The Duke's Inconvenient Bride (Regency Romance)

by Eva Grace

  Catherine herself let go a disgruntled sigh at his attitude and she felt her ire rise within —a dangerous thing, especially in so confined a space as a carriage. "I'm aware of your transgressions, reputation and your inability to keep your breeches buttoned for longer than it takes to finish a glass of brandy --"

  "Easy now --"

  "But that doesn't really answer the question as to why you have never wed. To be fair, most men make a bad habit of marrying for the convenience of securing an heir, knowing full well that they're perfectly entitled to stray --"

  "That's fair?"

  "But not you," she continued, ignoring his interjection. "I was just curious as to why? A man like yourself with a title and line to preserve —who could have had his choice of any woman. It's odd, is it not?"

  Almost immediately, Catherine could tell that she had struck a nerve as the atmosphere in the carriage pivoted from the somewhat cordial space it had been when they had first started talking, to a far more serious, almost morose space. But it didn't feel like she had crossed a line, or that Albright was angry at her for the question. Rather it seemed to have caught him off guard, and that the more he pondered on the answer, the more surprised he became with what he found.

  "I suppose..." he bit his lip, his knee bobbing up and down as he tried to come up with a way to best answer the question. "I know myself well enough to know that no matter who I were wed to, I would never be able to remain faithful."

  "And that concerns you?" Catherine pushed, curious in the way that such a simple and obvious answer had affected him. His handsome face looked almost pained, and for the first time she noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Perhaps their faux marriage had affected him in deeper a manner than his blase attitude had let on?

  "It doesn't concern me," he said seriously, meeting Catherine's eyes. "I just don't think it fair to force a lady into a marriage that is only going to hurt her."

  No more was said on the matter as the way that Albright turned his body – crossing his arms and legs both – as he looked out the window and away from Catherine, suggested he was finished with the conversation. But for Catherine, this didn't matter. Already she was starting to view her new husband in a slightly different, albeit still clouded, light.

  She had always assumed him to be the sort who bedded women without care or remorse for how it might affect them. In fact, she had always assumed him to be incapable of even the simplest of human emotions like compassion or care. But now she saw that perhaps, beneath his brutish exterior, the Duke of Albright had a soft spot hidden away.

  So deeply hidden, it is barely there, she thought a little wryly, but still she felt heartened.

  It was only a small step taken on the path toward building some sort of civil relationship with the man who was now her husband - but it was a step in the right direction.

  It was over a day later when Raff and Catherine arrived at Witchford Hall,his family's small estate in Norfolk. Raff had spent much of his childhood at Witchford and the feelings he felt toward the place were mixed, to say the least.

  On one hand, there was no denying that the house itself and the land that it sat upon were nothing short of breathtaking. The grounds surrounding the estate were comprised entirely of sweeping, dark moorland that ran as far as the eye could see, before the horizon disappeared into the wide expanse of cloud filled sky. The surrounds gave the estate an isolated, almost wild, feeling that in turn always managed to inspire a sense of wonder in him, no matter how wretched he felt. Which, during his childhood stays there, had been quite often.

  The Manor dated back to Elizabethan times and was built from honey-hued Ham Hill stone that the eccentric third Duke of Albright had transported across England from Somerset - nearly bankrupting the Ducal Seat in the process. The main facade of the house had so many mullioned windows that it gave the impression that the whole first floor was made from glass, while the upper two stories took on a more Gothic feel, with extravagant gables and turrets.

  Yes, Witchford Hall was a near perfect example of the type of house that money and power could build, though even Raff was beginning to admit that it was a rather poor choice of destination for two newlyweds.

  Now, peering out the window of the carriage as the manor came closer and closer, Raff felt the familiar sense of foreboding that was always brought about whenever he first dared a glance at the house.

  What ever possessed me to take her here, he thought, casting a glance a his fatigued looking new wife. He knew that there was only a small chance that he might find a detached sort of happiness with Catherine, but that chance would diminish even further the moment the carriage turned into the driveway of Witchford Hall.

  It was to do with the ghost of his father, of course, who was still haunting him all these years later. Raff and his mother had been forced to visit Norfolk regularly at father's command, and for some reason whenever they were there, his father saw the need to drink in excess and treat both he and his mother like swine. Just the thought of some of the things his father used to do when he was in his cups, and the things he then would say, sent a cold shiver down Raff's spine.

  The Fifth Duke had had a rather unique way with words.

  "What do you think?" Raff asked Catherine as a means to pull his mind from these most horrid of memories. He nodded out the window and toward the manor, which loomed dark against the sky.

  "It's lovely," she said quietly, barely even looking out the window.

  Raff had been surreptitiously watching her for the two days that they had spent cooped up in the carriage, and he was still at odds to decide exactly how it was that he felt about his new bride. Oh, there was no love there, that wasn't a concern. But he was still at pains to decide if he actually liked her, or if he could ever grow to like her.

  When he had first seen her on the morning of the wedding, floating toward him, he had been momentarily struck by her beauty. Caught off guard by how pure and angelic she had looked, he had forced himself to blink to reassure himself it was the same woman. Her red hair had been tied back, her skin flawless and her dress shad accentuated her womanly figure. In that moment, and for the first and only time, he had felt desires toward his wife to be.

  But this had been a momentary feeling at best. The more he ruminated on the unfortunate circumstances in which they were forced to wed, the more he came forced himself to remember that this was the same woman with whom he had been so unimpressed with upon their first meeting; plain, simple and a little dull.

  What sparked a slight interest in him, however hard he tried to fight it, was the fire that so clearly raged inside of her. She worked hard to contained it, she tried oh so much to keep it at bay, but every now and then, when she was feeling particularity temperamental, that fire would come to the fore. He could not say for certain if he truly liked this zest, but at least it implied that married life might not be as boring as he had originally presumed.

  "Just lovely?" he pushed playfully, trying his best to again get Catherine to react in a manner other than apathy.

  Her eyes met his, glaring daggers before looking away. "It really is something," she said more slowly, with a touch more venom.

  He chuckled at this reaction, content to let it lay as the carriage came closer and closer to their new home. In truth, a part of him did feel a touch guilty over what had happened. No doubt she would have given anything to not be married to a rake such as he. But having said that, he was a victim here as much as she and thus he found it in himself to not feel too bad for her.

  I am a Duke, he reasoned churlishly, I have made her a Duchess —she has hardly been condemned to Bedlam. Even if she is not to blame, she out of both of us, has stood to gain the most.

  There were others apart from Catherine to blame for his current predicament, he knew, and they would surely pay —of that there was to be no doubt. But they could wait, for now.

  It was nearing midnight by the time the carriage drew to a halt in the cloistered entrance yard of the house,
but as expected, the house-staff stood to attendance, lined-up and waiting to greet their new Duchess.

  "After you," Raff offered, indicating for Catherine to step out first as a footman opened the door.

  She smiled pleasantly as she moved forward and climbed down from the carriage. Raff joined her a moment later and as he did, he took her by the arm, linking his with hers. This act of intimacy seemed to catch Catherine off guard, as she jumped slightly at his touch. But when she saw that he was merely being solicitous in front of the servants, she nodded to herself and allowed for him to lead.

  They had discussed earlier that they would put up a united front when first meeting the staff. House-servants gossipped with more verve than fishwives – they also had somewhat of a network among the other servants of estates across the country and it wouldn't do for word to spread about the true nature of this marriage.

  As such, Raff walked by his new wife's side, arm linked in hers, as he greeted the dozen or so staff members retained in the manor, who had all worked for his family for as long as he could remember.

  "... and this is Jonathan," Raff finished at the end of the line, introducing Catherine to the elderly Butler of the house, who Raff felt had been a part of Witchford Hall since time began. "He is the beating heart of this place. If you need anything, anything at all, I am sure that Jonathan will be only too delighted to acquire it for you. Isn't that right, old chap?"

  "I have been known to crawl across hot coals at the behest of the Duke, Your Grace and I will be honoured to do the same for you," Jonathan responded in a grave manner, that Raff hoped Catherine would understand was a jest. He had an undeserved reputation as a hard task-master —it wouldn't do for his new wife to think he subjected the servants to Biblical style torture.

  Jonathan was a stoic, elderly man whose age was generally thought to be a mystery. Raff put it on the latter side of seventy, though he had also believed this to be the case when he was just a lad. The butler had seemed positively ancient to him then, but then so had his father who, now that he thought on it, had been the same age as Raff was now.

  With a bent back, a kind face, a shock of grey hair and big curious eyes, Jonathan always cut somewhat of a grandfather figure to Raff, and it was such the case that he almost saw him as such. He was sure that come time, Catherine would feel the same way. If Witchford Hall and its surrounds were bleak and inhospitable, at least the staff could be counted upon to make the new Duchess feel at home.

  "Will it be straight to bed tonight, Your Grace?" Jonathan asked. "We've had the Ducal Apartments made up of course, in preparation for your arrival."

  "If it weren't for the fact that you were already overpaid, Jonathan, I'd give you a raise." Raff slapped the elderly butler on the back, marvelling at the fact that the old man didn't so much as budge under the weight of his hand. He would most likely outlive them all.

  "Catherine, my love," he started, unlinking his arm from that of his wife's as he turned to face her. When he did he gripped both her arms just above the elbows; holding her as a loving husband would. "One of the staff will escort you to our chambers."

  "Oh, you're not coming?" she actually sounded a little hopeful, her voice raising on the end of the question.

  "In due time. I need a private word with Jonathan first." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Be a good girl and hurry along will you?"

  "Of course... my love." The word love was dripping in sarcasm and for a moment Raff considered chastising her for being so obvious, but then he remembered that the eyes of the twelve staff were watching them. So instead he smiled sweetly and waved her on her way —he would have words with her later, he thought.

  Raff remained out in the courtyard of the manor, watching as the remaining staff and his new wife disappeared inside. Only when they were out of sight did he turn back to face Jonathan, letting go a deep sigh of relief as he did.

  "My sincerest congratulations, Your Grace," Jonathan said with a slight tremor to his voice. "If you will forgive me for saying so, you have made an excellent choice in your new Duchess."

  "She is a fine woman," Raff replied dismissively, eager to be inside with a glass of brandy in hand —it had been a long journey. "If I may ask Jonathan, I have a task for you and it is one that is to remain strictly between the two of us. Do you understand?"

  "Of course, Your Grace."

  "Good. Now, as much as I love my dear wife, and that I do, there will be a time where I will be... how can I best put this? Where I will be out of the house for long expanses of time. When that is the case, I need you to keep an eye on her."

  "Spy, you mean?" Jonathan didn't seem at all put out by the request, which wasn't surprising considering the things that Raff's father would have had him do back in the day.

  "Heaven's no," Raff said, exaggerating his shock in the implication. "Merely make sure that where she goes,someone is with her. The moors are no place for any lady to traverse alone, though I rather think my new wife won't see it that way. Her Grace is quite headstrong and impulsive —I won't have her disappearing into the fog if she decides to take a walk one evening. Not least because the entire ton will think I have done away with her."

  "As you wish, Your Grace," Johnathan responded without a smile or a flourish. His tone was calm, bland and free of judgement or implication. The perfect butler.

  Raff smiled warmly, reaching out and giving Johnathan a friendly slap on the arm. "I knew I could count on you. Now, I think it's time I retire."

  And with that sorted, and his mind put slightly to ease, Raff made his way inside of the manor and toward the library where he intended to have a large glass of brandy before retiring to his bedchamber. It had been a very long day and he could not wait to get some sleep... and only sleep.

  *****

  By far, the thing that Raff enjoyed the most about being back on the Norfolk estate, were the open tracks of land that surrounded the Manor on all sides. Sweeping moorland as far as they eye could see, meant that he was able to take his stallion for a ride, and really open him up.

  Living in London was wonderful for certain things – one thing in particular came to mind – but it was less than optimal when it came to riding. A trot or a canter was the most one could hope for, and although this was perfectly acceptable for getting to and fro, there was no real thrill in it.

  As Raff pushed his stallion across the flat moorland of the estate, leaning down close to the stead's back, really driving his knees into its side to urge it to go faster and faster, he couldn't believe how much he had missed it.

  It was the freedom that he relished the most. He could urge his horse in any direction he wished, close his eyes and run at full pelt for as long as his heart desired. It was a freedom that wasn't felt in any other aspect of his life either; not during the suffocating throes of social obligations, to the wedding that he had been forced into. No, it was a freedom that he took great pleasure in enjoying, for he knew not when he would experience it again.

  And as he rode, as he galloped, and as he steered his steed, it was his unexpected betrothal and the wife who was forced upon him in the more egregious of manners, that occupied his thoughts the most.

  He hadn't even tried to take his wife to bed the previous night, despite the fact that they now occupied their Ducal apartments, rather than a coaching inn, as they had on their actual wedding night. When he had arrived at the door of the Duchess's Suite, Catherine had already been in bed, curled up beneath the covers, eyes closed up nice and tight. He was sure she was still awake, merely faking a deep slumber as a means to avoid the marital obligations of a new bride.

  Although it hadn't been discussed, she really should have known better. Despite the fact that he found her reasonably attractive, and despite the fact that they were now married and it was his right as man and husband to have her, he was never going to take her by force. To do so would be an insult not only to her, but to him —who had never found any of his partners unwilling— not to mention the risk siring a
child, and that he could not have.

  Rather he would go without for a week. And then, once Catherine was properly and adequately ensconced within the manor and used to her new life, he would go back to London and leave her be. He knew that he had promised her the freedom to do whatever she so pleased, he had just failed to mention that this freedom would be contained to Norfolk. He didn't want a wife interrupting the bachelor lifestyle he had spent years perfecting in town.

  He had thought long and hard about this too and had come to the conclusion that it was for the best. Some men relished the country life, the chance to start a family and live in peace and quiet. But that wasn't Raff... that wasn't even close to Raff. The marriage was a sham, so why pretend otherwise? He would move back to London and live there, and if anyone was to ask why his wife wasn't by his side, he would lie.

  It was his knowledge in this future plan, and only this, that got him through his second morning as a not-so-happily married man.

  With a dense fog still hanging in the air as he rode, Raff was surprised to see just how early it was when he arrived back at the manor after he was finished. He had left at sunrise, sneaking from his rooms like a thief in the night, careful not to make a sound. The last thing he needed was Catherine waking in the adjoining room and questioning him about where he was off to.

  In all likelihood, she would have been thrilled to wake and find him gone. No doubt her idea of a capital time wasn't one spent in his presence, so why pretend otherwise?

  But as Raff led his stallion into the stables located at the back of the house, he made a mental note to check with Jonathan as to what Catherine had been doing all morning as a means to fill in her time. He wasn't going to be spending his with her, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious as to what she was doing with her own.

  To his surprise, he found Catherine alone in the entrance hall as he made his way inside. She was standing on the bottom step of the deep mahogany staircase, staring up at the family portraits that adorned the wall above.