Chapter 21
GIDEON
He sat downstairs at the breakfast table the following morning and waited. His stomach rumbled, and even the porridge — which he did not usually care for — looked appealing in front of him. It was their first proper morning together at the estate, and he had wanted to wait for Helena and Lavinia.
When nine o’clock came and went without any sign of them, he stepped into the hall. Mary was just passing on her way down from upstairs.
“Mary,” he called.
“Your Grace,” she said, with a bright smile. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Rather well, though somewhat hungry. Do you know where — Helena — my wife is?” He still had to think before he said it. It did not roll off the tongue quite as easily as he had anticipated.
“Of course. She took Lavinia for a walk in the garden after breakfast.”
“After breakfast,” he said.
“Yes. We had breakfast in her chambers, and after that they set out to the garden.” It was then that she saw the fully laid breakfast table behind him, and some of the color left her face. “Oh. You had expected to take breakfast together.”
“Well,” he said, suddenly mortified, because it was becoming rapidly clear that he was the only one who had been under that impression. “I had assumed—”
“You understand, Your Grace — it has been her habit to feed Lavinia breakfast in her chamber ever since she was born. It is something of a ritual.”
“I understand. I would not wish her to change her habits on my account.” He said it quickly. “Please do not mention it to her.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Though if you would like to take breakfast with her in future, all you need do is say so. I am sure she would not be opposed. This is all very new for her, and she does not always know what is expected.”
“Of course,” he said. “Thank you, Mary.”
He returned to the table and pulled the bowl of porridge in front of him. It had grown cold and tasted of old paste. He swallowed a spoonful regardless and ate the whole of it — adequate penance, he felt, for having been a fool.
Did I truly think that simply because we are wed everything would instantly change? Foolish of him.
He got up, alerted a footman that he was finished, and walked the halls.
The house still did not feel like his own.
There were paintings that needed replacing, curtains that ought to be torn down and consigned to the fire for the crime of being hideous, and any number of other things.
Somehow, on the journey here, he had imagined doing all of this with Helena. Perhaps they still could.
After all, even if this was only an arrangement, this would be their home.
He had dreamed of making a home once before, with Cassandra — though not this house, as he had not been a Duke then.
Her plans had been rather elaborate. She had wanted to purchase a whole separate estate because the one attached to his previous title had been too modest. How ridiculous it had all seemed now. How blind he had been.
He took a slow breath and stepped outside. The sunshine caught him square in the eyes and he blinked, shielding them with one hand.
Lavinia’s giggle, carrying from somewhere nearby, directed him toward the sculpture garden, where he found her sitting astride a marble horse while Helena held her firmly upright.
Helena was laughing, her face bright and open, and the morning sun lit up her auburn hair until it looked almost entirely red.
“Helena,” he called.
“Giddy!” Lavinia exclaimed, waving with such enthusiasm that she wobbled dangerously until Helena caught her and lifted her off the horse.
“Gideon. There you are.” Helena settled Lavinia on her hip. “Have you taken breakfast?”
The porridge sat in his stomach like ballast, but he was not going to tell her that. “Yes. Very good. And you — in your chambers?”
“We did. Lavinia at eleven months is a very messy eater. One of these days I shall have to begin teaching her table manners.”
“You know,” he said, “you do not need to manage all of that on your own anymore. Now that you are Duchess, you have access to a governess if you wish. And piano teachers, tutors — whatever she may need in time.”
She nodded. “Her father had suggested a governess. We were in the process of trying to find someone suitable when—” she waved a hand.
He knew what she meant. “In any case — it would be good to have someone who can help with her, particularly as I shall need to get to know the village and the estate properly.”
“I can advertise in The Lady if that would help.”
“I would like that very much. Although—” she considered “— Mrs. Strom might know someone already.”
“An excellent thought.” He smiled. “Did you find your meeting with her useful?”
“Very. She is a remarkable woman. I am to meet with her again later so she can walk me through the running of the estate.” She paused. “I have some experience of household management, though nothing on this scale.”
“You will do wonderfully,” he said. “Truly. I am certain of it.” He hesitated, then pressed on. “I know that our arrangement is peculiar, and a great deal to adjust to. But I mean to be a good husband and a good father figure to Lavinia, as much as she will allow me.”
She smiled, but looked away, and he could not quite read what lay behind it.
“There is something else I wanted to mention,” he said, moving on before the silence could settle between them. “The house. I was walking this morning and was reminded how thoroughly I dislike much of the furnishings.”
Her shoulders dropped with what appeared to be profound relief. “I am so glad you said that. There are several pieces I noticed yesterday that I found quite appalling — but I did not want to presume.”
“I think we have established that you and I agree on a great many things,” he said. “And it seems the interior design of Blackthorne is simply one more of them.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Perhaps this afternoon we could walk the halls together — after I meet with Mrs. Strom.”
“I would like that very much. I have a meeting with the steward this morning, but afterward I am at your disposal.”
They parted ways, and as he walked toward the study he was not certain how he felt. He was glad they had found something to work on together. But her reaction to his declaration about being a good husband had been cooler than he had hoped.
He resolved, as he walked, not to be a fool again.
He was not going to fall for a woman who was not going to love him back.
Not that he was comparing Helena to Cassandra — there were miles between the two of them, in every possible respect.
But Helena had made her position very clear, and she was a woman who meant what she said. He would do well to remember it.
Even if, with every passing day, that resolution was becoming considerably harder to keep.