Chapter 3
The next morning, Anna had almost forgotten the Scotsman’s intrusion as she sat in her favorite spot, on a rickety bench in the kitchen garden.
A proper duchess might have preferred the terrace, but she had always preferred this rustic garden, everything grown for a purpose instead of just beauty; it reminded her of her childhood home, and of her father.
A cup of tea steamed in her hands, the fresh scent of the world after a night of rain settling her restless soul.
“Will you have some breakfast now, Your Grace?” The cook poked her head out of the open back door that led down to the grand kitchens, her cheeks ruddy from the heat of whatever delicious thing she had been cooking.
Anna glanced back at the kindly older woman in a daze. “Hmm?”
She had not slept well. She had not slept at all, in truth, too worried about what the day would bring; rather, who it would bring.
It was almost as if the new Duke had been in her bedchamber with her, so close she couldn’t breathe properly, filling up her thoughts with worry and reminders of his mannerless behavior, robbing her of her rest as well as her home.
He claimed he respected me and my situation, yet he touched me.
What sort of man can he be, if he deems that appropriate?
It did not take much for her mind to repeat the memory of his closeness and the rough, warm touch of his hand upon her chin.
The scent of him, too, so like the fresh morning air.
If she closed her eyes, she could see his dark eyes staring back at her, glinting from within that ruggedly handsome face… which was likely why she had not been able to keep her eyes closed for very long last night, fearful that he might infiltrate her dreams as well as her manor.
“Breakfast, Your Grace?” the cook repeated. “I can bring it out to you, if you’d like to have it where you are? It’s a fine morning.”
Anna sipped her tea and gave a small nod. “Just something simple, if you please. My stomach is not quite settled today.”
“Are you unwell, Your Grace?” The cook stepped farther out into the quaint kitchen garden, the aroma of herbs adding subtle layers of exquisite perfume to the air. “Shall I have Joan make you a tonic?”
Anna smiled at the woman’s concern. “It is nothing a tonic can remedy, my dear Mrs. Wilton. It is a malady of the nerves, and it began with that… brute’s visit yesterday.”
Her breath caught as her mind replayed his proximity, how he had pinned her with such ease, such strength; yet, he had not been rough, just commanding. Sure of himself.
“I heard of it,” the cook said, a deep frown lining her freckled brow. “It’s all the servants could talk about at dinner. In truth, Your Grace, they’re suffering the same bout of nerves, wondering what it all means.”
Anna nodded. “I wish I could allay their fears, but I will not know more about it until the man comes to visit again today. It is my hope that he will heed my suggestion and venture off to London or the coast, but he is… difficult to read.”
“Did he say when he’d be back?” the cook asked, chewing her lip in consternation. “Do you think he’ll require a meal?”
A tight smile formed on Anna’s lips. “Perhaps he will, but you must not cook too well for him, Mrs. Wilton, otherwise he might be tempted to stay.” She exhaled a strained sigh. “We must chase this man away. He cannot have this home of ours. He cannot.”
“You don’t think he might be… like the old master, do you?” The cook came closer, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Goodness, I couldn’t bear it if we had to endure all of that again.”
Anna took another sip of her quickly cooling tea and remembered all the awful stories she had heard about her former husband. The tales had come out in bits and pieces after Robert’s death, once the servants trusted her enough with the truth about the man she had married.
And though she wouldn’t admit it openly, out of fear of seeming wicked, Anna was actually more grateful that her husband had died on their wedding night before she could become one of those cautionary tales.
“I have yet to make a proper measure of his character,” Anna replied. “But what I experienced has not made me very optimistic. He is uncouth, he is mannerless, he is rough, he is…”
Handsome. Intimidating. Entirely without propriety.
Dangerous, no doubt, to me and my position.
She recalled how he had held her arms behind her back, his grip so firm that she could not have hoped to free herself.
Her face warmed as she remembered her futile efforts to writhe free, how her body had brushed against his, feeling the hard outline of muscle, and how his proximity had seemed to squeeze the air right out of her lungs.
“He is not a duke,” she concluded. “He is merely fortunate enough to have been born a man with very tenuous ties to my former husband. I saw the line of inheritance; he is barely related.”
The cook puffed out a breath. “I suppose that’s all it takes, sometimes.”
“Indeed,” Anna muttered, furious that men could just be lucky, while a woman could put everything she had into managing a home and an estate—doing it quite well, too—only for it to be taken away without warning.
Jeremy Bolt. Cousin of a cousin of a cousin. Perhaps, there had been another cousin; she could not quite remember. Either way, by that line of inheritance’s reckoning, she figured that half of England’s peerage would have had the same claim to her home.
Just then, shouts rang out from somewhere in the manor. A commotion that cut through the stillness of the lovely morning, shattering the tiny bubble of peace that Anna had managed to reclaim after yesterday.
“What on earth…?” Anna rasped as she jumped up to investigate.
Mrs. Wilton came with her, the two women hurriedly moving through the hallways of Stonebridge Manor, gathering more servants along the way. By the time they reached the entrance hall, they resembled a small army, pouring into the already somewhat crowded foyer.
Through the wide-open double doors at the manor’s entrance, unfamiliar servants in starched livery marched in, carrying chests, boxes, valises, and furniture.
Anna watched with indignation as some of these newcomers moved her own furniture aside to unload what they were bringing in, then headed back out to fetch more things that did not belong in this house.
In the center of the room, wearing a face like thunder, Mr. Miller looked about ready to explode.
“Get your hands off that! That is an heirloom!” the butler barked, as two men picked up a chaise longue from beneath the tall windows and shoved it unceremoniously into the nearest hallway. “You can’t put that there!”
At the same time, some of Anna’s footmen and maids were rushing around, trying to restore things to their proper place.
Anna watched a couple of her maids gather beloved items, such as precious vases, statuettes, ornaments, and one of the Persian rugs, holding them as if they were thieves caught in the act.
She was protecting what was hers so that this invasion wouldn't destroy anything, although it seemed it was already too late for a small ceramic frog that had been knocked off the windowsill and lay broken in three pieces on the floor.
He has broken my sweet Hoppet… Anna’s heart clenched, for it was one of the only belongings she had managed to steal from her childhood home of Pembroke House.
An object more precious than any vase or rug, for it had once sat in her beloved father’s study, named by her as a girl, and had been small enough to carry away with her when she left.
A wave of anger crashed through her sadness, her temper rising to levels she had not felt since her cousin Benedict told her she was to be married without discussion or debate.
Clenching her fists, she stormed through the chaos her entrance hall was becoming and stormed outside into the bright morning, though her mood was anything but cheerful.
“You!” She spotted him at once.
The Duke, leaning casually against her favorite cedar tree, was overseeing the coup like a general who did not care about casualties.
He had shed his greatcoat and draped it over the lowest bough of her beloved tree, standing there in nothing but those tight trousers and a half-tucked shirt, the sleeves rolled up as if he meant to carry some of the things inside himself.
I cannot tell if he is the Duke or… some farm laborer from the village!
Even in the height of summer, she could not imagine any English gentleman wearing so little.
They certainly would not show off their sculpted forearms, nor the shelf of their collarbones…
though the fabric of his shirt was thin enough that it showed rather more than just that, suggesting the ridges of a muscular abdomen and the bulge of powerful upper arms, as well as the curves and contours of a broad, muscled chest.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded to know, marching across the gravel carriage circle, filled with carts and carriages, to confront him. “You said you would return today, not you and the entire inventory of your worldly belongings!”
Jeremy observed her with those intense, black eyes, though they seemed a shade lighter in the daylight. A deep, deep brown. “The roads were good,” he said with a shrug. “They arrived earlier than anticipated.”
“Well, send them away!” Anna retorted, waving a hand in the direction of the carts and carriages. “There is an empty house on the coast. Fill it with all of these… things. I really am certain you will be more content there.”
He pushed away from the tree, adding an extra couple of inches to his immense height. “The title is the Duke of Stonebridge, lass, and this is Stonebridge Manor.”
“And the property on the coast belongs to the title just the same,” she insisted, her neck aching as she tilted her head up to hold his gaze. “Call it Stonebridge House if you like, but I will not let you take over like this!”
A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. “Ye don’t command me, lass.”
“Perhaps not, but it is the decent thing to do, considering you have gained this title by nothing but timely fortune!” she replied, her anger fueling her courage.
“Indeed, if this is your attempt to remove me, to get me to leave of my own accord, you will have to try much harder than this. I have nowhere to go and nothing but time, sir. I can make things very difficult for you.”
“Nowhere to go?” he said coolly. “Did ye not just mention a house on the coast?”
The corner of her eye twitched. “I did, but I cannot go there. I have no claim to it. The only claim I have is to Stonebridge.” Her voice hitched, the night of sleepless fretting catching up with her. “I would rather stay with you, enduring your presence in my home, than have no home at all.”
It was as Mr. Phipps had said before he left over a year ago; she was the Duchess, she was to act like it, and she was not, under any circumstances, to leave the manor for very long, or someone might try to take it.
As long as she was the primary resident, the Royal Court would turn a blind eye to a woman being in charge of such a property, and would not rush to give the title and the estate to someone else. To the highest bidder.
Indeed, according to the solicitor, there was a sort of grace period if there were no living heirs.
One that went off the assumption that she would find a new husband and, perhaps, that husband might want to acquire Stonebridge for himself.
Failing that, it would give time for an heir to be found if there was one, far down the line of succession.
And you certainly did that, Mr. Phipps.
For a moment, Jeremy’s expression turned rather serious, his brow furrowing as he stared at her. “What of where ye came from?”
“I cannot return there,” she said quickly, recalling her cousin’s harsh parting words. “You are not to set foot in this house again. From now on, it has nothing to do with you.”
“Ye truly have nowhere to go?” Jeremy asked, his hand reaching out to her.
She was about to step away when he quickly brushed a fallen cedar needle from her shoulder, his action more like an instinct than what he had done the day before.
The light touch of his fingertips kept her in place, too startled to protest, and the moment passed so quickly that she thought it might be silly to scold him.
Not that he seemed like someone who could be scolded.
Nevertheless, that fleeting touch seemed to leave a burn on the border between her bare skin and the fabric of her dress, exactly where he had brushed his fingertips. She had not paused to put on her pelisse on her way out, leaving herself exposed.
“Truly, I do not,” she replied, remembering why she was standing there at all.
He pushed up the sleeve that had begun to roll down his forearm.
“Well, as I told ye yesterday, I don’t have anywhere else to go either, and the journey has been too long to go venturing off to an unknown house by the coast. Nor will I live in a city, before ye mention that townhouse in London again.
” He paused, those dark eyes seeming to pierce right through Anna.
“But I am not indifferent to yer plight, seeing as I shared it not so long ago.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, frustrated that he was not leaving as she wanted him to.
Then again, the house on the coast was in a state of disrepair. At least, that is what she was told by the solicitor, but how much could she truly trust that man now?
“It means I will give ye time enough to find somewhere to live, since I have come to learn that there’s nay dowager house,” he replied. “In fact, I will help ye.”
“Help me?” Unease began to prickle afresh at the nape of her neck. “How?”
As far as she was concerned, the only way he could help her was to pack up everything he had just deposited in the entrance hall and leave without saying a word. If he also handed over the deeds to the manor to her, that would be very helpful. But she doubted that was what he had in mind.
His lips curved into the ghost of a smile as he leaned in and said, “I will find ye a husband.”