Chapter Twelve
S ophie nodded a greeting at the dozen or so villagers in the mercantile as Shay introduced them. How would she ever remember all their names? Yet she gave a bright smile, just as she had done all day to the other tenants they’d visited. “I’m so honored to meet all of you.”
They smiled and nodded in return, if a bit nervously at meeting their new duchess. Sophie didn’t blame them. Their quiet lives had been rocked once more by unexpected changes at the manor house.
She and Shay had spent the last few hours driving from farm to farm to meet the most important tenants and their families, and now he’d driven them to one last stop in the village of Pritchery, one of three villages on the estate. The sleigh glided smoothly over fields and down little lanes, and only a quiet shushing of the snow beneath its runners and the jangle of the horse’s harness disturbed the wintry silence around them.
Very much silent, as Shay said little to her as they rode. Whether the visit from Malcolm still weighed on his mind or whether he was apprehensive at visiting the tenants, she couldn’t have said. But he had certainly been uneasy, making her uneasy, and most likely because of his scars. He kept the right half of his face turned away whenever he could, his collar raised high, and his hat pulled low.
Yet none of the villagers seemed to care what he looked like. They were simply happy to see him.
Sophie had the feeling that Shay hadn’t paid nearly enough visits to the tenants since the fire, despite all the recent evenings he’d spent at the tavern. The way word traveled quickly through the lanes that he’d come for a visit and had curious villagers hurrying to the mercantile was proof of that.
Shay leaned down to murmur into her ear. “Why don’t you look around the store? I need to speak to Mr. Rodgers about his barn, and you’ll be bored stiff with that conversation.”
“Thank you.” She gave a grateful sigh and turned away to explore the little store that had been stuffed to the gills with goods of all kinds, only to find a basket shoved up beneath her nose.
She took a step back in surprise.
“Your Grace, I’m Mrs. Jones, the owner’s wife.” The woman behind the wicker basket gave a teeteringly low curtsy. “We’re so honored to have you in our store.”
She smiled and accepted the basket. “And what a fine store you have! I’m certain to find all kinds of wonderful things here.”
Mrs. Jones beamed, speechless, leaving her husband to interject, “Thank you, Your Grace. Enjoy your shopping.” He took his wife’s arm and tugged her away toward the counter. “In peace.”
Sophie bit her lip to keep from laughing. So much attention! Well, she’d best enjoy it now, she supposed. In a couple of weeks, they would grow used to her and not give her a second glance. Honestly, she couldn’t wait for that.
She moved slowly around the store. Even though she focused her attention on the goods, she felt the curious stares of the villagers. She certainly didn’t need the soaps she’s placed into her basket—or the jars of jams with their squares of plaid fabric and twine topping each, two lengths of ribbon, a bit of lace— but she wanted to make an impression by buying a few things. Besides, she found shopping here far more pleasant than in those snobby boutiques in New Bond Street and the Burlington Arcade. Here, everything felt genuine.
She stopped in front of a small counter display of worked metal pieces, her curiosity snagged. Tiny enough to fit into the palm of her hand, the pieces had been cast and crafted into flowers, bells, even animals. A smile teased at her lips as she reached for a little metal robin whose round belly was rust red, its beak and eyes painted black.
Taking a quick glance at Shay to make certain he wasn’t watching, she secretively slipped it into her basket.
“I saw that,” a familiar voice said behind her. “You’ll be the first duchess in the history of Malvern to be gaoled for theft.”
Sophie smiled over her shoulder at Hannah Danvies, happy to see her new friend again. “Best give up thoughts of a darker career, then, should I?”
“Undoubtedly.”
With a soft laugh at Hannah’s teasing, Sophie placed her hand on the robin in the basket. “It’s a surprise gift for Shay. He’ll never expect it.”
Hannah’s eyes gleamed. “So things are going well at the manor house, I take it.”
Sophie’s chest tightened. She knew what Hannah meant. “Things are…better.”
“But not…”
She bit her bottom lip and admitted, “Not yet.”
Wordlessly, Hannah squeezed her arm.
Sophie handed the basket across the counter to Mrs. Jones. “Would you wrap these for me? Wait.” She dove her hand into the basket, then tucked the little bird into her fur muff. “I’ll take this one with me. Please charge the rest to the manor house’s account.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The woman hurried to tally the items and wrap them in paper and string.
“How is your hand?” Hannah asked.
Sophie was relieved at the change in subject. “Healing very nicely, thanks to you, and almost completely back to normal now.”
“Good.” Hannah nodded faintly toward Shay, who was doing his best to disentangle himself from a conversation with two men regarding bridge repairs. “But just remember that some wounds take longer to heal than others.”
Sophie feared some wounds might never heal. And speaking of inflicted wounds… “What do you know about Lord Malcolm?”
“Nothing good. The charm of a crocodile and the honesty of a snake.” Hannah warned, “Best to stay away from that one.”
With a parting invitation for Sophie to stop by the apothecary shop on another visit, Hannah mumbled her goodbyes, and slipped away. Sophie’s gaze followed her across the shop and out the door, only for her eyes to halt on Shay.
Clearly noting her distraction, he stared at her with a concerned expression furrowing his brow.
For once, she didn’t have it in her to force a smile for him and turned to collect her packages from Mrs. Jones, all tied into a small pyramid and secured by a pink bow that was surely meant to impress.
“We’re so happy you came to visit us, Your Grace,” Mrs. Jones gushed. “Your marriage is good for the entire village.”
Her comment puzzled Sophie. “How so?”
“Since you came to Ravenscroft, we’ve seen more of His Grace than we’ve seen in years.”
Sophie forced a silent smile, unable to say anything due to the hollow ache in her belly. Her husband had only been in the village because he’d been avoiding her.
Shay came up beside her and placed his hand on the small of her back. Such a casual yet affectionate touch that Sophie wondered if he realized he’d even done it. Or was it only a show for the villagers? After all, he’d brought her out with him today only because of Malcolm.
He leaned closer. “Shall we go? I want to return before dark.”
She nodded, collected her packages, and tightly smiled her goodbyes as they left the shop.
Shay helped her into the sleigh waiting in front of the store, then tucked the fur lap rug around her to keep her warm. When he adjusted the fur-edged hood for her, her eyes stung because she knew then—his affection wasn’t only for show. She blinked and looked away, frustrated and confused. How could he care so much about her, yet keep himself away?
He stepped into the sleigh and tossed a coin to the boy holding the horse. When he flicked the ribbons and started the horse forward, Sophie slipped the little metal bird unseen into his coat pocket.
The sleigh glided through the village, over the stone bridge, and down the river road that wound toward Ravenscroft Manor. On the horizon, the sun sank quickly toward the distant hills, already casting the countryside in hues of purples, reds, and oranges. Sophie nestled deeper into the warm fur.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, her hood flapping around her face. It did little to fend off the chilly air nipping at her cheeks and nose, but the sleigh ride was simply too wonderful to care about the cold. “I’ve never ridden on a sleigh before today.”
“Not even at the frost fairs?”
“They seemed too dangerous, out over the Thames like that.”
“What do you think now?”
She pushed back the fur edge of her hood to look up at him. “That I would ride over the widest river as long as you were with me.”
He kept his gaze straight ahead over the horse’s ears. “What did you buy at the store?”
That was a blatant change of topic if ever Sophie had heard one, cleanly away from his feelings about her. Whatever they were.
Her heart sank. “Nothing important. Just a few little gifts for the servants to show my gratitude for making me feel so welcome here. I hope they like them.”
“You could give them rocks, and they would adore them.” He turned the sleigh into the field. “They’re besotted with you.”
She smiled. “It’s a mutual besotting, then.” Her smile faded as a new concern struck. “We should have brought baskets to the tenants we visited today, to show them how much they’re appreciated. Perhaps on Sunday, then, after church. It would be a good day for us to dedicate to paying social calls.”
He stiffened. “Us?”
“Of course.”
He pulled the horse to a stop, and the snow groaned angrily beneath the runners. They sat on a little rise at the edge of the estate park, framed by dark woods on either side and hills in the distance. Below them, the house stood in the middle of its sweeping lawn, surrounded by its stables and gardens, with lanes to the other parts of the park stretching away like pieces of white lace.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. And it was her home, now and always. No one would drive her away from here.
“Hmm.”
His mood had changed, she could sense it. “I hope Mrs. Latimer has dinner waiting for us when we arrive.” She hesitated before asking, “You will stay and eat with me, won’t you?”
He gave a sharp nod. “We can have a large fire in the dining hall.”
With plenty of servants around to keep him from being alone with her so she wouldn’t have the chance to seduce him again. “I’m not the enemy, Shay.”
Surprised, he turned on the seat to face her. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Her soft voice intruded into the silent countryside around them. “Then why do you always keep me at arm’s length?”
“Not arm’s length.” To make his point, he rested his arm across the back of the seat and curved it around her shoulders because she sat so close to him on the narrow bench.
Yet still a world away. Sophie knew the truth. They were outside in the open where nothing more than cuddling could happen.
“After last night, I thought that you might…that you and I would…” Make love. Make our marriage into a proper one, in every way. But she couldn’t bring herself to say something that would make her look pathetic, so she said instead, “That you and I would share more pleasures. Don’t you want that?”
He slid a look over her as if considering just that, and the heat that flamed in the depths of his eyes made her shiver. There was no mistaking the yearning behind his gaze. But instead of pulling her toward him and taking what little kisses and touches they could, he lowered his arm and leaned away.
“You need to understand how our marriage has to be.” He turned toward the house, even then, she realized, keeping his face away so that she couldn’t see his scars. “I will protect you always, and I will give you whatever you want—fine horses, gardens full of flowers, all the money for any charity projects you’d like to champion. I will give you a life of luxury and greater purpose than you ever could have imagined.” His gloved hands clenched as he wrapped the ribbons around them. But that distraction didn’t keep an expression of dark guilt from gripping his face. “But I will never let myself love you.”
“Then Malcolm was right,” she whispered. “Ours isn’t a marriage at all. It’s little more than a business arrangement.”
“That’s more than most society wives ever have.”
He flipped the ribbons, and the horse started forward, once more pulling them onward through the snow toward the house. Only moments before, the soft glow from its windows had seemed so warm and inviting, so hopeful and promising… Now it was nothing more than a snow-covered mirage.
Sophie kept her face turned away, letting the cold be the excuse for the glistening tears welling in her eyes, refusing to let him see how much he’d just wounded her.