Chapter Thirty-Five
Lady Lillian, Duchess of Alton
I entered Kendrick’s studio, excitement in my every step. Since my husband loved pottery, I wanted to learn the craft. It looked like fun and after the a few hectic weeks spent at the Alton estate learning my role as duchess, the prospect of being with Kendrick was a much needed break.
Kendrick glanced up from where he stood at a long, rectangular table and smiled in greeting.
He wore his customary work gear of rough trousers and a vest, his sleeves rolled up.
I wanted to rush to his side and throw myself into his arms, but a sudden shyness overcame me.
My pulse continued to hum and I curled my fingers into fists.
Why I was feeling vulnerable was a mystery.
Since we’d been home, we’d fallen into a comfortable routine.
Although I was happily married, I wasn’t sure about Kendrick.
He’d shown no outward signs of being unhappy with me.
It was only when Colt was mentioned that he’d go quiet.
A part of me expected the other shoe to drop and for him to seek out another lover, most especially a woman. It made me sick to even think about it.
“Good afternoon,” he said in greeting. “I’m glad to see you managed to escape from my mother’s clutches.”
“Sadly, I only have a limited time. Unlike you, I have to spend hours getting ready for the queen’s dinner.
” Tonight would be our first royal dinner since our marriage and Henry had an afternoon of primping planned for me.
He was turning out to be a godsend, and he was very proficient in his job as Colt promised.
Colt. Every time I thought of him, my good humor evaporated.
“Has your new trousseau arrived?” he asked, lifting up a wire that was strung between two pieces of wood. A huge block of clay rested on a sturdy table stained grey from use and he positioned the wire over the end.
He’d insisted on ordering me an entirely new wardrobe.
I had left it all up to Henry and Karen.
I’d never been a devotee of the current fashion, yet my position required me to look the part of a regal duchess.
“I have received a few dresses. The one I ordered for tonight—well Henry ordered—is here and my maid is steaming it. What are you doing?” I asked, eager to start.
“Cutting us some clay. The first step and most important is learning how to wedge your clay before you even sit down at the wheel.” He used the wire to cut several pieces off the block, his forearms flexing at the effort.
Per usual, his hair pulled back. I watched him with curiosity and admiration.
This stunning man was my husband. I still had a hard time reconciling it.
Yet here he was, teaching me the craft of pottery.
“We’ll be working on the table instead of the wheel. While it is easier for me to wedge my clay on the wheel, it takes practice. Are you up for the challenge?” Kendrick cocked one strong eyebrow, his gaze drifting to my mouth.
“Yes, you have proven an excellent teacher in the past and I am eager for more of your tutelage,’ I said, offering him a saucy wink.
Emotionally, I might have self-doubts. Physically, I was confident.
My attention darted to the seating area where our passionate encounter on the day we had arrived home took place.
He lusted after me, which reaffirmed the bond growing between us.
“For your first lesson, I’m going to show you the Ox wedge.” He lifted my hand and placed the grey clay into mine. It was heavy and cold against my palm.
“Right now, the clay is just that, raw clay. By the time we’re done, it’ll be smoother than your perfect bottom,” he said, flashing me a teasing grin.
I wrinkled my nose and tried to suppress my smile. “Lord Golden has the perfect bottom. Mine is rather unassuming.”
“Yes, Lord Golden is well-endowed but don’t discount your own charms.” His smile dimmed a touch and I cursed myself for reminding him of Colt.
Since we’d been home, the ghost of him lingered in every room.
While Kendrick and I had bonded even more than before our marriage, something was still missing.
“Hopefully, it doesn’t take me twenty-nine pots until I throw the perfect one,” I said, trying to add some levity back into the conversation. Mourning for Colt wasn’t helping either of us.
He tweaked my nose with his knuckle and pressed his lips together in contemplation.
“There is no such thing as perfection. Moran is publishing your book because you worked hard at polishing it, not because you are unworthy of it. You might have been rejected by twenty-nine publishers, but the thirtieth one said yes.”
“Very true, and I have you to thank. You and Colt.” Tears pressed at the back of my eyes at his earnest reminder. My love for him soared even higher.
“My mother says you are excelling in your household training. She is quite proud of you, as am I.” His profile was to me and I studied the strong lines of his jaw with longing. I was lovesick to be sure.
“I have grown very fond of her.” I had tried to absorb everything I could from Lady Helen’s efficient staff—my staff—and they’d all been helpful.
It hadn’t made me any more confident. I trusted that after time, my duties as duchess would become a lot easier to me.
I wasn’t sure I would ever enjoy them because I never truly liked socializing.
In that regard, Kendrick and I were of a like mind.
Granted, he was better at it than I was, but together, we managed to become very sought after at parties.
“Now that I have the clay, what is next?” I asked.
A slice of clay in his hand, he motioned to the work bench. I followed him and settled my clay on granite topped table. He moved behind me, his arms coming around mine. My back to his chest, the heat of his body seeped into my shirtwaist. The smell of his shaving soap enveloping me and I inhaled.
“Before you begin to wedge, you’ll need to make sure your body is in the correct position,” he said.
I laid my head on his shoulder, my nipples tingling from his touch.
Our schedules might be full but we’d found time to make love.
At least that is what I called it in my mind.
I loved him and although his affection for me was evident, it hadn’t bloomed into love.
Not yet. “Do you mean like this?” I asked.
He angled his neck and pressed a kiss to my temple. The steady rise and fall of his chest spoke of his growing need at my seduction. I arched my back and pushed my bottom into his groin, cursing the material between us.
“Exactly,” he said on a husky rasp. “Well, exactly if you wish to be seduced. No, if you want to do pottery.”
Laughing, I nodded and licked my bottom lip. “That is a hard decision. However, you promised to show me how to do pottery and I have limited time before I have to get ready for dinner at the palace, so...” I sighed.
“Yes, duty calls.” He offered me a brief hug before he lessened his hold. Kendrick was supportive and had shown himself to be a sensitive man. While he was still gregarious, the light in his voice had dimmed just the tiniest bit.
“You’re fortunate that you’re tall and my tables should be at the right height. I’ll ask Colt—”
My heart skipped a beat at the slip of the tongue. “Henry.” It was ridiculous to feel as if Colt were dead and gone forever, when he was alive and well in Liverpool. Yet the heart and mind didn’t always see eye to eye.
“Henry, right.” He cleared his throat and laid his hands over mine. “The correct position will make it easier for you to manipulate your clay. When starting the ox-head wedge, put your thumbs on the top of the clay, but don’t squeeze.”
The grainy surface infiltrated my fingertips, his hands manipulating mine. The warmth from his skin contrasted with the chilly clay, a metaphor for my own tattered emotions. I wanted desperately to enjoy what I had with Kendrick instead of what I didn’t have with Colt. “It is very cold.”
“It will heat up once you start to manipulate it.” He spoke near my ear, his hard body a welcome anchor. Every time he touched me, I had a difficult time concentrating on anything but him. Thus I yearned for his touch every second of every day.
“Rather like Byron,” I said. I loved him, but was I becoming too dependent on him to lighten my morose moods.
As much as I told myself to stop lamenting about Colt, it was hard to forget him.
I cried every time I wrote about Lord Golden and it was becoming harder and harder to put my words on paper.
“You are determined to distract me.” Kendrick pressed my palms inward on the slab, pushing the clay down and away from us. His movements brought his chest tighter to my back and the feel of his arousal pressed into my bottom through the thin material of my serviceable walking skirt.
“I believe you are the one distracting me.” My breath turned heavy from the activity and his closeness. The clay was stiff and although he was assisting me, it was still awkward to manipulate.
“I think we’re both guilty of the crime.” Kendrick dropped his hands and moved to my side to take up his own block of clay. “You’ll move your hands to the top of the ox-head and bring the top towards you, placing the nose on the table.”
I began to follow his direction, my bottom lip between my teeth. He was a good teacher and I appreciated his patience. “This is much harder than it looks.”
“Yes, before I started pottery, I was Henry’s size,” he said with a tongue and cheek grin which cut right into my core.
“Really, making pottery made you a foot taller?” I asked, leaning in and lifting my chin.
He obliged my silent request by pressing a kiss to my lips. Hooded eyes met mine after his withdrawal. “I daresay once you are proficient, the size of your arms will eclipse mine.”
“Will I become a strong man like in Astley’s circus?” I pressed inward, using all of my power to push downward and out. It was much harder than he’d made it look but I was determined to keep on task.
“Be careful not to fold the clay but push it in. You want to avoid air pockets.” Nimble fingers manipulated the clay, the veins popping under his skin. “The reason you want to wedge the clay is to remove any lumps and it helps make the clay suppler, rather like your bottom lip.”
“Or yours.” His desire for me hadn’t waned and I was glad for it.
Granted, it was early in our marriage. He’d never promised fidelity, although I prayed he wouldn’t seek out another lover.
My eyes locked on his movements, I began to mimic his rhythm.
The more I worked the clay, the more pliant it became.
“What happens if there is an air pocket?”
“It will explode in the kiln and then all of your efforts will be for naught. The trick is to leave the moisture in your clay throughout the process so your piece will dry more uniformly.” He worked much faster than me and by the time he lifted the ball and threw it onto the table, my brow was damp with sweat.
The room which had consistently held a chill was a welcome relief.
“How does this look?” I asked.
He captured my wrist which had been covered in grey clay wash and inspected the small ball I had created. “It looks good for your first try. You are a quick learner.”
“I learned from the best.” I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face, and flexed my fingers. Typing for hours on end had strengthened my hands. “I believe I deserve a treat.”
“I believe you do.” He pulled me into his body, the sensual grin back in play. Lowering his head, he skipped his mouth over mine when the mantel clock chimed the hour.
I stifled a groan of annoyance and draped my arms around his shoulders. Henry could wait a few more minutes for me. I angled my neck, pressing my mouth closer to his. A soft rap sounded at the door. I didn’t need to call out to ask whom it was.
Kendrick pulled back, understanding in his regard, along with frustration. “He won’t go away, so you’d best give into the inevitable.”
“We’re supposed to be in charge.” It was a false narrative. Without the countless secretaries and servants employed by the estate, the estate couldn’t run. And as the head of the household affairs, it was my responsibility to oversee it all.
A bark of bitter laughter erupted from him and he shook his head.
After placing another peck on my mouth, he stepped back.
“Logically, that would make sense, but the second you said, I do, your life was no longer your own. Are you sorry you married me?” He said it through the filter of humor, but I could read the anxiety in his last question.
“No.” The one word said it all. I would put up with a million inconveniences to spend a lifetime with this charming man. I had weighed the pros and cons during his marriage proposal and decided the gains far outweighed the risks.
“Do you regret marrying me?” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I uttered them. If he said yes, I would be devastated. Better to be in the dark, than be burned by the light of reality.
He skimmed a knuckle down my arm. “No, not at all. I’m very fond of you. You’ve become a great friend.”
A shiver chased along my spine and my entire body felt like ice.
Friend. He was fond of me because I was his friend.
Another knock, this one more persistent, sounded.
I was relieved by the interruption. My jaw ached as I forced my smile to remain in place.
I turned my back to him. Friend. I welcomed his friendship but it was a small part of what I felt for him.
“Yes, we are friends. I had best attend Henry.”
I paused at the door and looked back at him. He was watching me, his broad forehead furrowed. Had he read my displeasure? I prayed he hadn’t. “I will see you later.”
As I exited the door, I squared my shoulders. I was his wife and I had to have faith that one day he’d see me as more than a friend. Until then, if friendship was all he could give me, I would embrace it. I had no other recourse.