Chapter 7
“Who puts a cuckoo clock in a bedroom?” Catherine groaned, flinging one of her pillows toward the sound.
She listened to the dratted thing chime once, twice, thrice... ten times? Surely that could not be right? She was sure she had only been asleep for a few hours. Mrs. Danvers or Annabelle would have woken her up before ten.
Catherine’s eyes opened, and she winced in the bright sunlight that was streaming through her windows. She frowned. Why did her windows look so different?
Then she remembered where she was. She sat bolt upright and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oliver!”
She leapt out of bed and flung the door to the antechamber open, only to find herself looking at a very red-faced maid. The woman let out a yelp and swept into a deep curtsy while Catherine dove back into the room and desperately tried to find a dressing gown.
“Apologies, Your Grace. I did not mean to wake you.” The woman’s voice was muffled through the door.
If only the ground would open and swallow me whole. Catherine found a dressing gown and tugged it on.
“It is all right. I should have been awake hours ago. Why did no one wake me?”
“His Grace thought it best to allow you to rest,” the maid explained as Catherine opened the door.
Irritation flared to life, but Catherine clamped it down. “How thoughtful.”
“There is breakfast on the table for you. Miss Annabelle said you were particular about porridge with honey and cinnamon?” The maid gestured to a silver cloche and tray on the table.
Catherine’s stomach grumbled, and she lifted the cloche, breathing in the sweet smell of honey and cinnamon. There was a pot of tea with a small jug of milk.
She looked around, expecting to see Annabelle or Oliver, but neither was in the room. “Where is Annabelle?”
“I am here, Your Grace.” Annabelle appeared.
“Why is Oliver not with you?” Catherine stood up, alarm flooding through her.
“He is in the gardens.” Annabelle held up her hands as though to soothe her. “It is such a beautiful day, and he seems to be enjoying himself.”
“You left him outside by himself?” Catherine exclaimed.
“He was with one of the gardeners when I left him, and I asked one of the other maids— Imelda, I think that was her name; well, I asked her to watch him while I came to check if you needed me to dress you.”
Catherine knew that her lady’s maid was only trying to do what was proper; after all, it was a governess’s job to look after children, but still. “Then let us be quick. I do not like the thought of him in the gardens without one of us by his side. Though I suppose I should get used to it.”
She reminded herself that she would not be at the estate forever. Only long enough to get some answers and ensure that Alaric would do his duty and care for his son.
Annabelle pulled a pretty green dress out of the wardrobe and a blue one with simple embroidery. “I thought it best that I unpack, given that we will be here for some time. Once Mrs. Danvers arrives– ”
“Mrs. Danvers is coming?” Catherine interrupted, gesturing to the green dress.
“Yes. She will be the one bringing your clothes and other essentials. She will leave one of the more senior maids in charge in her absence. His Grace felt that it would be best that she join you as you will both be in residence in Bath.” Annabelle escorted Catherine into her dressing room.”
And they could not risk hiring a new one with Alaric’s memory as it is. Catherine nodded as Annabelle helped her into the dress.
“And how is my husband? Have you seen him today?”
“Save for when he asked that I let you sleep, no.” Annabelle began fussing over Catherine’s hair.
Catherine waved her off impatiently. “I would remind you, you take your orders from me, Annabelle, not him.”
“Of course, Your Grace. You did seem like you needed the rest, though.” Annabelle hung her head.
“Tomorrow, you will wake me up at the regular time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now let us go and check that Oliver is still all right.” Catherine slipped on her coat and walked out into the gardens with Annabelle.
On another day, she would probably have appreciated the beautiful flowers bursting with life. Everywhere she looked, there was a burst of vibrant and stunning color. Everything was perfectly maintained, carefully planned to ensure that the grounds would be a spectacle all year round.
“Where did you leave Oliver?” Catherine asked.
“By that tree, but I do not see him or Imelda.” Annabelle bit her lip.
“Hopefully, they will not have gone far. You go that way, and I will go this way.” Catherine gestured toward the horizon, where a lake was visible.
God, I hope he is nowhere near that. How could Annabelle have been so careless?
She did not even know if the boy could swim. She shook her head as she set off toward the lake, calling out for Oliver.
The clear blue sky and dazzling sun felt like some kind of cruel joke. How could the day be so beautiful when a child was missing?
She heard a splash and saw several birds take flight. Panic seized her. Someone was in the lake. She lifted her skirts and ran as fast as she could.
Her breath came in quick, sharp bursts; her lungs felt like they might burst, but she kept going. She reached the end of the pier, searching for any sign of Oliver. The water rippled, barely moving except for the wind.
And then she spotted something moving toward her.
“That is far too big to be Oliver.” She took a step backward.
The Duke burst out of the water in a spray of droplets that caught the sunlight, forming a small rainbow as he climbed onto the pier. He brushed his wet hair back from his face, gave himself a quick shake, and sent water splashing everywhere.
“What on Earth are you doing?” In other circumstances, Catherine would have been furious, but in that moment, she was far too mortified to even consider it.
Alaric was not just dripping wet; he was also practically naked. He was completely bare-chested, with water streaming down the muscles of his chest. The droplets ran down him in swift rivulets, drawing her eyes to his breeches.
Catherine turned around, her heart thundering in her chest. He must be mad. Clearly, the accident has addled his brain. She felt an urge to laugh even as some part of her was screaming at her to run.
“Swimming.” Alaric’s voice said from behind her. “Would you hand me that drying sheet?”
As though that explains it, Catherine realized she was turning to find the drying sheet, and stopped herself when she remembered Alaric’s half-naked state behind her. “I think you can get it yourself. We can discuss this... behavior later.”
Catherine tried to sound dignified and stately, but she suspected that the high pitch of her voice somewhat undermined it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the Duke’s reflection—his bare chest.
Her stomach twisted and turned as though it were a rag being wrung out.
She began to walk away, her cheeks so red she was sure they would be able to see it from the house.
It was at that moment that she spotted Oliver and Annabelle.
Thankfully they were moving away from the lake, towards the house and Catherine prayed they had not seen the Duke.
“Where are you going?” She could feel the pier vibrating beneath Alaric’s footsteps; she could hear the amusement and confusion in his voice. “Why not join me? The water is delightful.”
She sped up. “No, thank you. I would much rather go back to the house.”
“Why?” He was closer; she could practically feel him behind her. “If you cannot swim, I am sure I could teach you.”
“I can swim.” She wondered if she should run, but surely that would only draw attention to the situation.
“Then you should join me.” He must have been only a few paces behind her.
“I am not talking to you while you are in that state of undress,” she called back. “And I am definitely not swimming with you.”
“Why not?” The footsteps halted, and Catherine exhaled a breath she had not realized she was holding.
“Because it is not decent. You are practically... naked.” She gestured toward him without turning to look at him.
“So? Surely it is nothing you have not already seen. After all, we are married.” Alaric’s voice was the very picture of reasonableness and confusion.
Shame and anger rushed through her. He was the one running around half-naked, and he had the audacity to act like she was the one behaving like a madwoman? This man, who had abandoned her, abandoned his child, and then lost his memory? Was he going to act like he had the moral high ground?
She rounded on him, doing her best to look only in his eyes and nowhere else.
Given his height, it was not an easy task, but she was too furious to let it overwhelm her.
“And what about everyone else? What about the child currently staying here? What about any passing stranger who happens to be walking by? We may be married, but as far as I know, I am your wife, and we live in a civilized world. One does not simply gallivant around naked!”
“I am wearing breeches.” Alaric gestured to his sodden breeches, and Catherine forced herself not to follow the gesture with her eyes.
“Besides, who exactly do you think is going to see me? This is my land. This lake is mine; everything you can see is mine. It is private property; no one should be here except by my express invitation.”
“And you never have farmers or tradespeople come to the house? You do not have unexpected visitors?” Catherine folded her arms across her chest.
“To the house, not the lake.” Alaric shrugged.
“This behavior is reckless, undignified, and utterly immoral,” Catherine hissed.
How can he not see this? How does he not understand just how scandalous this is?
She knew he had lost his memory, but surely he need not be so utterly infuriating about it?
“Swimming in my own lake? Come now, Catherine, a man should enjoy what is his.” He took a step toward her, his eyes glittering mischievously in the sunlight.
She stepped back and shook her head. “You have responsibilities. You are not some schoolboy without a care in the world. You are a duke. You should behave like one.”
“I am not the one who came sprinting down here. I thought... I half expected you to join me.” Alaric canted his head toward her.
Catherine glared at him, appreciating how narrowing her eyes reduced how much she could see. “You mean you hoped.”
“Is hope not the same as expectation?”
“To a madman, perhaps.”
He laughed. “Then I am a madman. Clearly, I am married to a madwoman. Who else would hurtle like some wild thing from the house to the place her husband swam half-naked?”
“If you must know, I thought Oliver had fallen in. Clearly, I was mistaken.” She gestured toward the Duke.
“You need not sound so disappointed. It is better that the boy is not by the lake; I do not know if he can swim.” Alaric swept a lock of hair from his face.
“Besides, if being half-naked is as scandalous as you seem to believe, perhaps it is for the best. It will help keep people away from such dangerous waters.”
“You are being ridiculous. How you expect me to have a conversation with you like this is beyond me.” She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Perhaps I am not looking for conversation.” His voice went dark, and Catherine’s brain went completely blank. Alaric’s mouth quirked into a smile as he took a slow, deliberate step toward her. “I think you are objecting far too loudly for it to be convincing.”
Catherine tried to roll her eyes, but she could not look away from Alaric’s. “You are delusional.”
The smell of amber and cedar mingled with the scent of the lake as Alaric moved even closer to her. She could feel the ground shift beneath her with each step he took.
“I think you are enjoying this.” The water must have been freezing, and yet somehow she could still feel the heat emanating from Alaric’s body. He leaned close to her, so close that water dripped from his skin onto her dress.
“I am not,” Catherine managed to breathe out, her voice hoarse.
She felt more than heard Alaric’s chuckle. “Then why are you trembling, Duchess?”
And then he walked away from her, his rich laughter echoing around them.