Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“What do you mean you want to return to London this week?” Benedict asked in a clipped tone over breakfast.
They had only been back at Ealdwick Manor for a matter of days. And they were just now getting the place back to normal—as Isla’s family had recently departed. The air had been thick with the comfortable silence of their established routines, and her unexpected demand had shattered it like glass.
“The Arrowfells have invited us to a very small Christmas party at their townhouse, and after that unfortunate event… I am desperate for a second chance.” Isla sat straighter.
“I just received word today from her,” she said as she held up the correspondence as proof.
“It is a very thoughtful request. They thought we would still be in London, and the correspondence was forwarded to us here…”
I need this victory. I need to prove I belong in the elevated sphere Benedict occupies, and this is me chance.
“I had Mr. Frederickson see to closing up the townhouse, I would need to send word to have it prepared for us. This is terribly inconvenient. I do not see how this social call cannot wait until the new year.”
“I ken it is trouble, but I so desperately need friends in the ton if I am to succeed as your duchess…” she said, wringing her hands together, her desperation taking over.
Benedict studied her, his blue eyes sharp. She knew he was assessing her plea. The moment stretched, heavy and still, before he finally broke.
“Very well,” he barked. “Make the arrangements, we shall leave in two days and make sure we are home for Christmas Eve.”
“Oh, Benedict,” she said as she ran up and embraced him, brimming with gratitude, and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank ye.”
“Did I just hear you are already going back to the city so soon?” Mr. Flark said as he entered the room, his surprise evident as he stopped short on his heels. “You have only just arrived, Your Graces. And the holidays are so soon upon us. This is most strange.”
“It appears my wife requires it,” Benedict said, his tone dry. “Please have Mrs. Callahan make the arrangements and send word to London. Now.”
“At once, Your Grace,” Flark said, executing a swift bow before turning on his heel and leaving the room, no doubt already calculating the logistical nightmare of preparing the London house and the Duke’s considerable retinue in forty-eight hours.
Isla pulled back, her cheeks flushed with triumph and the exhilarating danger of defying his initial will. She had not only secured a second chance in the ton, but she had also discovered a small, thrilling vulnerability in her husband. She enjoyed testing his boundaries.
“You are pleased with yourself,” Benedict observed as if reading her mind, pushing his plate of kippers aside. He leaned his elbows on the heavy oak table, his gaze dropping to the rapid pulse point visible above the collar of her day dress.
“Aye, I am,” she admitted, her gaze sparkling.
“I cannae deny it. I felt I botched me chance with the London ladies last time. I must show them I am not just some rough Highland lass, but a capable duchess who can carry off a diamond necklace as well as the next woman. I will start the new year on a positive note.”
“You are my Duchess,” he corrected. He reached out and caught her chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her eyes up to meet his.
“You are the Duchess of Ealdwick. That is all the qualification required, Isla. The rest is noise. Do not forget who validates your presence. And do not forget that you will have to make this up to me.”
His touch was brief but left a burning trail. Isla felt the raw power of him. He was a man who controlled lands, wealth, and now, her social calendar, all with a single word. His concession was now a testament to her own power, and it was intoxicating.
“Aye, Yer Grace,” she murmured.
“Good,” he said, releasing her. He stood abruptly, the heavy oak chair scraping against the stone floor.
“Two days. I expect the staff to execute this with military precision. Flark will notify the stables. Mrs. Callahan will handle the packing. Ensure Oliver’s favorite books are packed securely as we will be bringing him of course.
We cannot have him throwing a fit in the carriage. ”
Isla followed him out of the dining room and into the grand hall, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble. “I shall see to it immediately. Two days is little time, but we shall manage. I ken it will be worth the trouble, and we will be home in time for a most happy holiday.”
He stopped at the foot of the sweeping staircase, turning back to look down at her, his height dominating her entirely. His eyes, those piercing, cold blue eyes, were unreadable. She licked her lips as she looked at him.
“We will make our own holiday traditions, Duchess,” he said, his mouth curling into a familiar smile. “I hope you have considered my gift?”
“Yer gift?”
“Oh yes, Duchess,” he rasped. “For this trip, I do expect to be properly rewarded when we arrive.”
“Aye,” she said with a gulp, her pace quickening as he pulled her into a tight embrace and planted a kiss on her head. “I will make sure of it, Yer Grace.”
And so, she swept off toward the servants’ quarters, her mind buzzing with lists. Along with it, the house instantly transformed from the quiet stillness of the country to a flurry of ordered activity. The Duchess’s new social campaign had begun.
Isla found Mrs. Callahan in the linen room, her face already a mask of mild panic after Mr. Flark’s hurried announcement.
“Mrs. Callahan, I am sorry for the trouble,” Isla said, her voice firm and calm. “The London house must be prepared and warmed before our arrival, and Master Oliver’s trunk must contain his comfort blanket and two books, packed on top.”
She wrung her hands as she nodded. “I worry about the distance to London in this weather, it takes time for the heavy baggage to follow… It is not much time to prepare.”
“Then we shall only take the essentials. It will be fine, Mrs. Callahan.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I understand. It will be done.”
Two days passed in a whirlwind of slamming trunks, hurried last-minute lessons for Oliver, and the constant smell of beeswax and packed wool.
Early on the morning of their departure, the grand carriage, heavy and imposing, waited at the front door, its four magnificent horses steaming gently in the cold December air.
Isla emerged wearing a sable-trimmed travelling cloak, the dark fur contrasting beautifully with her dark blonde hair and emerald eyes. She was a woman on a mission, reinvigorated by her short time in the country and with her family.
Oliver, bundled in his blue coat, chattered excitedly to a footman about the number of houses they would see on the road.
Benedict was already inside, having overseen the loading of the essential luggage onto the roof. He settled back into the plush seat and a slew of ledgers strewn across his lap.
Oliver bounced in first, settling next to his father, who simply placed a steady hand on the boy’s knee. Isla took the opposite seat, the carriage immediately shrinking around them.
“Now, Oliver,” Isla said, pulling the thick velvet rug over his legs. “Ye promised yer faither and me ye would be quiet for the first hour. It is a long journey, and he must take the time to tend to work.”
“Yes, Isla. I promise. I brought my mythology book!”
“Grand work, Oliver,” she said. “I expect a full report of what ye have learned later today.”
With a lurch, the carriage wheels began to turn, grinding on the gravel, and they were off.
Oliver lasted exactly five minutes before he set down his book and turned to Benedict. “Papa, do you think the Arrowfells have a dog like the one in the play? A really big one?”
“Perhaps,” Benedict answered curtly, his eyes not on his son, but settled firmly on the papers strewn on his lap.
“Do you like dogs, Papa?” He asked as he inched closer to his father.
“Yes.” His tone was clipped as he turned a page and took out a monocle to look closer at numbers.
“Would you want one for Christmas?”
“I beg your pardon,” Benedict said as he set his papers down in a rush. “Isla, is this your doing?”
“I have nay idea what ye are talkin’ about, Yer Grace,” she said with a laugh, covering her mouth with her hands.
“I must get back to work,” Benedict barked. “Back to your reading, Oliver. We can discuss hounds later. For now, I need to untangle these shipping rates…”
The journey was officially underway as they passed through the forest. Isla felt her breath catch in her throat.
With every sway of the carriage, the silent, demanding gaze of her husband over his work reminded her of the reward for her return, transforming the excitement of the Arrowfells’ party into a delicious excitement.
Just how will I make this up to me husband?
The forest soon gave way to the gray of the winter landscape and bare trees. The rhythm of the horses’ hooves and the steady rumble of the heavy carriage were the only sounds.
For hours, Benedict maintained the pretense of intense concentration on his ledgers, his pen scratching across the paper, his monocle occasionally raised to inspect a complex column of figures.
But Isla, attuned to his countenance so well, knew it was a performance.
The true heat of the journey came from their proximity.
Every time she shifted on the plush seat, her sable cloak brushing against his thigh, the small sound seemed deafening.
Each time she looked out the window, the movement brought her hair closer to his shoulder in the small space.
He never once looked up to meet her eye, yet she felt the constant, heavy weight of his gaze.
The aching anticipation had settled deep in her core as she thought of her Christmas present for her husband.