Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
He had shown up.
Rachel had been very careful. She knew it would be unwise to get her hopes up beforehand.
In their conversation from earlier, he had not given her an absolute yes. And even if he had, who was to say that he would not change his mind later? She had prepared herself in advance for any disappointment that she had to experience.
But she had been pleasantly proven wrong when he had shown up at the breakfast table in the morning.
A man of his word, she thought to herself. That was an admirable quality to have, surely. She would allow him credit where it was due.
But Rachel had not fully thought this through. Now that he was here, she was not quite sure what to do with him. He was seated at one end of the table as the footman served the food in front of them.
She was trying her best to conceal the surprise on her face. Why should she convey that she was surprised that her own husband had kept true to his words and shown up at the breakfast table?
No, she must not do that. But still, her curiosity towards him was growing by the second. What must be going through his mind right now?
Scrape. Scrape. Clink.
The sound of cutlery interacting with fine china was the only noise breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Simon had not uttered a single word to her, and she found herself observing every little mannerism that he had on display.
The way he reached for his fork and cut through his eggs.
Or how he ate in methodical bites, chewing just long enough before setting his utensils down to prepare the next forkful.
There was no savoring the flavour, no incessant lingering, no chatter.
It was just as though he was eating only for nourishment.
Practical, one could say.
Even his breakfast spread was the furthest thing from indulgent. It was a modest serving of fruit, a buttered roll of bread, and a serving of two fried eggs.
“Is this your usual breakfast, Your Grace?” Rachel finally broke the silence. She had observed enough, and the silence was too much for her to take now.
Simon glanced up from his plate.
“I do not have a usual breakfast. I eat whatever is served,” he replied flatly.
It was a simple statement, but one that made her think. A man with his title should be accustomed to the most lavish of breakfast spreads. Not only accustomed. He should demand it. But he seemed content with whatever was on offer as though he neither missed nor wanted more.
Surely, it was not usual for a duke. At least, what she imagined a duke would be like.
She could not help but wonder and make connections in her mind. Was it a behavior rooted in the life he had lived before the title found him?
“Surely, you must have preferences,” she prodded gently. “It is only natural. And you have access to the best of ingredients and the best of staff. Your palate must be quite refined.”
His lips quirked upwards into a smirk at the suggestion. “Tell me, then. What do you suppose is a refined palette?”
His smirk threw her off guard. Rachel paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. The last thing she had expected him to do was to turn her inquiry back towards her.
“I was just suggesting…”
“No,” he interrupted. “You used the words refined palette, and I would be interested to know what it is that you mean by it.”
He had doubled down on his question now, and Rachel knew that she would not be able to get herself out of this situation without answering it.
“Well, then,” she bit down on her lip, “I suppose that it would demand variety, for one. Or if not variety, then it would contain foods from far-off lands, perhaps.”
Simon burst out laughing, startling Rachel. Her cheeks began to heat. Had she said something wrong?
“I was not aware I said something humorous,” she replied, a bit sourly.
“No, no. I am just…” His dark eyes flitted towards her. “Your reasoning is amusing.”
“It seems perfectly fine to me,” she retorted, growing defensive now.
“Right, so…” he said, clearing out the last remnants of his laughter, “in your view, you think that the same breakfast I am having now would be refined if I had, say, gotten the bread from Paris and the eggs from the countryside?”
When he put it that way, Rachel could not help but feel a little bit silly.
“Well, I-I suppose,” she said, softly.
He chuckled again. “Well, then, I am sorry to disappoint you on that front. I would much rather prefer the convenience of what is available to me than keeping up appearances as you suggest.”
“I only asked a simple question,” Rachel defended herself. “One that demanded a simple answer.”
He seemed incapable of delivering one. She had not even considered the complications that he had brought up.
His gaze bore into hers again. “And I answered your question. I do not have preferences. Do you?”
“Isn’t there any food you enjoy more than anything else?” she pushed, knowing it was likely futile.
She had fully expected him to get irritated by her persistence. But there was a glint in his eyes that made her believe that he perhaps found the whole thing a bit endearing instead.
“Are you adamant on answering my question with another one of your own?” he said, teasingly.
“Yes, when the situation demands it, Your Grace,” she argued. “Only in critical moments, might I add.”
Simon’s fork paused mid-air, and he gave her a pointed look, amused again by her dramatics. “You consider discovering my breakfast preferences to be a critical moment?”
“I suppose I do,” Rachel smiled. It was a small thing, but anything to get to know him more. “It matters to me.”
“Fine,” he sighed loudly. “Roast pheasant. There. Are you satisfied?”
A grin spread across her features.
“Yes, very much so. Now, if you had answered like that at the outset, we would not have needed to have this back and forth. For someone who values practicality above all else, you have a remarkable talent for prolonging conversations unnecessarily,” she teased.
Simon’s lips twitched, though he quickly reverted his expression to a neutral one. “Are you done with your questioning?”
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, realizing that she rather enjoyed his begrudging participation. Not in the least. “Do you have a favorite color?”
“Why do I feel as though I am a schoolboy again, being questioned by my classmates?” The corners of his mouth tugged into a smirk.
“I am not your classmate, Your Grace. I am your wife,” she reminded him gently. “Lest you forget.”
“You do not spare a single chance to remind me, no,” he mused. “Green.”
Rachel’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Why, Your Grace, I had no idea you were so fond of me.”
She did not know where the confidence had sprung up from.
In fact, she never knew where it came from when it concerned him.
Half the time, she was worried about embarrassing herself in front of him, and yet when he was actually there in front of her, it was as though something else possessed her entirely.
Even Simon looked momentarily caught off guard with confusion, but then caught on to what she meant. She realised that she quite liked it when she was able to get such a reaction out of him.
It gave her the confirmation that he was not the only one with the ability to rattle her slightly. His gaze flicked to her, taking in her green eyes.
“By green, I mean the color of forests. Of nature.”
“Well, it is rather convenient then that it also happens to be the color of your wife’s eyes,” Rachel continued.
“Has anyone ever told you that it is impolite to ask too many questions at mealtimes?” he shot back and then glanced down at her plate of food, which lay untouched. “You have not eaten anything.”
“I-oh.”
Could he blame her? It was only because she had been so busy in her observations and questioning him that she had forgotten that she was meant to eat alongside him.
“I suppose I got distracted. I was not expecting you to show up to breakfast, you know. Or at least, I had willed myself into believing that you would not.”
Simon scoffed loudly and looked at her with narrowed eyes.
“Why would you think that? I told you I would the other night.”
He made it sound so easy and simple, when she knew that the reality was far from it. She let out a small sigh and composed herself.
“It would be prudent to manage my expectations. After all, I do not wish to force anyone to be in my company.”
“Force?” Simon raised his eyebrow at her. He was observing her intently now, and she fought hard against herself not to blush under his gaze.
“Yes, well, I feel… I feel as though I’m forcing you to be here. To eat with me. And I don’t want to…”
Simon’s chuckle interrupted her.
“Do you really believe that anyone can force me to do anything? I would not be here if it had not been of my own free will. Dispel these ridiculous notions of yours.”
She blinked rapidly. The surprise on her face was evident.
“But… I was just…”
“No,” Simon interrupted, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. “Enough of that. Come here.”
Rachel felt herself blushing again. He was not asking her; instead, he was commanding her. And in normal circumstances, such a thing would be upsetting for her. She did not like to be commanded.
But somehow, when it came from it, it made her excited. Her heart was beating loudly inside her chest now, and she hesitated for a moment.
“Duchess, have I not made myself clear?” Simon said again, though his voice was softer now. “Come here.”
She felt as though she was going to melt on the spot. How could she deny him when he spoke to her in such a tone? It was as though he had discovered a weakness of hers that she did not know she had.
“I… yes,” she said.
He waited for her to move, watching her closely.
She rose from her seat, feeling the weight of his gaze at every moment. And then crossed over to close the distance between them.
Never once did he take his gaze away from her. And when she finally reached him, she greeted him with a nod of approval.