hands. The maid’s touch was careful, almost reverent, as she unlaced the silk.
“If I may say so, Your Grace,” she ventured as she worked, “you looked lovely today.”
Cressida managed a wan smile. “Thank you, Molly.”
“And His Grace—well, he looked quite besotted.” The maid’s voice carried wistful romanticism. “The way he watched you during the vows… Fair took our breath away, it did.”
Besotted.
The word was so far from reality that Cressida nearly laughed.
Theodore had looked at her during the ceremony the way one might regard a particularly vexing puzzle—with frustration and resignation.
But she said nothing, simply allowed Molly to help her into a dressing gown and guide her toward the bathing chamber.
The copper tub was already filled, steam rising in lazy curls. Rose petals floated on the surface, and the scent of lavender soap filled the air.
“I’ll just be outside if you need anything, Your Grace,” Molly said, bobbing another curtsy before retreating.
Alone at last, Cressida sank into the hot water with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in her chest. The heat soothed muscles she hadn’t realized were tense, but it did nothing for the ache beneath her ribs.
She stared at the connecting door visible through the bathing chamber entrance. Theodore was beyond that door—in his own chambers, perhaps bathing as she was, perhaps already dressed for dinner.
And she wondered: did he lie awake at night thinking about her the way she’d found herself thinking about him during her weeks at her parents’ house?
Cressida closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the water. The rose petals clung to her skin, delicate and fragile. She opened her eyes and stared at the connecting door.
Somewhere beneath his walls and his carefully maintained control, Theodore felt something for her.
The question that remained was: what was she going to do about it?
Cressida rose from the bath, water cascading down her skin. Molly appeared immediately with warmed towels, helping her dry and slip into a soft nightgown before guiding her back to her bedchamber.
“Would you like me to brush out your hair, Your Grace?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Cressida sat at the dressing table while Molly worked through the tangles with patient, gentle strokes. In the mirror, she could see the connecting door.
Locked, Mrs. Agnes had said. From both sides. A barrier. A boundary. A line neither of them was meant to cross.
She wondered if Theodore was on the other side, staring at the same door, fighting the same battle between what he wanted and what he believed he should do.
“There you are, Your Grace.” Molly set down the brush. “Shall I help you into bed?”
“I can manage, thank you.” Cressida stood, squeezing the girl’s hand. “You’ve been wonderfully kind, Molly. I appreciate it more than you know.”
Molly blushed with pleasure. “It’s my honor to serve you, Your Grace. Truly.”
After the maid left, Cressida stood alone in the center of her grand new bedchamber. The Duchess’s suite. Her chambers. Her life.
A life sentence of proximity without connection, Theodore had promised.
She had lived her life in a series of cages—barren, comfortable, and everything in between. She wasn’t willing to accept another one, no matter how luxurious.
As she climbed into the enormous bed and stared at the canopy above, Cressida felt something far more dangerous than fear unfurl in her chest: determination.