Chapter 10
“Tilly!” Edith cried, her voice trembling. She could hear tiny footsteps patter quickly up the stairs, and her heart sank.
Thunder cracked overhead, rattling the windows, and rain lashed the house in heavy sheets. The wind moaned through the eaves like a ghoul.
The town didn’t often see storms like this. It was, in all likelihood, the fiercest storm Tilly had ever experienced.
Edith’s pace quickened as she ran after her. She reached the top of the stairs, pausing to listen, but the hallway was eerily silent.
“Tilly?” she called again, straining her ears over the howl of the wind.
Still nothing.
She pushed open the door to Tilly’s chambers, anxiety clawing at her chest. Perhaps the girl had hidden in there.
She opened the wardrobe, but it was empty. She checked the bed, then crawled on hands and knees to peer beneath it. Nothing.
A shiver ran down Edith’s spine. She had been terrified of storms herself as a child, but Tilly had been through far more than most children. No wonder the storm had sent her running.
Edith stepped back into the hall, her stomach tight with worry. Dinner would soon be ready, and Tilly had not eaten. She realized with a pang that she herself had barely touched her own meal.
The scratch of a quill against parchment drifted from Laurence’s study, and Edith glanced toward the door. Could Tilly have gone there?
She approached carefully and rapped on the door lightly.
“Come in,” Laurence called.
Edith opened the door. Laurence sat at his desk, quill in hand, finishing a letter. He signed it with a flourish, then looked up at her.
“Why are you here?”
“Have you seen Tilly?” Edith asked quickly, wringing her hands.
“No.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I? I’ve been working.”
Before she could reply, another crash of thunder shook the house, making her flinch.
“And?” he prompted, frowning.
Edith bit her lip, suddenly feeling small. Laurence was a strong, commanding man, and she had always felt his presence keenly. But now, panic made her almost desperate.
“The thunder—she was quite frightened,” she explained. “She ran out of the parlor, and I haven’t been able to find her.”
“She’s still in the house?” Laurence asked, standing up.
“She must be,” Edith said. “I searched her room, but she’s nowhere to be found. Please, will you help me find her?”
“I will,” he said, straightening his green waistcoat.
They set off together. Edith moved through the house, calling softly for Tilly, checking the library first—under the tables, behind the shelves, along the rows of books. But there was no sign of her.
Panic clawed up her throat as they moved upstairs. She hurried toward her own chambers, praying she would find the child before she wandered further.
She stepped inside and froze. Beneath her bed, a small, trembling figure huddled.
Laurence knelt beside her. “I know you’re frightened, Tilly, but there’s nothing here that can harm you,” he said, his voice low and soft.
Edith had never heard him speak like that before.
“The thunder…” Tilly whimpered, crawling toward him and burying her face in his waistcoat.
“Is far away. The walls of the house will keep you safe, I swear it,” Laurence soothed.
Another thunderclap rang out, and Tilly grabbed Laurence’s hand. Rather than pushing her away like Edith expected, he let her come to him.
“I know you’re a big, brave girl, Tilly,” he murmured. “And I know these storms are scary. Do you think you can come out all the way so Her Grace and I can make it less scary for you?”
Tilly hesitated and retreated slightly, pressing herself into the shadows under the bed. Edith held her breath.
“Come on, little one,” Laurence coaxed. “It’s… It’s all right.”
The child shuffled forward slowly, her tiny fingers clutching at the edge of the bed. When she finally crawled into his arms, Laurence stiffened for a moment, unused to holding anyone so close. He shifted awkwardly, as if unsure what to do, then gently rested a hand on her back.
Edith watched as a faint smile formed on his lips, his hand stroking Tilly’s hair with hesitant care. The warmth in his eyes was fragile and new, but unmistakable.
Her heart swelled. The Duke, so composed and commanding in public, was clumsy and tender in private, trying his best to comfort a frightened little girl.
“Would you like to stay here?” he asked Tilly gently.
She nodded eagerly.
He held her in his arms and stood up, placing her on the bed. Edith chose that moment to walk in.
Tilly looked up, still sniffling.
“You gave me quite the scare, Tilly,” Edith said gently, stroking the girl’s hair. “I was so worried about you.”
“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” Tilly stammered.
Laurence stood to take his leave, but Tilly grabbed the hem of his shirt. Edith watched, confused, and looked at Laurence, who looked the same.
“C-Can you stay? Can you r-r-read to me? Please?” Tilly whimpered.
Laurence looked at Edith, who hesitated and then nodded. “Her books are on the desk.”
Laurence looked at the selection and chose one, then returned to the bed and sat next to Tilly, who was now clinging to Edith.
“Once upon a time…” Laurence started, his voice calm and low.
As he spoke, Tilly’s little shoulders relaxed. Soon, she was fighting to keep her eyes open and slowly slumped into Edith’s lap. Laurence noticed and smiled before closing the book and helping Edith gently tuck her in.
Edith stood, looking down at Tilly and then at Laurence. She had never expected to see this soft side of him.
Suddenly, her stomach growled, and she felt her cheeks flush.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“I have been quite occupied with charity correspondence, Tilly, and the household, so I may have forgotten to eat,” she admitted.
Laurence frowned at her answer.
“Come. Let us eat,” he sighed, walking to the door that connected their rooms.
“I… I don’t want to leave Tilly.”
“If she wakes, we will hear her,” he whispered.
Edith hesitated, then followed him into his room.
Laurence’s quarters were much as she had expected. Dark, with thick curtains and a luxuriously large bed. She had never been inside his room before and had only caught a glimpse when she had spoken to him the night of their wedding.
He unlocked the door and rang a bell for his valet, who arrived quickly.
“Have a meal sent for the Duchess and I. Quickly,” he ordered.
The valet nodded and backed away.
Laurence closed the door and turned back to Edith. “You should have said that you were hungry.”
“I had a lot to do today.”
“Skipping meals doesn’t benefit anyone.” He walked over to his thick, mahogany desk and pulled out the chair for her.
“It was hardly intentional,” Edith replied, frowning.
Laurence nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
“Sit,” he said firmly.
“I can—”
“Do not argue with me tonight.”
“Your Grace, I—”
“You are not taking care of yourself,” he said, walking back toward her.
He was strong, his movements fluid. He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the chair. “Taking care of yourself and your health is as much a part of your responsibilities as is writing and caring for Tilly.”
She blushed at the feel of his hand on her back. She could feel the warmth of his skin through her dress. It seemed to fit perfectly.
“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”
“You are not acting like it.”
“I needed to see to the correspondence and Tilly and—”
“Duchess,” Laurence grunted.
After a moment of indecision, she relented and took a seat.
He leaned down and locked eyes with her. Her heart pounded; he was so close now. She glanced at his lips, then back at his eyes.
“I understand that you value your independence and take your responsibilities very seriously, but, on occasion, it is necessary for us to be looked after by other people. Let me look after you.”
He gently tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She swallowed hard, his touch sending shivers through her.
“On one condition.”
“Stubborn woman,” he chuckled. “Fine, what is your condition?”
“That you let me look after you on occasion.”
He scoffed. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Did you not just say that we need others to look after us on occasion?” she retorted.
“I have servants and—”
“So do I,” she interrupted. “And yet here you are, sheltering me in your room and insisting I eat with you. You are aware that we have never shared a meal since our marriage?”
He hesitated, and she felt the muscles in his hand tense. “I have been busy with work.”
“And I have been busy with work as well.”
“That’s different,” he protested.
“It is not.”
“Duchess, you cannot compare your charity to the running of a duchy.”
“I can,” she countered. “Much like you are responsible for keeping order in a sprawling operation, I am needed to organize a disparate web of individuals. If one thing goes wrong, that means that the funds could be used incorrectly. In the worst-case scenario, lives could be at stake.”
Laurence paused at her words, then nodded. “I see your point.”
The valet stepped into the room, placing the meal in front of Edith. She looked down at the salmon steaming in front of her and smiled. Laurence accepted his portion and sat down in a plush chair by the window.
As the pair prepared to eat, Edith couldn’t help but glance at her chamber door.
“She will be fine,” Laurence said softly. “I promise.”
“I don’t doubt that. I just remember being so afraid of storms when I was Tilly’s age. My father would always stay with me on those nights, read me to sleep, and make sure I didn’t have nightmares.”
“He sounds like a good man,” Laurence remarked.
“He was. Whenever anyone would remark that he was a good father, he would laugh.” Edith smiled. “He was the kind of man who thought that was normal. So, to him, being praised for the baseline was absurd.”
“I see.” Laurence’s eyes glazed over, as if he were lost in thought.
“What was your father like?”
Laurence stiffened, scooped up a mouthful of salmon, and chewed in silence. “He… I prefer not to talk about him.”