Chapter 8
“Lady Maria, welcome back to the Phantom’s lair,” the duke said, mockingly.
“Thank you, Damien. It is an interesting house,” Maria replied, refusing to take the bait.
Maria had driven the road to Winterleigh with tears on her cheeks, tears of relief and joy mixed with continued worry and anxiety.
The approach to Winterleigh had been dramatic to say the least. The house sat atop a hill on grounds that had gone to wilderness.
Woodland swathed the hill, maple and birch reaching for the stone walls, trying to overtop its chimney forested rooftops.
She saw a collection of windows that were lit, but most were dark, and some were boarded over or simply gaping, empty and broken. Ivy clung to the walls and reached through several empty window frames. Moss carpeted the cobbled front yard, and flower beds had long since run wild.
Philby had morosely greeted her at the front door and led her to the duke.
The room was lit by candles, casting a golden glow that was not quite sufficient to see clearly.
The duke was standing, hands clasped behind his back.
He had his back to a stone fireplace in which a fire burned merrily.
The light from those flames rendered his face a shadow.
“The property is chaotic, certainly,” he said. “My ancestors added to it as they saw fit, with little reason or thought to what had gone before and might come after. You will learn to find your way eventually. At least through those parts of the house that I permit you to enter.”
He moved forward, striding to a table that had been set in the middle of the room atop an ancient-looking rug. He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat.
Maria arched an eyebrow. “Permit me to enter? I will not have the free run of the house?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I will not allow it.”
The duke brought over a bottle of wine from a sideboard and poured her a glass.
“But I will be your wife, will I not?”
“You will. And as such, you will obey. Certain doors will be locked and will remain so.”
Maria sipped her wine, which was as crisp and bright as the first day of October, when autumn had not yet chased away all the glory of summer.
Damien took his seat opposite her, but his glass held water only.
“Are you not joining me?” Maria asked.
“I do not indulge in spirits,” the duke said, sipping his water.
Maria sipped again, taking her time and savoring the excellent flavor.
He does not drink wine but is an excellent judge. He does not seek to flatter or persuade me of the merits of being married to him, either.
She pursed her lips, wondering if he had thought better of his proposal and was now seeking an escape. She hoped not because of Gilbert. There could be no other possible reason. It had nothing to do with his physique. Or his charisma.
She felt herself blushing at such thoughts and buried herself in her wine glass, thankful for the dim light. The darkness would provide some measure of protection, for he likely would not notice that her thoughts had turned to a decidedly improper direction.
“You have demands, Lady Maria,” he said.
“Terms, actually. To establish the parameters of our contract,” Maria said.
She had memorized these and added a few of her own on the way to the house. Maria cleared her throat, remembering Evelina’s advice. She must not reveal precisely how desperate she was.
“I will have the freedom of the house,” she said. “I shall be able to come and go as I please.”
The duke frowned. “But of course. That is the entire point.”
Maria pressed her lips together, disliking his tone.
He is arrogant and dismissive. I could not live with such a man, no matter how handsome half of his face seems to be.
“My friends will be allowed to visit. At least my three closest friends.”
She met his gaze. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes blaze? Maria found herself becoming breathless and took another sip of wine.
“I will not be isolated,” she continued.
“I accept, but only if they are confined to a specific room. They do not have your freedom to roam the house.”
“But they may explore the grounds.” Maria was telling, not asking.
“Yes, of course. Wander the grounds to your heart’s content. And theirs, too.”
“So you have nothing to hide in the grounds but many secrets here in the house,” Maria said, teasingly.
She was trying to lighten the mood. The duke seemed overly somber to her.
Perhaps if she behaved slightly flirtatiously, he would respond, and they could share laughter.
A smile at least. If they were to be married, they must find one another tolerable, at least. Rather than expressing any amusement, the duke’s eyes narrowed.
“Secrets?” he asked.
“I jest. Merely a comment on your excessive demand for privacy. Even from your own future wife.”
“I do not appreciate being the subject of jest. I regard this as a serious undertaking. Do you not?”
The butler entered at that moment with the soup course. He flicked out a napkin to spread over Maria’s lap before bowing his way out of the room.
“Oxtail, a specialty of Mrs. Whitby, my housekeeper,” Damien said, inhaling deeply over the soup.
Maria had to admit it smelled delicious.
Butter, carrots, and well-cooked meat all mingled in the air, creating an aroma so alluring that her mouth watered before she took the first bite.
She had eaten little that day, and her stomach clenched with anxiety over this foolhardy plan. She was now ravenous.
“I did not intend the jest to be at your expense. I am used to a bantering conversation with my friends. Perhaps, poking gentle fun.”
“Friends now, are we?”
She put down her soup spoon with a clatter, her temper like a smoldering flame.
“Damien. This was your suggestion, but I am met at every turn with hostility. If you have thought better of your proposal, then tell me, please. I will leave, and you will not see me again.”
The duke stared at her for a long moment.
His eyes seemed to bore into hers, and Maria bit down the sudden, impulsive need to apologize.
She was not—and had never been—a contrite woman, but it abruptly fell upon her the importance of winning his approval.
Gilbert’s happiness was at stake. The orphanage was at stake!
“I apologize,” he said, before Maria’s thoughts could form an apology. “I am… unused to the foibles of polite conversation. This is who I am. I am giving you the freedom to choose: stay or walk away.”
Maria looked at him for a long, still moment. Her heart thumped in her chest as the look continued. A fanciful notion came over her that he could see her thoughts. If he could, she would blush to the roots of her hair.
“Apology accepted,” she said with a smile. “Now, we were talking of my friends visiting.”
“To which I agreed. What else?”
Maria took a breath and forced a smile at his abrupt tone, reminding herself that perhaps he was telling the truth and that he had no conception of how he sounded.
“The Willow Street Orphanage must continue to be supported.”
She had to deliberately make the effort to keep breathing. Her instinct at this most important point was to hold it. But that would be to give away her most important advantage. He must not guess exactly how important it was to her. If he did, Damien might well use the knowledge against her.
“Very well,” he said, waving dismissively. “I shall make regular donations.”
“And one of the children will come to live with us.”
Maria sipped from her soup spoon, watching him from across the table. His own spoon was in his hand, but she could see the slight tremble in it.
“No.”
“That is non-negotiable if you wish this arrangement,” Maria said, proud that she kept a level tone.
Inside she was shaking. This was Gilbert’s last hope. Hers too, but if it came to it, she would accept privations. But she would not allow Gilbert to face the same.
I will save you, dear child. I will do whatever it takes.
“I will not have a sniveling brat loose in my house.”
“He is neither sniveling nor a brat. He is an intelligent young boy with a loving and joyful character.”
“If I had wanted children, I would have sired them. I would have married. No.”
It was the worst outcome she had imagined, but Maria refused to accept defeat just yet.
“Then, this discussion is at an end. I will not budge on this matter. I thought to make it part of my negotiation. Perhaps, I should have appealed to your humanity. He will shortly be without a home, and the home he has is rife with fever. This is his lifeline.”
The duke looked away, putting his hands on the tabletop. His fingers drummed against the wood, and he breathed hard through his nose. Maria sensed great, pent-up tension within him. Anger. Frustration. Rage. She could not tell, but he looked like a spring under too much pressure.
It both frightened and attracted her.
He is broken, but he does not need to be. Why? Because he bears scars? Deformities? That is no reason to hide away and make yourself a pariah.
“I can help you if you will let me,” she said, “but it must be mutual.”
The duke stared at her. One side of his face was set and rigid, the other masked and inhuman. His mouth was pulled into a tight line, jaw clenched, brows pulled down.
“No.”
Maria stood.
“Thank you for your… soup. We will not meet again.”
Clasping her stick in a hand that was suddenly shaking, she began walking to the door.
“Wait!” the duke snapped.
Such was the command in that voice that Maria found herself standing still before she was conscious of what she was doing. Shaking her head at her own weakness, she resumed walking to the door, flinging it open and stepping into the hallway beyond.
Did the butler turn left or right to reach this door? I cannot remember.
She heard the duke’s heavy, striding footfall coming towards her.
“Stop! For God’s sake, woman!” he barked.
She spun and pointed her cane at him.