Chapter 10
“Just who are you, Catherine?” Alaric murmured as he leaned over the balcony, watching Catherine in the gardens below.
He had gone out to get some fresh air, hoping to clear his thoughts and his mind after his conversation with his wife. He massaged his jaw as he watched her kneel in the dirt beside the little boy.
He does look like me. Alaric’s brow furrowed as he watched Catherine chat animatedly with the child. He saw the boy’s muscles relax, and he could hear Catherine speaking in gentle but friendly tones. It was as if she had known Oliver forever.
He heard laughter and realized that it was Oliver’s mingling with Catherine’s. It reminded him of the way she had laughed earlier, of how the sound had burrowed into his chest even as a part of him bristled at it.
“We are strangers, and she does not want to know me,” he said, gripping the balustrade and shaking his head. “I did not want to know her, at least—that is what she claims.”
He continued watching them, his mind tumbling over thoughts of their conversation. “What kind of man was I, that I did not even want to know you?”
‘I know you would not enact that sort of monstrosity.’ Her words echoed in his head, and he stepped away from the edge of the balcony, just as he saw her body tense as though to look around. He slipped into his study.
“I will not interrupt their moment.” He pictured the anger in her eyes.
His eyes drifted to the papers on his desk. He could still smell the faint lavender of her perfume and realized that his fingers were stretched as though reaching for the spot hers had rested.
The amount of whiskey she had poured remained untouched, but her glass bore the imprint of her lips from where she had taken a drink of what he had given her.
Every muscle in Alaric’s body tensed, and he let out a growl of frustration. “Do not be such a letch. The woman does not want you, and you did not want her. There must have been a reason for that.”
It makes no sense. He sat down at his desk and pulled a pile of documents toward him. The numbers and letters swam before him, but he forced himself to stare at them. The smell of lavender grew stronger.
“I wonder what her favorite flower is?” His eyes drifted to the balcony. “Not that it matters. What would I do? Buy her a dozen of them? Plant them in the garden for her?”
Why not? The tiny voice in his mind seemed almost reasonable. “She wants us to live separate lives. And it is what I wanted.”
The clock chimed, and he let out a sigh. “I am not going to get anything done, not when my mind keeps drifting to her. And I do not even know why it does. Why do I want to know her?”
The words made his heart race, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. He frowned. “And why does that unnerve me?”
He pushed himself away from the desk and shook his head. “Perhaps a ride into town could help. I could do with the fresh air. And I think I remember how to ride.”
The servants had not seemed keen to let him test this particular skill, but he felt that if he did not do something, he would wear a hole in the castle floor with his pacing. “I am their Duke, and they will listen to me.”
Something stirred in the back of his mind, and the image of a younger man, practically a boy, hurtling on horseback through the countryside filled his mind. His heart raced as though he was that boy; he felt the thrill of the gallop, could practically smell horses, mud, and sweat.
He put a hand over his head, feeling the familiar dull throb. His heart was racing, but not with fear. It was the sort of feeling that stirred within someone when they stood at a cliff edge and jumped into the waters below, knowing that they would survive.
Why do I think this is something I have done?
Alaric suspected it was not the sort of question his servants could answer, nor could Catherine. He thought of the way her eyes had searched him, reminding him of a wild animal cornered by a hunter.
The smell of horse lingered, the restless energy in Alaric bubbled to the surface and he nodded, striding from his study. A ride, fresh air. That will clear my head.
“I did not even ask her for her hand.” Alaric rubbed his jaw. “I arranged everything and told her how it would be. Of course, she hates me.”
Spoiled goods. Catherine’s words echoed in his mind, and the same venomous rage surged within him. The idea that someone could think such a thing about her, that anyone would be so foolish as to say it, made his fingers tighten as if reaching for an invisible throat.
“She does not deserve that. No one does.” Alaric growled, so lost in his own thoughts that he did not realize that Catherine and Oliver were walking toward him until he saw the boy flinch away and hide behind her.
Alaric stopped, realized how tense his jaw was, and knew what the boy must be seeing. He kicked himself mentally.
He may not be my son, but I do not want him to be scared of me.
He saw Catherine tense, but she said nothing. Alaric glanced at Oliver, who was peering out from behind her skirts. Slowly, Alaric kneeled down so that he was eye level with Oliver, but did not move toward him.
He could feel Catherine’s eyes on him, but he ignored them, concentrating on the small child in front of him. It felt as if there was a band around his chest, and he struggled to keep his face gentle, hiding his uncertainty.
I seem to remember animals can sense uncertainty; perhaps children can as well? He waited, wondering just how much of a fool he was being. He was about to look at Catherine, to stand up and leave, when the boy took a small step forward.
Alaric did not move. He was not even sure if he was breathing. Oliver took another step forward, clutching something in his hand. He held it out, and without thinking, Alaric reached for it.
It was a beautifully carved wooden horse. He could see the grain of it, the smoothness of the wood. Then he looked up at Oliver, who was shifting from foot to foot with the air of a boy presenting an exciting discovery.
“.Did you make this?” Alaric gestured to the horse.
Oliver nodded.
“It is well made. Thank you for showing me.” Alaric inclined his head.
The boy’s eyes lit up, but he did not smile. Instead, he retreated back toward Catherine and slipped a hand in hers. Alaric stood and dusted off his knees.
As he walked past Catherine, their shoulders brushed. Heat rushed through his body, and he turned to face her. Their eyes met. Catherine’s cheeks were flushed.
Alaric opened his mouth, ready to apologize. He knew that he should say it would not happen again, that he would respect her rules, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Your Graces! I am so glad I caught you. I wanted to discuss the menu for this week.” Mrs. Danvers’s voice cut through the moment like a gunshot, and Alaric whirled to face her.
His housekeeper had arrived two days before and swept into a curtsy. Alaric inclined his head toward her, sensing Catherine doing the same behind him.
“I need to take Oliver upstairs to bathe, Mrs. Danvers.” Was it Alaric’s imagination, or did Catherine’s voice sound slightly breathless?
He glanced over his shoulder, noticing her flushed cheeks and Oliver’s pale face just before the boy hurried behind Catherine.
“I can deal with this, Catherine. You take Oliver.” Alaric gestured up the stairs.
“You...” Catherine hesitated, looked at Oliver, and then nodded. “Thank you.”
Alaric watched them go, his hand resting absently on his arm. He could feel Mrs. Danvers’s gaze on him, and as he turned to face her, saw the furrow of her brow just before she readjusted her expression into a smile.
“Let us walk and discuss this, Mrs. Danvers.” Alaric gestured to the corridor.
Somewhere where the smell of lavender will not linger so strongly.
Mrs. Danvers nodded and fell into step beside him, though Alaric caught her eyes flicking in the direction Catherine had disappeared.
“I assure you, I am perfectly capable of deciding a menu.” Alaric kept his voice soft but commanding.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers swallowed.
“From your expression, I take it that the man of the house does not usually do such things?” Alaric arched an eyebrow at her.
Mrs. Danvers nodded. “Typically, a married man does not.”
“I think you will agree, there is very little that is usual about the situation we find ourselves in, Mrs. Danvers. My duchess,” Alaric felt a swell of emotion as he said the words, heat rushing through him, but he kept it from his face.
“Understands the most pressing priorities and how to comport herself. She has my full support in whatever she chooses to do.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mrs. Danvers swallowed.
“Good.” Alaric massaged the scar on his brow. “In truth, I am glad for this chance to speak with you, Mrs. Danvers. You have spent the last few months with my wife; you, therefore, will know her—her wants, her preferences…” Her desires.
He did not say the last words aloud, but he still felt a shiver threaten to run through his spine.
He saw Mrs. Danvers stiffen, though she tried to hide it by adjusting her skirts.
“I am not asking you to betray your mistress’s confidence, to be clear.
It is about making her feel at home while she is in residence.
Things like… a favorite meal, for example. ”
He saw the muscles in the housekeeper’s face relax. “I believe Her Grace is rather partial to venison and guinea fowl, Your Grace, though she rarely eats them.”
“Let me guess, her suggestions tend toward frugality rather than comfort?” Alaric thought about the meals his wife had already arranged, the practical nature of her clothes, and her overall demeanor.
He could just picture Catherine changing the menu several times, choosing the most cost-effective option each time, regardless of whether it was what she wanted. He felt the corner of his mouth quirk upward, but forced it down.
“Her Grace feels a sense of duty to the financial well-being of the estate, yes.” Mrs. Danvers smiled.
“While she is here, I would have her not worry about such things. Though I know that is easier said than done, and it is not your place to command a duchess.” Alaric stroked his chin as they continued to walk down the corridor.
“Ensure that each week we have one meal with guinea fowl and the other is venison. You can tell her it is my insistence, and that she is free to choose everything else.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Mrs. Danvers said.
“And what about wine? I know we will have to pair it with the meals, but does she have a preference for a particular vineyard?” Alaric canted his head toward his housekeeper.
“Not that I have noticed,” Mrs. Danvers admitted.
“Find out, and ensure we have it stocked.” Alaric gestured down one of the halls in the direction of the wine cellar and the kitchens. “And have Cook prepare her favorite puddings and cakes. That will be good for Oliver as well. I am told children often have a rather sweet tooth.”
“They do, and young Master Oliver is no different.” Mrs. Danvers’s face warmed as she mentioned Oliver.
“And you will of course see that the Duchess has everything she needs.” Alaric’s eyes drifted to a vase of flowers on the table, and he gently touched a petal with his finger.
I still do not know what her favorite flowers are.
“I am told that women like flowers and such.” Alaric kept his voice neutral and disinterested, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Ensure that the ones throughout the house are safe for children and reflect my wife’s taste. They should be refreshed as often as needed.”
She should be surrounded by things that bring her joy. Alaric swallowed the words down and turned to face his housekeeper. Though she hid it well, he could tell from the slight raising of her eyebrows and the parting of her lips that she was surprised.
Is it my request that surprises her, or that I wish to think of my wife? My wife. The words felt right, and he had to fight the temptation to say them as often as possible.
She will leave.
The warmth in him vanished instantly. He did not understand why he had wanted to keep her away. What rational man would not want someone like her around? She was beautiful and kind. Yet, she was determined to leave once they uncovered the truth about Oliver’s parentage and arranged his care.
Who knows how long that will take?
“Will that be all, Your Grace?” Mrs. Danvers’s voice jerked Alaric back into the present.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Danvers.” Alaric clasped his hands behind his back and nodded, signaling her dismissal. “I shall leave this in your capable hands.”
Mrs. Danvers curtsied and left the room.
Alaric massaged the back of his neck as he listened to her footsteps disappear into the distance. “We may not have chosen each other, but she is mine.”
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, in the direction of the Duchess’s rooms. He felt the skin of his scar stretch.
“I cannot tell if this accident is a blessing or a curse. Perhaps it is both.” He supposed only time would tell. For now, he knew what he wanted. “I will make her stay a good one.”
He did not let himself dwell on just why that felt so important to him. He would honor his wife’s rules, and what he had asked Mrs. Danvers seemed perfectly in line with her request.
“There is nothing improper about it. No touching and no going into her rooms.” He nodded to himself. “I cannot change the past, but I can fix the present.”
He would make her feel welcome and ensure she had choices. After all, it was the least he could do.