Chapter 16
James
The following day, James stood outside and mounted his horse.
Frances was on the horse behind him, having been assisted up by a groom.
James had been concerned that she would not be able to keep pace with him, but once again, she surprised him. She not only kept pace with him, but also looked graceful doing it. She rode as though she were born to the saddle.
“I did not know you were such a good rider,” he commented.
“There is much you do not know about me,” she replied.
And much, she suspected, that he did not wish to know.
He was beginning to understand that. He had felt almost a kinship to her when he heard about the hardship she had faced with her father. However, he couldn’t deny that hearing her tell her father that she was going to lead a miserable life just like her mother had affected him deeply.
He didn’t want her to be miserable. He had indeed done this to help himself, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that those words had hit him hard.
He still wanted to help her and had thus defended her against her father.
But he had felt awkward ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was meeting Lord Blatt again after all these years, or finally having to do the one thing he swore he’d never do—get married—or the peculiar feelings he had for her.
In any case, he had not felt like himself.
He felt like a stranger in his own skin.
And returning to his country estate had only made things worse.
“… all of the tenants?”
He turned. “Pray, what?”
“I said that Lizette told me that you know all the tenants.”
“I do,” he said. “I am not intimately familiar with them, but I do know them all by name. That first house there belongs to the Holtons. They’ve been on the estate for three generations.
They farm corn and wheat, primarily.” He pointed to a house with a red shingle roof and neatly planted rows of corn.
“I love to walk in corn,” Frances admitted. “When I was very little, my mother would take me, and we would run through the cornfields together. It is one of the few memories I have of her.” She paused. “At least I think it is.”
“You think?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means that sometimes I’m not certain if what I am remember are true memories or if they are simply figments of my imagination.” She let out a breath. “Sometimes I imagine that she is still alive. Somewhere. And that I am with her, but we are living a different life.”
“You mean, like a different universe?”
“Yes. One where we have made different decisions that affected our lives differently, and where we live out our lives in different ways. Perhaps not perfectly happy either, but different. You know?”
James nodded, his heart suddenly heavy as he thought of one particular decision he had made that had changed his life.
“Perhaps in that other reality, my brother is still alive.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps in that reality, he never engaged in a duel.”
He swallowed, wanting to tell her that it wasn’t a duel that killed his brother, but he kept it to himself. The night that had changed everything. The night he could never speak of.
He didn’t know her. Not really. Certainly not well enough to share the truth of that awful night with her.
They pressed on, and he showed her the rest of the estate, trying to keep his racing thoughts at bay. Being in this place never lifted his spirits. He knew why, but he couldn’t explain it to anybody else.
He showed her where the Sweeney family lived, who were raising cattle on their farm, the Bradfords and their apple orchard, and several other families.
They dismounted their horses more often than he had anticipated because she wanted to actually meet the tenants.
She spent some time at the apple orchard asking questions about the type of apples, what they were used for, and how long it took to harvest. Then, she pressed on, leaving the orchard behind and familiarizing herself with several more farms and their tenants.
However, there were far too many to meet them all in one day, she realized.
Perhaps it was because she had grown up in a place like this, because she knew fieldworkers, that she knew how to speak to them.
She did it with such ease. She spoke to them as equals, not as inferiors, and they loved her for it.
James was almost jealous. She accomplished in moments what he had struggled to accomplish in years.
“Your tenants seem content,” she observed as they rode on.
“They are good people,” he said. “Hard-working. Honest.”
“You care for them.”
“Of course I do. They are my responsibility.”
She nodded, understanding more about him in that moment than she had in all their previous conversations combined.
They continued riding until they had made it to the very edge of the estate, and then they turned back.
The ride was mostly silent, as their journey to Somerset had been. As most of their dinner had been.
It was odd. James wanted to be vexed with her for acting as though she were merely a guest in his house, even though she was now the Duchess. But at the same time, he was glad for the distance.
Three hours after setting out on their trip, they rode back in near silence. Once home, he handed the reins back to one of the grooms, and she did the same before they entered the house.
In the grand entrance hall, he looked at her. “Well, I suppose I shall see you at dinner.”
She shrugged. “I thought I might take dinner in my room tonight. I would rather save my voice and not shout across the dinner table again as we did last night.”
James coughed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob. “As you wish.”
He had also felt awkward the evening before.
Having her sit so far away had felt strange, but it was how his parents used to dine and what he thought was the proper thing.
And after spending much of his youth challenging the boundaries of the world around him, he had decided that it was best to stick with what was established.
It would help him maintain control. And as the last two days had shown, he was in danger of losing that control around her.
And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
“Your Grace?” Franklin said as he joined him on his walk up the stairs. “How was the ride? The Duchess seemed engaged.”
“She was, and she has befriended all of our tenants already.”
“Well, that is good, is it not?” Franklin asked. “You seem out of sorts.”
“I am not out of sorts,” James replied. “I’m merely vexed. This is not what I wanted. You know this very well.”
Franklin fell into step with him as they turned onto the first floor and made their way down the hall toward the study.
“I do, Your Grace. However, it may be just what you need. Somerset Trust required you to have a wife. Now you have one. One who has shown interest in the estate.”
“She certainly has,” James agreed. “And she’s doing it more naturally than I am. You should’ve seen how the tenants reacted to her—smiling, offering her sweets, telling her about their troubles more than they do me.”
“And again I ask, what is the matter? This is exactly what you wanted.”
He shrugged. “I suppose. And yet it feels odd. She walks around the house as though she were merely a guest. We barely speak to one another.”
They entered the study, and James dropped into the chair he had custom-made in London, replacing the one that had borne his father’s silhouette.
“And is that not your doing as well?” Franklin asked.
“You know me too well, old chap. I suppose it is my fault. I have not spoken to her much since the wedding, but I have a reason. She has already concluded she will be miserable here. She told her father as much.”
Franklin remained standing, but tilted his head to the side.
“Do you not think that perhaps such harsh words were only meant to hurt her father? It is true that she did not want this marriage any more than you did, but she must know that her life will not be miserable here. And, if I remember correctly, you often said harsh things to needle your father.”
James sat back. It was true. He had often said things he didn’t mean only to set his father’s bristles up.
“Perhaps you should speak to her,” Franklin suggested. “Begging Your Grace’s pardon, but you’re making a mull of things. You’re being a nodcock about this, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Perhaps,” James relented. “In any case, I suppose things cannot go on the way they have been. Otherwise, we will both be miserable.”
A knock sounded at the door then, and Harken walked in with a silver tray and several letters on top.
“The mail has arrived,” he announced and bowed slightly so that James could take the letters from the tray.
He looked through them. A letter from Somerset Trust, announcing a visit from their representatives, which he had already anticipated. Another letter from his former steward with recommendations for a new steward. And another letter that had him sitting bolt upright.
He tore the seal, unfolded it, and then smiled.
“Well,” he drawled, “regardless of my situation with the Duchess, I daresay the immediate future looks brighter, indeed.”