Chapter 5 #2
Euphemia stood at the base of the stairs, her breath hitching in her throat, her hands trembling inside her gloves.
One of the greatest reasons she had been so desperate to escape the quiet, suffocating routine of the countryside for the frantic energy of London was her absolute terror of this exact existence.
She had craved the busy noise of the town, the life, the motion of it.
The terrifying idea of becoming a useless, hollow Duchess trapped in a room in a giant house on her own, utterly separated from the living world, frightened her more than she had ever cared to admit.
She had not realized how deeply that fear ran until this very moment, when the iron bars of her new life were being laid out plainly before her.
She had known, of course, that she should not expect an abundance of romance or warmth from a marriage born of a late-night disaster.
She had rationalized it as a practical arrangement.
When Nathaniel had first mentioned his daughters during his brief proposal in Mayfair, she had genuinely believed he was giving her a vital piece of information so that she could prepare herself to better their lives, to be of some use to them.
She did not expect that he would demand she ignore their very existence.
To be iced out completely, locked away in her own separate wing like an unwanted piece of furniture, went far beyond a mere business arrangement.
It was a deliberate sentence to a living isolation.
It was one thing to marry a man who was too engrossed in his own affairs to boss her around or demand her constant attention, that would have granted her a comfortable sort of freedom.
It was something else entirely to be purposely, systematically put into a box by his own hand.
Euphemia did not like tight spaces to begin with.
Nathaniel remained standing on the steps above her, watching the furious, changing expressions flit across her face. “Are you always this spirited, Euphemia?” he asked.
Euphemia did not respond. She stayed perfectly still, tightly gathering the frayed edges of her dignity around herself, too deeply insulted by his words to offer him the satisfaction of an immediate answer.
Nathaniel took a slow, deliberate step down the stairs, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped on the step just above her, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What did you expect, Euphemia?” he rasped. “What was running through your mind when you agreed to my proposal? Did you think you were walking into a grand romance? Did you expect a loving family that has dinners together and goes for picnics in the afternoon? Is that what you imagined?”
“Of course not!” Euphemia snapped, her voice trembling.
“I am not naive, Your Grace, nor am I stupid. I knew exactly what a marriage of convenience meant from the very start. What I do not appreciate is being told that your family must stay away from me! Why marry me at all if you are going to treat me like some foul infection that shouldn’t be allowed near your children? ”
“You are twisting my words,” he said, his jaw tightening.
“Am I?” she challenged, refusing to back down. “I think children need a female figure in their lives. They need a woman’s attention, whether you choose to admit it or not.”
Nathaniel let out a cold, dismissive breath.
“They do not need you. They already have women in their lives. They have an excellent governess, they have a nursery maid, and they have an entire house of staff. They do not require your attention, and you should be glad that such a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. I do not understand why you are so utterly out of sorts about this.”
He took another step down, closing the remaining distance until he was looking directly into her eyes.
“I married you, and you know exactly why,” Nathaniel said, his voice dropping.
“I married you because I had to. Do you not get that? You claim you are not naive, so you should know that I never wanted to marry you. I never wanted to marry anyone again. But the last thing I would ever allow is for a clumsy scandal to ruin my reputation and taint my family name. My name is the most important thing I possess, and I will not have it dragged through the mud. Marriage was the only way to avoid that disaster. I thought I made that very clear to you in London.”
“Yes, you made it perfectly clear,” Euphemia said.
“I am sorry. I have apologized to you before, and I will say it again, I am sorry for involving you in a scandal. But I did not do it on purpose. It was not a scheme, it was not a trap, and I have explained that to you numerous times. I am deeply sorry that there are talks and rumors about my name going around London, and that your name is now attached to it.”
Nathaniel stared at her as her voice trailed off. The silence stretched between them. He didn’t climb back up the stairs, nor did he look away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching her face as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“Why were you jilted at the altar, Euphemia?” he asked abruptly.
Euphemia froze. The sudden shift in the conversation caught her completely off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless.
“I have thought about it,” Nathaniel continued, his voice softer now, though no less intense.
“I told myself I would not ask. That I did not want to know. But what really happened? There has to be a reason. The town is talking about a dozen different rumors, but what is the truth? Why did a man court you for weeks only to abandon you on the morning of your wedding?”
The question hit a nerve so deep that Euphemia felt the blood drain entirely from her face. She felt completely paralyzed, unable to look away from his piercing gaze but utterly terrified of what he might see if she spoke.
She couldn’t tell him the truth. The sheer embarrassment of it was too much to bear. She couldn’t look this proud, wealthy Duke in the eye and admit the real reason Lord Finch had abandoned her.
Realizing she had to end this conversation before her defenses crumbled entirely, Euphemia drew a sharp breath and straightened her spine, her posture turning rigidly polite.
“Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “I shall adhere to your terms, Your Grace. If you wish for me to stay away from your daughters, I will stay away from them.” She swallowed down the lump of humiliation in her throat and looked past his shoulder. “Which way to my wing?”
Nathaniel blinked, looking slightly disappointed that she had shut down so completely, but he nodded toward the eastern corridor at the top of the landing.
“Take the grand staircase to the right. The double doors at the end of the gallery lead to your rooms. Mrs. Gable should be waiting for you there.”
“Thank you,” Euphemia said flatly.
Without another word, and without looking back at him, she gathered the skirts of her traveling gown, marched past him up the marble steps, and walked away into the shadows of her new home.
“Oh, my goodness!”
The sudden, ecstatic bark of a large retriever nearly knocked Euphemia back a step as a ball of wet fur and enthusiasm barreled toward her.
They were in the sun-drenched corridor of the eastern conservatory, where towering glass panes looked out over the rear gardens. A little, bright-eyed ten-year-old with a wild tumble of dark curls and the exact, striking green eyes of her father, rushed forward to grab the dog’s collar.
“Oh, do forgive him,” the little girl said quickly, her cheeks flushed as she pulled the shaggy beast back. “Barnaby has absolutely no sense of courtly manners, I am afraid.”
Euphemia let out a breath, her heart still hammering against her ribs, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She took a moment to look down at the massive dog, who was now wagging his tail so hard his entire hindquarters shook, before looking back at the young girl.
“Barnaby?”
Finding herself face-to-face with one of the forbidden daughters was the first bit of excitement Euphemia had experienced all morning.
For the past three hours, she had been subjected to an exhausting, relentless tour of the estate.
She was entirely convinced they had been walking for miles, and though she knew she was likely exaggerating the distance, her aching feet begged to differ.
Mrs. Gable had already introduced her to no fewer than sixty members of the household staff.
The sheer volume of names was overwhelming, and Euphemia was privately terrified she would mix them up by supper.
“Yes, his name is Barnaby,” she responded.
Worse than the fatigue, however, was the atmosphere.
Throughout the entire tour, Mrs. Gable had been stiff and icy.
Euphemia could feel the judgmental weight behind the housekeeper’s glances.
It was entirely obvious the woman had caught wind of the scandalous rumors from London, and no doubt the roaring argument Euphemia had shared with the Duke in the hall yesterday had traveled straight to the servants’ hall.
But Euphemia was used to being scorned by now. The ton had already given her its worst, she was not about to let a haughty housekeeper break her stride. She kept her chin up, and remained flawlessly polite to everyone she met, refusing to give them a single reason to call her a tyrant.
Now, here was Nathaniel’s daughter – she wasn’t sure which one – breaking the rules just by speaking to her.
Euphemia took a deliberate step forward, ignoring the stiff, disapproving clearing of Mrs. Gable’s throat behind her. She knelt down slightly, bringing herself closer to the girl’s eye level, and extended a hand toward the panting retriever.
“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Euphemia said gently. “Barnaby is a lovely name.”
“Thank you,” she beamed.
“Does the pretty lady holding Barnaby have a name too?” Euphemia beamed.