Chapter 17 #2
Her lips tilted. “What an education for you.”
“I have much to be grateful for,” he quipped on a dry laugh.
“And all stayed within these hallowed walls?”
“Privacy was guaranteed.”
“Guaranteed how?”
“The threat of public humiliation to the crown, to society. After I left for my Tour, Father found traveling up here much too tiresome. He preferred to stay at Tidesfar and would have an occasional party, most especially on his birthday.”
Her gaze darted back to the fire at the mention of his father’s birthday parties. Rowen regretted it instantly.
He shot up from his chair and called for a servant, arranged for baths for both of them, and then went to what was once his father’s desk and wrote off two missives. She poured him another cup of tea as he had them sent, and he joined her at the table again.
“Tomorrow, a dressmaker from the village shall attend you. You shall be fitted for wedding garments as well as what you require at present until we go to London. Once your gown is ready, we shall marry. By that time, I should have the special license in hand, and my aunt and uncle shall be our witnesses.”
“Tell me of your aunt and uncle.”
“My Aunt Isobel is my father’s younger sister.
She and her husband, Uncle Winslow, live quietly and far from society.
They have no children, but for a nephew of my uncle’s whom they raised as their own.
Their days are spent reading, playing musical instruments, tending to their sheep and lands, improving their tenants’ lives, seeing to the welfare of the poor. A most unfashionable way to live.”
“I look forward to making their acquaintance.”
“You shall have the opportunity this evening. They are coming to dinner, and I have asked Aunt Isobel to stay with us until the wedding.”
“A chaperone?”
“A chaperone.”
A slight smile swept her lips.
“You are not put out by the idea, I hope?”
“I am not. You have considered every detail, my lord.”
“I have.” His flingers slid down the teacup. For you, he thought.
He knew anyone could easily come along with a swipe of coin, or a bottle of spirit, and inquire as to the doings in his house.
“Would you like a tour of the house?”
“I would.”
He brought her down the hall, where her gaze lingered on the tapestry of a grey hawk diving through the clouds. “Hawks are a tradition in your family?”
“They are. It is said our ancestor, Sir Aldric Wickstead was a fierce defender during border raids, and he kept an ash grey hawk. Legend has it that his hawk helped him kill the leader of a particularly brutal raid here. Thereafter, the hawk became a symbol of family valour and protection.”
“Protection through violence, you mean?”
“Indeed. Villagers still whisper that the original hawk’s spirit lingers watching over us.
” Rowen opened the door to the library, and the room was dark and somewhat dank.
He opened the heavy wool curtains, and as the light meagerly poured in the room, she let out a gasp at the shelves lining the walls filled with leather volumes.
Her fingers traced over their dusty spines.
“There’s nothing recent here, of course, but still a solid selection of the classics. Pick and choose whatever you’d like to read.”
She glanced at him, her face beaming, and she went back to perusing the titles.
“The library at Redthorne was not well stocked. My father had begun his collection in earnest when he fell ill, and like everything else, his book collecting came to a standstill. I oft read the same novels and poems over and over again, but that is no hardship when they are your favourites.”
“This library has been ignored for ages, so it is fortunate to have you here, Duchess.” He bowed his head to her.
Blushing, she turned away.
He touched her shoulder. “Do my remarks make you ill at ease?” He sent his fingers down her back, and she seemed to shiver at his touch.
“It is only that I am accustomed to being ignored, sir, or to be spoken to disagreeably, never with so much civility and deference. Such consideration.”
Rowen took her fingers in his, and her shoulders eased. “Woe to the person who ever treats you with such disrespect again.” He raised her hand in his and brushed it with his lips. A seal of his oath.
His gaze lingered on her lips. He knew if he took her mouth, he would surely devour her whole. “I shall treat you not only with respect but with delight,” he promised. “And your delights come first.”
Her lips parted, and her fingers squeezed his as she took a step closer to him. A servant knocked on the door, and Cassandra quickly took her hand back.
“Enter.”
“Your Grace, your baths have been prepared,” stated the servant.
“Have the lady’s maid show Lady Cassandra to her rooms.”
A maid appeared swiftly and took his fiancée away. Cassandra turned and gave him a parting look as she left the library. Was she content now? At ease? He hoped so.
As he climbed the dark stairwell that was partly lit by arrow-slit windows, he took in a deep breath. He was glad they’d come here to Greywick. A chance to breathe for both of them away from the din of society.
Never would he have thought that this shadow-soaked relic of a brutish medieval age would be their stronghold.