My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  Eric gritted his teeth. He’d wanted a wife who wouldn’t dare challenge him, not one so frightened of her own shadow that she quivered with fear whenever he tried to talk to her. It wasn’t as if he had yelled at the girl or raised his hand in anger. Yet she was terrified of him just the same.

  What had he called her at the church? A frightened field mouse? Yes, that was it. Although looking at her now he wasn’t reminded of a rodent, but rather of a fawn. A shy, spindly legged fawn with soft gray eyes framed by thick lashes and a full bottom lip that trembled ever-so-slightly when she peeked up at him before quickly glancing back down.

  Absently he wondered what that quivering mouth would taste like. Soft and sweet, he imagined. Like the sugar sprinkled on top of a biscuit or a bit of honey drizzled into a cup of warm tea...

  Eric scowled, annoyed that he’d allowed his thoughts to drift in such a fanciful direction. Kissing his wife was not something to be looked upon with great anticipation. It was a responsibility. A duty. A task he would carry out not because he wanted to, but because he had to if he wanted to keep his brother from destroying everything he’d so painstakingly rebuilt.

  “Have I done something to upset you?” Caroline whispered, her cheeks draining of what little color remained as she noted the heavy furrow in his brow. “Because I’ve stopped crying-”

  “You’ve done nothing,” he said shortly. “But perhaps we should have this discussion at a later date. When you’ve had time to settle in to your new surroundings and rest.”

  They drew to a halt at the end of the circular drive and the door was promptly opened by a young footman neatly attired in black livery. He stood at attention with his gaze politely averted while Eric stepped out of the carriage and then turned back to reach for Caroline’s hand.

  Enclosed in white lace, her fingers were as small and delicate as the rest of her and stood out in sharp contrast against the deep black of his coat sleeve. He felt her tremble as she lifted her head and looked up at her new home with wide, unblinking eyes, taking everything in from the solarium comprised entirely of glass to the outdoor terraces that wrapped around the third and fourth stories. There was even a tower jutting up from the east wing. It had been closed off years ago, but was still an impressive sight to behold with its stained glass windows and circular roof.

  “Litchfield Park was part of my mother’s dowry,” he explained in the flat, mildly disgusted monotone he always used whenever he spoke of the woman who had given birth to him. “It was completely renovated just last year. You should be very comfortable here.”

  “It’s enormous,” Caroline said softly.

  He shrugged. “It is not nearly as large as Readington Crossing, but I believe it will be more than suitable for raising children.” He saw no point in telling her that the real reason she was here was because of the estate’s remote location. Tucked away in the middle of the Surrey countryside, it was a four day ride to Readington and another two to London, effectively ensuring his wife would not be bothering him with any surprise visits.

  “The stables are that way-” lifting his arm, he pointed off to the left where a stretch of white fence line was just visible through a row of towering shrubbery “-and the orchards and greenhouses are behind the house. There is more, of course, but Mr. Newgate will be able to give you a full tour.”

  “Couldn’t you do it?” she asked, tearing her gaze away from the tower to peer up at him out of soft gray eyes brimming with uncertainty and just a touch of wistful hope. Her grip on his forearm tightened and Eric frowned when he felt his loins stir in response to such a small, innocent touch.

  “Couldn’t I do what?” he said suspiciously. When had her eyes gotten a hint of green in them? And why the bloody hell was he looking at her mouth again and imagining what her lips would taste like? A trick of the light, he decided, and a touch of exhaustion. God only knew he hadn’t slept much the night before.

  Thoughts of his impending marriage had kept him tossing between the sheets well into the cold, dark hours of early morning. When he’d finally risen it had been with the grim determination that no matter what came, he would not repeat the sins of his father. He would not give his wife control of his heart and stand idly by while she gleefully tore it to shreds. He would not become a broken shell of his former self, spending money like water and drinking himself into oblivion.

  And he would not, under any circumstances, fall in love.

  “Give me a tour of the grounds. I - I just think,” she added hastily when his brow creased, “it would behoove us to spend more - more time together now that we are married. Don’t...don’t you agree?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I do not agree. In fact, I could not disagree more strongly.”

  The corners of her mouth tightened in distress. “But-”

  “Mr. Newgate will show you to your private quarters. I have more important things to attend.” With that icy remark he turned on his heel and strode briskly away, the heels of his boots stomping the ground with so much force that small stones flew up in his wake.

  Chapter Three

  Caroline watched her husband walk away with an aching in her chest that bordered on despair.

  He hates me, she thought bleakly. He hates me and I haven’t the faintest idea why.

  Perhaps she’d said something that had upset him. But that would have required them to have had a conversation lasting more than a few sentences, which they’d yet to do. Maybe she’d done something he had found untoward...but then again, she’d spent more time having her face powdered than in the duke’s company.

  A cold wind, hinting at weather yet to come, had Caroline pulling her cloak more snugly around her shoulders. The carriage pulled away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the drive without any idea of what to do next. She was supposed to be a duchess...but Eric had dropped her on his doorstep as if she were an unwanted relation and then gone - well, she had no idea where he’d gone because she knew absolutely nothing about him. Or this place; this large, overwhelming, foreign place that she was now supposed to call home.

  This time when tears threatened she managed to sniff them back. She wasn’t about to give the duke an excuse to despise her any more than he already did, nor did she want to step off on the wrong foot with the household staff.

  Unlike many of her peers, Caroline’s gentle nature had always lent itself to a relationship of kindness and respect between herself and the working class. She wanted the same at Litchfield Park, especially since it seemed as though the servants were going to be the only ones speaking to her. She had no friends here. No family. As for her husband...well, suffice it to say he should have been both but instead he was neither. For the first time in her life she was completely and utterly alone.

  “Might I offer you some assistance, Your Grace?” This came from the footman who had opened the door when they’d first arrived. Wrapped up in her own melancholy thoughts, Caroline had completely forgotten he was standing no less than three feet away.

  “Oh!” she gasped, flattening a hand across the top of her chest. “I - I am terribly sorry. I just...I don’t know what...that is to say...oh drats,” she said helplessly when her eyes flooded with tears. What was wrong with her? Surely being left in front of the house as though she were some sort of vagabond orphan was enough humiliation for one day. She didn’t need to add sobbing in front of a footman to the list.

  “Your Grace?” the young man repeated, looking vaguely alarmed.

  “I - I do apologize,” Caroline managed between sniffles. “I’m not usually like this, you see. But then things are not at all like they usually are, are they?” She pulled off one of her gloves and used it to dry her eyes. “Could you be so kind as to direct me to Mr. Newgate? I believe he is supposed to give me a tour.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. Right this way.” Looking relieved to be passing her on to someone else, the footman led her up between two enormous ivory pillars and into the grandest foyer she’d ever seen.

 
; The first thing that caught her eye was the gold chandelier hanging down from a vaulted ceiling, its dozens of candles reflecting off the marble tile beneath. A grand staircase rose from the middle of the foyer and led up to a double hallway that was so long it stretched out of sight. The air carried a hint of beeswax, no doubt from all of the mahogany trim that gleamed from a recent polish.

  It was a splendid entryway. One that truly befitted a duke.

  But not his duchess, Caroline thought silently as she peeked into the adjoining parlor. There was a heavy masculine overtone to everything, from the deep green paper hangings to the leather furniture. There was also a sterileness to it all. A cold formality that made her wonder if her husband had ever spent any time here. Without a single personal memento - not even a painting - the dark, somber house could have belonged to anyone.

  A door to her right opened and an older man stepped through, his chest swelled with self-importance and his knobby shoulders proudly erect. He wore the black suit and the white lapels of a servant of high importance, leading Caroline to guess she was about to meet the estimable Mr. Newgate even before he strode up to her - perhaps hobbled would have been a better word - and bowed.

  “Your Grace,” he said in a raspy baritone that aged him just as much as his gray hair and the myriad of lines upon his weathered countenance. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Mr. Newgate, and I have served as butler for the past thirty-seven years.”

  “That is quite an impressive feat, Mr. Newgate.” She hesitated. “My husband asked that you show me around the estate. If it isn’t too much trouble, that is. I know you must be very busy and I would not want to take up your valuable time...”

  “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace. Shall we start with the library?”

  “Yes,” Caroline said, her face brightening. “That would be splendid. Oh, and Mr. Newgate, if I could make one small request. I realize that I am a duchess now and that it carries its own title, but I really would be much more comfortable if you and the rest of the household staff called me by my given name. You could even shorten it to Caro if you like.”

  The butler looked positively scandalized. “Certainly not, Your Grace,” he huffed. “Certainly not. If you would allow Thomas to take your cloak and gloves, we shall begin in the east wing with the library and work our way westward. Follow me, if you please.”

  Well it had been worth a try. Handing her outer garments off to the footman, Caroline smoothed her hair, shook a wrinkle from her dress, and followed the butler.

  After her tour - which consisted of all thirty seven rooms excluding her husband’s private study and bedchamber - Caroline found herself quite exhausted. She was shown to her room by a plain-faced servant named Anne who, after learning that Caroline had not brought her own lady’s maid, eagerly volunteered herself for the position.

  “I’ve never been one before,” she confessed, brown eyes anxious and hopeful. “But only because there’s never been a lady at Litchfield Park before. Well, at least not while I’ve been here. But I’ll do whatever you require of me, Your Grace. I like to work. And I’m quite handy with a pair of curling tongs.”

  Caroline sat on the edge of the canopied bed. “What do you know about removing freckles?”

  “Re-removing freckles, Your Grace?” Anne bit her lip. “Not very much, I am afraid.”

  “Then in that case I believe you will make a splendid lady’s maid.” A genuine smile - the very first one in what felt like a very long while - flitted across her face when Anne let out a squeal of excitement.

  “Oh, thank you, Your Grace!” she cried, all but bouncing up and down. “Thank you! I will not let you down. I promise. Where should I start? Would you like me to put away your things?”

  Over the past hour carriages bearing trunks filled to the brim with Caroline’s various dresses and accessories had begun arriving. After four failed seasons she’d managed to accrue more than her fair share of ball gowns, and it seemed her mother - who had taken it upon herself to do all of the packing - hadn’t wanted to leave a single one behind.

  “Or draw you a bath?” Anne continued enthusiastically. “Or fluff your pillows? Or take down your hair? Or-”

  “If you would be so kind as to close the curtains,” Caroline interrupted, “I believe I shall take a rest. Could you wake me before dinner? I would like very much to dine with my husband.”

  “Oh. But...of course, Your Grace.”

  “Is something about my request unusual?” she queried, noting the way Anne’s gaze flitted suddenly to the side.

  “N-no,” the maid said haltingly.

  “I fear you are about as good at telling a fib as I am, Anne.” Her mouth curved. “Which is to say not very good at all. What is it?”

  Visibly squirming, the hugged one arm tightly against her side and shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s just that...well...it isn’t a love match, is it?” she blurted. “You and the duke. I thought...that is to say, everyone knows…”

  “That my husband hates me,” Caroline said softly when Anne trailed off.

  “No, Your Grace! That isn’t what I meant-”

  “The curtains, if you would.” Suddenly feeling very weary indeed, she pushed herself towards the head of the bed and drew a soft wool blanket up over her waist. “Please close the curtains.”

  Chapter Four

  When Caroline awoke, dawn was just beginning to unfurl ribbons of light across a clear blue sky and a small fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. For a moment she laid where she was, her gaze drawn to the silk damask canopy draped over the top of the bed. She hadn’t meant to sleep the entire rest of the day and night away, but she was glad that she had as she felt, if not completely free of the cumbersome weight that sat atop her shoulders, at least a tiny bit refreshed.

  Sitting upright, she drew the wool blanket around her shoulders as a shiver worked its way down her spine. For all their size and splendor large houses were quite drafty, and despite the fire there was an unwelcome chill in the air that would only grow colder as the weeks progressed and the bright colors of fall gave way to the brittle starkness of winter.

  Of Anne there was no sign, but the maid must have been in the room at some point for draped over the back of a wooden rocking chair Caroline found a day dress along with a neatly folded petticoat and a satin-trimmed corset.

  With a start she realized that she’d slept in her wedding gown and the pale blue frock, once so painstakingly starched and pressed, was now wrinkled beyond repair. Not only that, but three pearls had worked their way free of the stitching on the bodice and were now missing. After several minutes spent searching for them amidst the sheets, she gave up with a sigh and rang for Anne.

  The maid appeared almost immediately. Wearing a high necked black dress, white apron, and a worried frown, she hurried through the door and nearly stumbled over her own feet when she threw herself forward into a deep curtsy.

  “Your Grace, I wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. It wasn’t my place. My mum is always telling me I run my mouth too much. Anne, she says, you’re bound to get tossed out on your ear one of these days.” She lifted her head, revealing fretful brown eyes beneath a creased brow. “Oh, please don’t sack me. I won’t say another word about you and the duke. I swear I won’t.”

  “I am not going to sack you,” Caroline said firmly.

  “You - you’re not?”

  “No. I do not believe anyone should ever be punished for speaking their mind.” She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Does...does everyone believe what you told me yesterday? That my husband and I...that is to say…”

  “You did not marry for love?” Anne ventured.

  “Yes.” Relieved the maid had been able to say what she could not, Caroline nodded vigorously. “Precisely.”

  It may have seemed foolish - and it probably was - but when she was a young girl she had not dreamt of fancy gowns or glittering diamond tiaras or balls that lasted all through the night. Instead she�
��d dreamed about finding her true love. A man who was kind and handsome and made her laugh. He needn’t be wealthy or own a great mansion or even be titled. Just as long as he gave her a reason to smile every day. Of course her mother had had other ideas, and what Lady Wentworth wanted Lady Wentworth got - even if it was at the expense of her own daughter’s happiness.

  Caroline could have always refused the duke’s suit when he made his intentions known, but that would have meant not only defying one of the most powerful men in all of England but also her mother...who, although not as physically imposing, was every bit as intimidating.

  So she’d done what they had both wanted her to do. She’d married a man she hardly knew and traveled to an estate she knew not at all. A frightening undertaking to be sure, but in the back of her mind she had retained some sliver of hope that her new husband, while grouchy as an old bear on the outside, was really a kind, affable man beneath all the sullenness and glowering stares and curt remarks.

  That hope had been dashed from the instant they’d arrived at Litchfield Park. And to make matters worse - because no matter how bad things appeared, they could always get worse - it seemed she had been the only one who had thought there was ever a chance she and Eric might one day come to care for one another as a husband and wife should.

  Apparently love was not a very realistic expectation when a surly duke was involved.

  “I don’t know how to answer your question,” said Anne, chewing on her lip.

  “Honestly, if you would,” Caroline said before she marched across the room and pulled back the drapes. Small fractured crystals of ice still clung to the outside of the windows, but they quickly melted into droplets of water when her breath warmed the glass. Resting her hands on the sill, she gazed out across rolling fields painted silver with frost. It was a pretty sight; one made all the prettier by a herd of frolicking horses. Emboldened by the crisp morning air they bucked and danced their way across the pasture, their hooves scarcely touching the ground.