Chapter 9
A week later, Lavinia walked’ the grounds with Honora.
Her friend had insisted upon it, claiming that Lavinia needed to get fresh air, and not to be cooped up in her study all day long, as she had wanted to do.
The grounds were still damp from a light shower that had blown over the estate the night before.
The gravel path was dark and slick beneath their boots.
Lavinia had agreed to the walk mostly to placate Honora, though she suspected her friend had known that and planned accordingly. Honora led them past the roses, then the old fountain, and down toward the low stone wall that marked the edge of the formal gardens.
Overhead, the sky had turned the particular shade of gray that promised more rain before evening. Lavinia pulled her shawl tighter around herself, watching her own breath cloud faintly in the cool air.
“You are holding back again,” Honora said, almost cheerfully.
“I am not,” Lavinia replied with a frown.
“You are,” Honora laughed. “You have been quiet, frustrated, and resentful. You need to talk, or I do believe you will either expire or explode.”
“I will not explode,” Lavinia huffed.
“Really?” Honora asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Honora—”
“You may not physically explode, but I have seen you becoming shorter with the staff. The Lavinia I know would always ensure that her staff are treated with respect,” Honora explained.
“I…” The words died in Lavinia’s throat. Honora was right, of course. Lavinia did not usually act in such a way.
“Speak plainly,” Honora said gently. “If I can help you, I will. If not, then I will be a listening ear. I can be with you in this.”
Lavinia opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again.
She was not accustomed to confessing weakness, even to Honora, who had earned the right to hear it a hundred times over.
She thought of the years she had spent learning not to flinch, not to overexplain her actions, not to give any man, even one long dead, the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled.
“I do not know how to say this without sounding foolish,” Lavinia finally admitted.
“You have never sounded foolish to me,” Honora replied, putting a gentle hand on Lavinia’s shoulder. Lavinia glanced at her, then at the ground.
“I am frightened,” Lavinia whispered.
“Frightened?”
“Indeed,” Lavinia said softly. “I have had the luxury of independence for two years. Two years where nobody could control what I said or did. Now, there is a a stranger who sits in my home, taking inventory of a life I believed to be mine.”
“Nothing is decided yet,” Honora said gently.
Lavinia nodded, but her chest tightened. She had seen the documents. She understood that there had been no divorce. Her marriage had not been real in any sense. Not legally, not spiritually, and never emotionally.
Honora put a hand on her chest and gently dabbed at Lavinia’s cheek. Lavinia froze, confused.
“There is no need to cry, my dear friend,” Honora said.
“I am not—” the pair froze as a drop of water landed on Lavinia’s nose. They looked up at the sky. Those clouds had not been there a few moments before. Suddenly, there were deep, dark, angry clouds. The smell of petrichor filled Lavinia’s nose.
Rain started to fall around them in hard, big drops. The two women looked around, the rain having picked up and began falling in sheets.
Honora began to laugh. Lavinia looked at her, confused.
“Why are you laughing?” Lavinia asked.
“Is it not fitting?” Honora asked gleefully. “The rain, the timing… It is as if the heavens planned to give you this moment.”
“I suppose,” Lavinia said. “If the heavens were truly helping, then rain would not be the way to do it.”
“But is it not wonderful?” Honora asked, beaming. Lavinia frowned, confused. Honora ignored her, racing back toward the house.
“Wait!” Lavinia shouted, chasing after her.
Laughter bubbled out of Honora’s throat like a babbling brook.
For a moment, she tried to catch up to her friend.
Then, Honora almost slipped, and Lavinia snorted, laughter springing from them both.
The women slipped and slid back toward the front of the house, collapsing into each other against the gray walls.
“You are a free spirit,” Lavinia laughed with her friend.
“I do my best to be,” Honora smiled as she opened the front door. Lavinia’s eyes widened when she looked inside. Lightning flashed behind her, reflecting off the glass as thunder boomed across the sky.
He… changed… it…
The front entranceway had been partially redecorated.
A console table had been moved. The painting of a stag resting in the woods had been replaced with a painting of a hunting party.
Her eyes swept further over the room, cataloguing each violation.
Even the rug beneath her feet had been changed.
It was a shade darker than the faded blue one that had lain there since before her marriage. She knew they were small things.
If under different circumstances she could have been convinced they were inconsequential changes.
But looking at them in that moment she could feel her touch being erased from the home while she was still living in it.
Mr. Vale had not so much as given her a warning that redecorating was something he was considering doing.
It was not as if she were a duchess at all. It was more like she was a tenant awaiting eviction. Her hands trembled at her sides and she could feel the wet fabric of her dress clinging to her uncomfortably. Honora glanced at Lavinia and grabbed her arm.
“Do not scream,” Honora whispered.
“I am going to strangle him.”
“You are not,” Honora said, leading her friend inside. “We are going to change out of our soaked clothes, and we are going to take deep breaths.”
“Can I strangle him then?” Lavinia asked.
“No!”
***
By the time they were seated at the table for dinner, Lavinia could feel the rage bubbling in her stomach. She had not realized that she would have to witness her home being changed right under her nose.
Mr. Vale, however, seemed either oblivious or immune to her temper. She watched him, her back so straight that she may have appeared to have a rod down the back of her dress. Rain was still pattering against the window behind Lavinia, sheets of water streaming down the glass panes.
“And are you married yet, Miss Cavendish?” Mr. Vale asked Honora. “Or do you have any suitors?”
“Oh, no, not yet,” Honora answered, shaking her head. “I am not woman of many talents, so I am supposing that has made some suitors uninterested in me.”
“No need to be so humble,” Mr. Vale smiled. “I would love to see some of your talents before you leave.”
“I would not wish to inconvenience your sensibilities,” Honora said, her eyes darting toward Lavinia.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Vale said, waving a hand.
“I have always thought reticence a wasted virtue in a woman with real talent.” He turned his attention back to his plate, cutting his pheasant down to small pieces.
“Speaking of waste, I noticed the east wing has scarcely been used in some time. Seems a shame, a house this size, with an area with such good light to be unused.”
“The east wing is not your concern,” Lavinia replied, her voice clipped and sharp.”
“Everything under this roof is currently my concern, duchess,” he said mildly, not looking up from his plate.
Honora’s fork froze. Lavinia’s jaw tightened enough that she was certain Honora could see the muscle working beneath her skin.
This is becoming a pattern. He speaks of my home as though it is already his, when we are waiting on the solicitor to return.
“And you, duchess?” Mr. Vale smiled.
“Yes?” Lavinia said coolly. “Are you asking me if the home is my concern, or what my talents are?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I am asking if you have had any interest from any suitors recently.”
Lavinia’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. Anger radiated from her body and she watched as Honora started to slip down in her seat, as if that would save her from an impending volcanic eruption.
“Why would you take interest in that?” Lavinia asked.
“Well,” Mr. Vale started. “Is a man not allowed to make pleasant conversation?”
“He is,” Lavinia replied. “However, I am yet to hear pleasant conversation from you.”
“Lavinia,” Honora whispered. Lavinia’s eyes were trained on Mr. Vale. He was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes, and his right eye twitched slightly.
“ “Have you considered getting remarried?” he asked, his voice monotone.
“I have not,” she replied curtly.
“Because I have been thinking. And if you did,” he continued. “Then you would remove yourself from the inheritance question entirely.”
Lavinia’s grip tightened around the fork so hard that it was a miracle that it did not break.
Mr. Vale continued, “A husband would provide for you, so you would not need Briarwood Hall, nor my father’s money. .Even better, ” Mr. Vale said with a smile. “You would be able to leave without any scandal attached to your name.”
Lavinia stood, slamming her hands onto the table, her body trembling. Honora startled, nearly knocking over her cup. Mr. Vale’s eyes widened.
“I will not receive suggestions about my life from a man who has known me for but a fortnight,” she growled, her voice cutting sharper than the knives on the table. “I have already been sold off into one marriage of convenience.”
“I am not saying it would be for convenience—” Mr. Vale started.
“Let me speak!” Lavinia shouted. The color drained from Mr. Vale’s cheeks. “I will not entertain another marriage of convenience. I will not allow another man, one who barely knows me, to send me to the wolves. You can claim you have my best intentions, but I do not believe that.”
Lightning streaked across the sky outside.
Lavinia breathed hard, her chest aching with the pounding of her heart and the strain on her lungs.
She pushed her chair back, the thick oak clattering onto the tile floor, splintering slightly.
She ignored it, quickly pulling on her boots, bonnet, and cape.
“Lavinia?” Honora asked, standing.
Lavinia pushed open the back door, marching out into the rain.
“Lavinia!” Honora cried out.
The duchess marched over toward the stables, taking out her mare and saddling her up. Her horse whinnied as they bolted into the rain. Water soaked through Lavinia’s gown and pelted her face as they moved through the sodden fields.
For a moment, she closed her eyes. Her hair flew out behind her, the pins lost to the wind, rain, and mud. She let the anger leave her body through deep breaths, her thoughts leaving her as thunder cracked and lightning laced through the sky.
Out there, she did not need a man to tell her what her worth was, or how she was meant to behave.
I belong to no one out here.
The world had narrowed to the drum of hooves, the sting of rain against her cheeks, and the mare’s breath rising in great clouds ahead of her. There was no ledger, no portrait replaced with one she had not chosen, no man asking whether she had considered marrying herself into irrelevance.
There was only the next stride. The next breath. The next flash of lightning illuminating the fields for half a heartbeat, before darkness swallowed them all whole again.
After what felt like hours, she rode back. The world around her was dark and wet. It was like the rain had dampened the embers of her anger.
The stable was quiet, but not empty. A lantern had been lit, and she could see a silhouette. Lavinia braced, recognizing it immediately.
“What were you thinking?” Mr. Vale demanded, arms folded.
“That is none of your concern,” she said, not meeting his gaze as her horse trotted past him. She dismounted, and he grabbed her arm through the soaked fabric.
“Have you not noticed there is a storm outside?” he asked.
“I have the capacity of sight and hearing,” she said.
“And you were out there, alone,” he continued.
“I am aware.”
“At night!” Mr. Vale said, his voice rising.
“I am not your wife, nor your ward, so you need not concern yourself with me,” she said, glaring up at him. Something flickered in his eyes. Anger and fear warring for dominance in his expression.
“As long as you live under my roof,” he said, his voice softening, “then your safety will be my concern.”
The two of them glared at each other in the dim light of the stables. Eventually, Mr. Vale removed his hand from her arm and took off his coat.
“Your dress is soaked through,” he muttered, wrapping the coat around her shoulders. She froze, not expecting it to smell of old books and sandalwood. His hands lingered a moment before he stepped back.
“We should go inside,” he muttered. Lavinia nodded, locking eyes with him again. The rain continued pelting the roof of the stable. Lavinia took a long, shuddering breath, the smell of hay filling her lungs.
I do not understand what this man expects of me.
She walked away, leaving the warmth of the stable behind her.
Mr. Vale’s woolen coat weighed heavily on her shoulders as she approached Briarwood Hall.
She tucked it tightly around her, her heart racing.
The smells on the wool mixed too well with the smell of rain and wet grass.
She bit the inside of her cheek, willing her heart rate to calm down and the flush on her cheeks to disappear.
Lavinia pushed open the heavy doors, only to be met with Honora, who raced to her and wrapped her in a warm embrace.
“There you are! I was ever so worried. What were you thinking?” Honora asked, pulling back to check Lavinia over for injuries. “You could have been hurt! You could have fallen! What if you were struck by lightning?”
“I am sorry for worrying you,” Lavinia said gently.
Servants gathered around them. They brought out towels and a warming broth, but none of them appeared worried. They were used to Lavinia’s moods. They had seen her race off on horseback multiple times.
“You silly girl,” Honora chided, practically pinching Lavinia’s cheeks. “Come. Let us get you upstairs. You need a warm bath, tea, broth… I am not letting you catch your death!”
Lavinia nodded like a scolded child. She looked over her shoulder as Mr. Vale walked back inside, unable to read his expression.
His eyes were following her, almost as stormy as the weather outside.
She felt her shoulders tense. It should not matter what expression a man wore who had, not hours before, suggested she hand herself over to a stranger.
He is not my concern.