Chapter 7 #2
“She rearranged the drawing room furniture.” Kenneth could feel the downward pull of his mouth and could do nothing to hide it.
“She opened the curtains. She rescheduled the stables without consulting me. The twins are permitted to do their reading in the morning room. Luncheon is now at half past twelve.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “Good heavens. The woman’s a tyrant. She should be stopped before she introduces… what other horrors await? Fresh flowers? Conversation at meals? Heaven forbid, happiness?”
“Very amusing.” Kenneth’s tone was scathing, though by the look of it, Jonathan was not bothered in the slightest.
“I’m entirely serious. This sounds catastrophic.
” Jonathan leaned forward. “Tell me more. How does she wear her hair? What does her voice sound like when she’s issuing these dreadful edicts about curtain positions?
Does she have any notion of the damage she’s inflicting on the perfectly ordered existence you’ve constructed? ”
Kenneth set his tankard down with more force than necessary. “The twins seem fond of her.”
“Ah.” Jonathan offered a sympathetic smile. “The twins. How are they faring? She seems to have brought a bit of warmth to their corner of the castle.”
“They are my sons. I have always seen to their needs.”
“And you’ve done so dutifully. But you raise them like tiny soldiers in training, Kenneth.
Well-fed, well-schooled, and kept at a respectable distance so as not to upend your quiet routine.
” Jonathan rested a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder.
“Now Alice is here, showing them what a bit of tenderness looks like. It’s a good thing, even if it throws you off your balance. ”
Kenneth stared at the grain of the wood. The ale had warmed him, loosened the rigid set of his shoulders. “She listens to them,” he admitted. “They have tried to… well, be themselves, I suppose. They have not made it easy, and she does not lose her temper. It’s maddening.”
The tavern had grown quieter. Or perhaps it was only that the noise receded around the space where his admission hung, imperfect and unavoidable.
Jonathan studied him fondly. “She takes up rather a lot of space in that formidable head of yours, doesn’t she? For a woman you married out of convenience.”
“I married her because—”
“Because she was there. Because the license was acquired. Because the twins needed stability.” Jonathan waved a hand.
“I’ve heard this little song of yours before.
What matters is that you’re sitting in a village tavern on a Tuesday afternoon, telling me about the way your wife listens to your children.
I know you well enough to see that you’re trying very hard not to care about something you care about rather desperately. ”
Kenneth pushed his tankard away. “I should return to Bearmoor.”
“Of course you should.” Jonathan did not move to stop him.
“Back to the drawing room with its treacherously rearranged furniture and the curtains letting in all that ghastly sunlight. Back to the woman who has the temerity to exist in your castle as though she belongs there.” He raised his drink in his typical soft, teasing manner.
“Ride safe, Bearmoor. And for heaven’s sake, try to enjoy it. Just once. As an experiment.”
Kenneth left coin on the table and retrieved his hat.
The cool evening air hit his face as he stepped outside, carrying the scent of turned earth and distant woodsmoke.
For a disorienting moment, he stood very still on the tavern step, feeling the ale warm in his blood and the peculiar, unwelcome clarity that came with Jonathan’s words settling into places he had preferred to keep firmly closed.
The castle was quiet when Kenneth returned. He handed his hat and gloves to the footman with the automatic precision of habit and stood for a moment in the entrance hall, listening to the peculiar absence of sound that characterized Bearmoor in the evenings.
No Freddie’s voice echoing through the corridors. No Charlie’s quiet footfalls. Just the soft tick of the longcase clock and, from somewhere beyond the drawing room, the faint crackle of a fire.
Jonathan’s words followed him through the corridors like a persistent shadow.
“She takes up rather a lot of space in that formidable head of yours.”
He passed the drawing room. The curtains were still open, he noted with a twist of irritation.
Moonlight silvered the carpet where sunlight had warmed it hours ago.
The daffodils on the mantel had been replaced with late tulips, their deep red heads bowed slightly as though in contemplation. The room looked lived in.
The firelight drew him. It spilled from the half-open door of the small parlor that adjoined the library, a room rarely used since Theresa’s death. Kenneth found himself altering his course without fully deciding to do so.
The parlor was warmer than the rest of the house, the fire built high against the spring chill that still crept through stone walls after dark.
And there, curled up in the wingback chair nearest the hearth with her feet tucked beneath her and a book open on her lap, was his wife.
Alice wore a nightgown. Not the formal dressing gown she had donned for their wedding night, but a simple white cotton garment.
The swell of her breasts peeked out above the neckline, and the firelight turned the thin fabric translucent where it draped across her shoulders, outlining her curves so clearly that his breath caught in his throat.
Her hair was down, falling in copper waves past her shoulders, and she had one hand pressed to her mouth in concentration, her brow furrowed above the pages as she read. She had not heard him enter.
For several heartbeats, Kenneth stood in the doorway and watched her with the ale in his blood, the warmth of the room, and the peculiar ache that had taken up residence behind his sternum since the day he demanded her as his bride.
He shifted just a little, and the floorboards creaked beneath his boots.
Alice started. She snapped the book shut and shoved it behind her back against the chair cushion, almost like a child caught with stolen sweets.
He found it rather endearing.
“Your Grace.” Her voice was higher than usual.
She straightened, attempting dignity while half-concealing a book behind her back. The image should have been comical. It was not. The firelight caught the flush that spread from her throat to her cheeks, and Kenneth felt his own skin warm in response.
“Duchess.” He stepped into the parlor, and the door swung shut behind him with a soft click that seemed to seal the room into its own pocket of warmth and privacy. “I did not expect to find you awake.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She adjusted her position, the book still firmly lodged behind her. “So, I thought I might read for a while.”
“What are you reading?”
Alice’s eyes darted to the side, then back to his face with the transparent calculation of a woman formulating a lie.
“Mrs. Beeton’s treatise on household management.” She spoke quickly. Too quickly. “Fascinating material, truly. The chapter on spring cleaning is particularly… thorough.”
Kenneth narrowed his eyes at her. “Mrs. Beeton.” He took a step toward her. “Funny, I have never seen household management make anyone look quite so… alive.”
Alice’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her flush deepened, spreading all the way down to the soft swell of her breasts.
He stepped closer. “Show me the book, Alice.”
She shook her head. “I… Maybe not, Your Grace. I’m certain you’ll find it terribly dull.”
“I think not.” He took another step towards her. “A duchess reading in secret by firelight. The possibilities are endlessly entertaining.”
She pressed herself deeper into the chair and shook her head. “Please.”
The pleading did something to him. It was soft, genuine, carrying a note of vulnerability that cut through the warm haze of the room and reached something deeper.
For a moment, he almost relented. Then his hand moved.
He reached behind her, his fingers brushing against the small of her back where the cotton had warmed from her body, and grabbed the book. She gasped.
He withdrew it, holding it up between them.
Alice was on her feet in an instant. “Give it back.”
Kenneth stepped back and raised the volume above his head, out of her reach.