“Ten. Perhaps eleven.”
Eliza came to him and touched the sleeve of his coat. “How dreadful for you. We must all grieve. It is natural.”
“Did you?” He looked down into her stricken eyes.
“I grieve still.” She rested her head against his arm and sighed. “I remember the exact moment that she died.”
He stilled. “You were there?”
“No. No, of course not. I would explain, yet I fear you will think me silly.”
“Never.”
Eliza closed her eyes. “I was in bed when suddenly, I knew. I cannot explain it, but I believe it to be a phenomenon between twins. I felt her soul pass like a light brush through my body. Whispers ran through my brain, soft whispers that swirled through me. I knew it was goodbye and that Lottie was gone.”
He felt her shiver and reached out to gather her close. “Enough sad thoughts, pigeon. Lest you forget, we have a party to attend. You look delightful, by the way.
He stepped back and placing both hands on her shoulders and examined her from top to toe. Her dress was a quiet, misty green and so pale it provided a glorious contrast with her vivid hair and bright eyes. A frothy confection reminiscent of a spring day, it was in the empire style and trimmed beneath the bosom with slender satin ribbons that trailed down the front of the gown.
Reaching out, he took a frail ribbon in his hands and fingered the tiny satin rose at the end. “Quite lovely, wife.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, giving him a shy glance. “You look—”
“Yes?” he whispered, staring deeply into her eyes.
“I—”
He ached to possess her again. He lowered his head and took her mouth. Her lips, lush and full of promise, parted sweetly in a long-awaited response. Victory was close. He could taste it in her kiss, feel it in the way she melted against him. But perfect moments were not meant to last. A noisy crowd began to gather outside and with reluctance, he ended the kiss.
Eliza glanced away as a bloom of red colored her cheeks. He forced a smile. Lifting the sheer bonnet she would wear, he placed it on her head and neatly tied the satin bow beneath her chin. “Come, love,” he said softly. “Allow me to show off my bride.”
* * * * * * * *
The owner of the Red Bird Inn, a portly man named Deeds, puffed out his chest and studied the crowd of villagers surrounding him. Facing the Duke and Duchess, he lifted his tankard and gave the young couple a gap-toothed grin. “’Ere’s to the new Duke and his bride. May all good fortune fall upon ye’re ’eads!”
A loud chorus of “hurrahs” and laughter surrounded them as Eliza looked up into Nicholas’s smiling face.
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I hope it doesn’t hurt.”
She giggled, unable to help herself, as the entire village of Haverly celebrated their marriage with food, flowers, and kegs of ale. She knew most of them by now since the village boasted only about two hundred souls, most of hard-working, peasant stock.
As the crowd cheered them on, Nicholas laughed heartily and she laughed along with him unable to deny the merriment of the moment. Then, quite suddenly, her husband clasped her beneath her bosom and lifted her high.
Unseemly.
But what fun, she thought as he swirled her in wide circles to the boisterous appreciation of the crowd. Twirling. Twirling to the delight of the happy crowd, she laughed harder than she had on any day since childhood.
As he swung her dizzily to her feet, he caught one of the flowers raining down upon them. Holding it out to her, he grinned and flicked the tip of her nose with a white petal before pressing the daisy into her hand.
“Thank you, gallant knight,” she teased, and he swept her close for a hug.
Yes, she was still hurt and angry, but she had to admit that he was wearing her down with his attentions. He had lied to her, deceived her, but in the living day-to-day, she could not help but notice the sweetness within him. His people loved him, too. A sense of pride filled her at the notion.
Turning in the circle of his arms, she watched the villagers enjoy the lavish countryside surrounding Windmere. Rolling green hills stretched from the mansion to beautifully straight country roads leading down to the village itself. Country people, eager to celebrate their marriage, had turned out in force to offer their welcome.
Blankets spread all around them were littered with plates of food, and children yelled in play in the fields just beyond. The boys and girls cared nothing for the marriage itself, but for the fun to be had. From the house, Nicholas’s servants had brought out plump, comfortable chairs for the elderly and added contributions of food from the Windmere kitchens. Then, they too, joined the festivities.
Eliza sensed it was something that his father would never have done. Since coming here, she had heard much innuendo about the man. It was apparent that he wasn’t held in high regard among the people of Haverly.
“Are you having a good time?” Nicholas asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Oh, yes. This is wonderful. I do not remember having such fun. Have the folk here always been so kind and welcoming?”
“Yes, as I recall,” he said turning solemn. “After my mother died and I reached my majority, I could not leave this place quickly enough. Over the years, I realized how good these people were and missed them, missed this place.”
“Then, why did you leave?”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “Let us hold this discussion for another time. There is much to explain, but I dare not take that lovely smile from your face.”
Holding her by the shoulders, he smiled. “Come, let me escort you to our spot beneath that tree. I shall be your servant and fetch you something cool to drink. Lemonade, perhaps?”
“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed, not wanting to mar his pleasure with sad revelations.
After he settled her upon a bright yellow quilt, he placed a glass of lemonade in her hand. Reaching out to tease the frothy fabric of her dress, he sighed and lifted his fingers to examine the small red curls peeking from beneath her bonnet. “You look attune with nature, my love, in your pretty green dress, though you could never blend into the scenery. You are much, much too lovely.”
Her face heated. Anger was a tiring thing, she realized. She was tired of being estranged, tired of lying alone in her big bed every night. But he still had much to explain. The question remained, was she ready to listen? Then, amid the boisterous celebration, calm settled upon her. Lottie’s face teased the edges of her memory, as a whisper of air blew past, ruffling her skirts. A green leaf fluttered through the air just past her nose and up again to settle on Nicholas’s head. Watching the children play kick ball, he laughed and absently brushed it away.
She felt her sister’s spirit here in this glorious place and without thought, closed her eyes to absorb the sensation of her presence.
Oh, my dear, how I miss you.
Lifting her lids, Eliza felt a whisper of feeling, then the going of it.
How Lottie would have loved this place, she thought, studying clusters of white clouds as they skittered across the pristine, blue sky. Brighton and the seashore were a mere hour’s carriage ride from here. One long ago summer, they’d traveled there with their parents. She and her sister had spent hours splashing around at the water’s edge. They’d merrily plucked shells from the damp sand and placed them in a wicker basket.
As the melancholy remembrance settled softly over her, Eliza glanced up to find Nicholas watching her.
Leaning back against the trunk of an elm, he slowly reached out, oblivious to who might be watching, and brought his arm around her. Pulling her against him, he untied the ribbons of her bonnet and soon the article was tossed aside. “Tell me your thoughts, Eliza. This is the second time today that I’ve felt this sense of wistfulness within you.”
“Nothing dire, I promise. Just remembering, that’s all.”
“Good things, I hope.”
She smiled. “Na
turally. How could anyone’s thoughts be bad on such a day? Everyone here loves you, and they seem so happy that you have returned.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but a small boy brazenly tugged at his coat. The lad had carrot orange curls and riotous freckles upon his impish face. He grinned bravely, showing a serious lack of front teeth. “Does ye want to kick the ball wiff us, Yer Grace? It ain’t so berry hard eben if you is an older gent.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes and stood, towering over the boy, hands on his hips. Gamely, the child stared back, unfazed. With a wink at Eliza, Nicholas drew his coat off and tossed it carelessly aside. “Old, eh? I’ll show you old, you naughty urchin.”
With a wild whoop, he sprang at the boy and grabbed him around the waist. Tucking him neatly under his arm, he turned to Eliza and laughed as the boy squealed and wiggled like a piglet. “Duty calls, wife! I am off to terrorize the children.”
“Be careful, old gent,” she chortled as he dashed off to the field where a number of men had gathered to play with the youngsters.
Moments later, she was surrounded by several women from the village. All were eager to get acquainted with the new duchess and talk turned to various charitable endeavors. She had to admit that it was wonderful to be so totally accepted. She was invited to help organize a clothing collection for the poorest of the village and agreed to join a group of ladies in their reading group. From their giggles and titters, she suspected that a great deal of sherry drinking and gossip was involved.
As the group thinned to only two or three young mothers, she was drawn to cuddle the newest village member. The newborn, tiny and pink, with the sweetest of rosebud lips, tugged gently at her heart. Eliza had never held such a tiny creature and suddenly, quite without warning, the thought of motherhood sank its tender claws into her heart.
The tiny girl’s mouth moved continually, as if blowing kisses, and Eliza’s heart was moved. Her skin prickled with want, with longing.
How could she even think such a thing with everything so chaotic in her life? She and Nicholas barely talked, although she had to admit to a lessening of her anger over the past weeks.
Unable to help herself, she lowered her mouth to the baby’s head and pressed a loving kiss upon it. Her fragrance was pure sweet innocence, and Eliza knew that she would never forget the wholly unique scent. Without warning, a strange feeling of being watched settled over her.
She lifted her head, still cuddling the baby to her breast. The heat of Nicholas’s gaze sent a shiver of longing through her. He simply stood there in the middle of the field of players and stared as riotous laughter ensued around him. It was as if the sight of her holding the tiny creature held him immobile. A child’s shout caused him to finally look away, and she watched as, with a hearty yell, he rejoined the activity.
Gently settling back, the infant in her arms, she imagined him as a father. In her thoughts, he laughed, played, teased. He read nightly fairy tales and carried a squealing child upon his shoulders.
Later, after the mother retrieved her child and left, Eliza reached down and touched her womb. Even now, a babe could be growing there. They had been married almost two months and had loved each other countless times.
Oh, my dear, Lottie, how magical it would be. A babe of my own. How I wish it, but fear it, too. You, love, would have been a perfect mother. But I? I simply do not know.
As the sun began to set, the joyous group made their way back to the village. Mothers had children to calm and put to bed. Others had further drinking to do. Nicholas’s servants, many of whom lived in Haverly, left as well, leaving Nicholas and Eliza alone.
Still on the yellow quilt, he sprawled with his head resting on her lap. The sun dipped below the line of earth and the subtle gray of entering night settled around them. His eyes closed as she let her fingers tangle in his loosened hair.
“Nicholas?” she whispered, fearing he might be asleep.
“Hmm?”
“We must talk. I have been weak and afraid, but I must know everything. This disquiet has gone too long without answers. I cannot bear this wondering any longer. Please talk to me.”
He looked at her. “Ask anything.”
“I wish to know about your father’s will and how you came to choose me. I want to know of your past and what you expect for the future.”
A deep sigh settled in the air as he rubbed a hand over his face. “My father was a bastard. Not by birth, but by nature. As a human being, his heart was foul and completely without merit.”
“I have heard talk, I’m afraid.”
“I am sure you have. He was not popular among the townsfolk. Although he kept plentiful game in the woods and ensured needs were met, Father was not an affectionate man. He distrusted and, perhaps, disliked everyone.”
Eliza’s fingers swept the curve of Nicholas’s jaw. “How did your mother abide him?”
“She loved him. When no one else cared a whit, she loved him. But her affections were never returned. He married her for dynastic reasons, practical reasons. He wanted the family name and connections, the perpetuation of his line. An heir and a spare, if you will. Father was always quick to blame her for having only me, but I never understood why. Even as a young lad, I sensed his neglect of the both of us. He was seldom home, preferring London and its pleasures.”
“Tell me about your mother. You must have loved her very much.”
“I still do, though she is long gone from this world. She was the sweetest of women and always had time for me. I shall always believe that Father’s neglect killed her in the end. Her capacity for love was enormous, but when she became ill, he never came to her side. She had me, of course, and I worshipped her, but Father, damn him to hell, was a womanizer and a self-absorbed rogue. She died crying his name.”
So sad! Eliza felt tears well up and fall down her cheeks. She sniffled.
Nicholas sat up and gave her a horrified look. “Do not cry, love. It was a very long time ago. I’d almost forgotten. Truly.”
“Liar,” she whispered, touching his face. “Sometimes, sir, you break my heart.”
Before he could respond to her statement, a rumble of thunder rolled through the clouds, alerting them to the coming of a summer storm. A crack of lightning followed. Moving quickly, he took her arm and together they raced back to Windmere as the rain began to fall.
Laughing, they tumbled through the foyer, clutching at each other. They looked at the mess they’d made of the entry floor. Then their gazes locked and the smiles faded.
He looked so serious and sad.
Her heart thumped madly in her chest as feelings she’d never felt before trembled just within reach. Her breath caught. Expectation thrummed in the air. She wanted to reach for him, touch the line of his mouth. She wanted to run her fingers through his damp hair and love him as his father never had. This talk of the past hurt him, and she needed to ease the pain if she could.
Slowly, he removed his jacket and draped it over his arm. “You wanted to talk,” he said. “And so we shall. I ordered a supper brought to my room. Please join me.”
Gazing into his eyes, she knew she was lost. It was past time she learned how she fit into the painting that was Nicholas’s life. She drew in a steadying breath, took his arm, and let him lead her upstairs.
Chapter Nineteen
Nicholas quietly turned the latch and looked into Eliza’s room. If she’d imagined the evening ended after dinner in his room, she was mistaken. They’d dined on a cold repast and warm, albeit light, conversation, but now was the time to deal with weightier issues, such as her once again sharing his bed.
She sat before a cheerily dancing fire, dragging a brush through her shining curls. She wore a sheer lawn night rail that lovingly caressed her body. It was a low-cut affair, and the tops of her pale breasts peeking out taunted him mercilessly. His mouth went dry as he ran a damp palm over the brocade of his black brocade dressing gown. Her loveliness made him feel like a callow lad, and he greedily drank in the si
ght of her.
What was she thinking to seem so pensive?
Was she even close to forgiving him at last?
A log sizzled and cracked in the fireplace, and she stilled, leaning closer to examine the shower of sparks flitting about. Shadows danced over her delicate face, lending an air of mystery to her beauty.
He shifted, and as the floor beneath him creaked, she glanced up and straightened. “Nicholas.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Without waiting for an invitation, he came in and closed the door. Tension stole through the room. She wet her lips and clutched the handle of the brush until her knuckles turned white. She was nervous, but he wouldn’t let that keep him from his goal. “Do you mind if I intrude?”
“No.”
He caught his breath at her beauty and steeled himself not to touch. Moving to her side, he settled into a matching armchair by the fire as she proceeded to again drag the brush through her heavy mass of hair. Enchanted, he reached to the table between them and poured a dram of brandy into two glasses. Taking one, he sipped and watched her. “Are you chilled?”
“No.”
He looked down the front of the night rail and noted with pleasure the pearling of her nipples. She lied, he thought, remembering her taste, the puckering hardness of her flesh. Helplessly, he felt his body react.
Tonight, he thought, narrowing his eyes, feeling the hot surge of lust pour through his veins, warming him as brandy never could.
When she stood to replace the brush, he saw the outline of her body backlit by the fire. Slender at the waist, full at breast and hip, she was every man’s dream, but he knew, deep within his heart, that she belonged only to him. The ache within him grew.
Returning to her chair, she began to sit but looked up, surprise on her face, as he took her hand and pulled her into his lap.
Hoping to ease her worries, he smiled. “We shall talk of intimate things, and I would have you close.” He took her glass of brandy from the table and gave it to her. “Is that acceptable?”
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