Chapter 12
This is the third day of my marriage. I think it is the third day.
I have not stirred much beyond my rooms because of my ankle.
I should mark the days on the walls the way prisoners locked in dungeons are supposed to do.
Give me some news about the Corset Chronicles Club, or better yet, visit with me as soon as you can.
I cannot wait to hear what you have been up to.
Your letters so far have been rays of sunlight in my dark prison.
That is how the house feels. I miss Gilbert terribly, but cannot have him living in such a place as I find myself in.
I do not know if the duke has agreed to the resources I have told Mrs. Whitby I need for the renovations. He might have flatly refused. I would not know because I have not seen him since…
Maria paused, wondering how much to share. She and her friends were very open with each other, but Theodora, at least, would be shocked and horrified if she discovered how Maria had almost surrendered her body to Damien.
The thought made her blush, and she had to look up and out of the window for a moment to reclaim her calm. She gazed over the dark woods that loomed beyond the park. The trees glowered just as the master of this land did. They hid the woodland depths, holding secrets.
She put her pen back into its pot and blotted the letter she had written so far.
All of the Corset Chronicles Club had written to her at least once, and their letters were strewn across the bureau.
They had all agreed that men were savage beasts in need of a civilizing hand, which only a woman could give.
She picked up one letter, smiling at Anna’s distinctive and breathless style of prose.
At that moment, a magpie alighted on the sill of the open window. Maria looked up in surprise, delighted by the wild creature’s proximity. It hopped about and then turned its back, revealing its long tail feathers and the purplish sheen on its back. Then it launched itself skyward.
Maria rushed to the window, tracing its flight out over the woods and then down. It vanished in the canopy, and she found herself envying its freedom.
Dash it all! I am not going to be an invalid. Nor am I going to be a prisoner of Damien’s orders! I will show him how independent I am.
She changed her gown for one more suitable for walking in the woods and chose a pair of sturdy shoes, wincing as she laced them over her injured ankle.
After a moment’s thought, she gathered a few bread rolls from the tray Mrs. Whitby had brought to her for breakfast. She was not feeling particularly hungry but knew that the kindly housekeeper would worry if she ate nothing.
She slipped out, finding her way through the sprawling maze of a house to the front door and then outside.
She hurried across the park, wanting to be out of sight of the house quickly.
The pace was ill-advised, and her ankle began to ache before she was halfway to the woods.
Gritting her teeth, she persisted and was soon enveloped by the shadows beneath the canopy.
The path was disused and long since overgrown, but enough remained of it for Maria to follow.
A rabbit darted ahead of her, which made her smile.
A squirrel made the branches overhead shake as it leaped from tree to tree.
The air was warm, and the woods peaceful, despite their sulky appearance from the outside.
It was easy to forget that Winterleigh lay a few hundred yards behind and London a few miles ahead.
Maria paused to rest her ankle, leaning on a tree to take the weight from her foot. As she leaned down to massage it, she noticed the wire stretched across the path ahead. She froze, following the dark line from the tree against which she leaned.
I have walked right into it. It seems to be metal. Why have a wire across the path unless the intention is to trip someone? Why?
She stepped over the wire carefully, wondering if it were some kind of snare left by Damien’s gamekeeper.
Assuming he had one. As she carefully stepped away from the wire, she had a moment’s warning.
The ground under her heel was suddenly falling away.
She had time for one startled look before she was tumbling down a steep slope.
“Did the duchess eat this morning?” Damien asked as Mrs. Whitby served his tea.
He looked over the top of his newspaper at the housekeeper.
“I do not know about this morning, Your Grace. She didn’t have much yesterday.”
There was disapproval in Mrs. Whitby’s voice. Her world revolved around food and feeding those in her care. It offended her greatly if one of her charges did not eat as much as she thought they should.
Damien frowned. “You don’t know about this morning?”
“Her Grace was not out of her bed when I took breakfast up, and I thought I would give her some privacy before I went back for the tray,” Mrs. Whitby said.
Damien tossed down the paper, steepling his fingers. He felt guilty at the way their abortive attempt at intimacy had ended, felt guilty at misreading her intentions and for those perverse words he had said to her.
But then she was not unwilling. I did not overpower her by any means.
“If I might speak plainly, Your Grace?” Mrs. Whitby asked.
“I am not the duchess, Mrs. Whitby. I do not wish my staff to speak plainly to me,” Damien said.
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Whitby said, resolutely.
Damien arched an eyebrow and looked at her. She cleared her throat, shifted her feet and wiped some dust away from the table with a corner of her apron.
“The lady seems to be pining. I do not think she takes well to being indoors all the time or alone. I think that is why she does not eat much.”
“Thank you for your insights, Mrs. Whitby,” Damien said, dryly. “Why do you think I advised her not to tire her ankle? So she can heal faster and go wherever she damn well pleases. I’d much rather have my duchess resting than limping through the crumbling ruins of Winterleigh.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitby said quickly, then hesitated. “Only… my opinion is that, at times, your advice may be perceived as orders.”
Damien’s expression cooled. “I don’t care how others misinterpret my words. Besides, she is my wife, and she promised to obey.”
His attention might have wandered during their vows, but his body had snapped to attention during that one part. For all her defiance, Maria had sworn to obey him as a good wife ought.
Mrs. Whitby cleared her throat. “You don’t care, Your Grace?”
“Why should I care?”
“Because you have me check on Her Grace every day. You show care, Your Grace.”
“You mistake the desire for an uncomplicated life with care. I merely wish to avoid the inconvenience of calling for Simon’s services,” Damien said. “That will be all.”
He waved a dismissive hand, knowing he was being rude but uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Very good, Your Grace. I will check on your wife now, if it pleases you,” Mrs. Whitby said, stiffly.
Damien held up a hand. “I will do it,” he said impulsively.
He caught the barely suppressed smile on her face, and his lips twitched.
Yes, Mrs. Whitby, I thought you would like that. I am taking an interest in your latest charge.
He told himself it was only because it was in his best interests that his housekeeper remained content and happy with her job. He did not want the trouble of replacing her.
Still frowning, Damien left the study and climbed the stairs, his thoughts returning inevitably to his wife.
Not that she’s ever left my damned mind since I brought her to this cursed house.
He didn’t know why he got so angry all of a sudden, but despite the perfectly rational reasons for limiting Maria’s movement, Mrs. Whitby’s words stung like a thorn under the skin.
He paused outside Maria’s room and knocked. Silence.
Damien knocked again, sharper this time, but there was no answer. Muttering under his breath, he opened the door and strode through her rooms.
A half-finished breakfast tray. An open window with the breeze stirring papers on the bureau. He walked over and looked down at the letters. He had not intended to read them but found himself drawn into their contents. The letters addressed to Maria, he skimmed quickly.
Frivolous thoughts from shallow people. I do not care what they think of me. Beast, am I?! By heaven, the infernal cheek!
He swept the letters from the desk but caught the unfinished one. He stared down at what Maria had been writing in reply to her vapid friends. After a moment, he sat, a weight settling on his shoulders. It was guilt, and it was unwelcome.
She is lonely. Missing her adopted child and her friends. Confined to this house because I have seeded the woods with traps for the unwary. Damnation! I did not want to care about her or anyone else! I wish I had never set eyes on her!
But that would have meant Maria being left to the mercy of the ruffians who had assaulted her.
The idea of such a violation made him clench his fist in anger.
He stopped himself when he realized that he still held the letter and tried to smooth it out on the bureau.
Looking around, he wondered where she was.
Probably limping around the house to get some exercise. If I stay here long enough, then she is bound to be back soon.
But his eyes had fallen on the gown that lay on the bed. It had the look of a house gown, not the kind of garment a woman would wear to go outside. At the foot of the bed were the soft slippers Maria wore inside. With a sudden, sickening realization, he knew she had left the house.
And he had not told her about the traps.
Damien slashed at the heavy vegetation of the woods with his cane.
“Maria!” he bellowed.
The call was echoed throughout the woods by Philby, using Maria’s title. Greggs, Damien’s stable hand, called out from his other side. Then came the deep, booming voice of his gamekeeper, Langford, from somewhere behind. He had roused a group of servants to comb the dangerous woods for her.
Even I do not dare to stray from the path in these woods. The gamekeeper and I have made them stiff with traps to deter intruders. I warned her the land was treacherous. Damnation, but I warned her!
“Maria! Damn you, answer!” he roared.
Another death on the Winterleigh estate would seal his fate.
There would be no end to the ghouls then.
He would have to either endure their constant intrusion or engage his plan of last resort: liquidizing his assets and relocating to what had once been the colonies of America and was now a fledgling nation.
That is too much like running away! I will not be beaten! Where is she?
He lashed out at innocent brambles and ferns with his cane, snarling as he strode along paths long memorized. This was exactly the kind of inconvenience he had sought to avoid, and now here he was. What he didn’t want to admit to himself was the deep concern he felt for Maria.
My concern is for my own reputation. The woman is too much trouble!
But, underneath the bluster he cultivated was a deepening anxiety for her safety.
“Maria!” he cried.
Then came a reply. Faint. Weak but definitely a woman’s voice. Damien’s head swung to the right. It came again, and he charged headlong into the undergrowth, uncaring of the traps he himself had set.
He hurdled a tripwire at the last minute and triggered a vicious metal-toothed trap with his cane. The wood splintered as the ferocious device snapped shut. He ploughed on through the sylvan shade, knowing now which of the traps had caught his wife.
Ahead, he saw the pit. It was steep-sided and there were caltrops scattered at its base to give a nasty jab to anyone falling in.
His heart stopped as he saw her lying at the foot of one steep slope.
He didn’t hesitate, leaping down into the pit.
His ankle twisted painfully, but he ignored it, falling to his knees beside Maria.
“You bloody reckless girl!” he whispered. “I told you not to come here!”
He ran his hands over her body, terrified at feeling the wetness of blood. A caltrop lay beside her, but she appeared to have just missed its upturned prong.
“Damien!” she whispered, eyelids fluttering, “I thought I had dreamed of your voice. Are you trapped in here, too?”
“Have no fear. I am the hunter, not the prey, remember?” Damien said.
He ran his hands over her body, feeling for injury or wounds. He could feel nothing. She opened her eyes again.
“I keep needing to be rescued by you. I must be such a burden,” she whispered in the tone of a drunk.
“Hush, you have struck your head,” Damien said, stroking her hair gently. “When you wake, you will be safe in your bed with all your friends around you. I swear it.”
I put this trap in place. I set it with glee at what it might do to a ghoul. And Maria could have died because of it. Hang it all! Things must change!
He gently gathered her in his arms and lifted.
She winced at some pain, reaching for her ankle.
Then, she was unconscious again. Damien climbed the steep slope, teeth bared and refusing to let the trap beat him.
He clutched Maria close to him. When he reached the top, he looked back.
The caltrop grinned up at him, its single point defying him.
He stalked back through the woods, carrying Maria back to safety. He resolved on that walk that she would get her wish. If she wished to know more about him, then he would tell her. But he did not expect her to want to remain at Winterleigh for long once she discovered his secrets.