Under A Duke's Hand

by Annabel Joseph

  Oh, how Gwen wished for happiness. If only it didn’t seem such a great distance away.

  * * * * *

  Aidan walked through the rain to the stables, cursing under his breath at the weather. Their dinner party was to take place tomorrow, and the heavens had seen fit to send down a mixture of ice and rain.

  You cannot control everything.

  He was coming to understand that. He could not control sunny skies or callous gossip, or his friends’ good-natured meddling. He could not control his feelings toward his wife. He could not tame his emotions into neatness or reason, and the more his friends goaded him, the less self-assured he felt.

  He opened the door and walked within the dim interior, down the row of stalls to the one at the back. Eira lifted her head at his approach. “Hello, pretty girl,” he whispered, stroking her forehead. “Have you seen my wife? I thought she might be here.”

  Had he been reduced to conversing with horses, then? Things were no better than before his friends appeared. There was only more pressure, and an ever-present shame that they did not rub along so comfortably as the other couples. When he tried to behave comfortably toward her, it always went wrong, or felt awkward. He’d grow embarrassed, which in turn made him angry, and he didn’t want to be angry with her. None of this was her fault. It wasn’t her fault that her father had petitioned the king, who had then requested them to marry. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t at home here.

  He heard a sound above, in the hayloft. Was she hiding from the chattering ladies, or from him? He climbed the ladder and found her curled against the back wall, under the window.

  “You’re going to get wet,” he said. “You’ll take a chill, and you won’t be able to go to the party tomorrow.”

  She looked almost hopeful at that. “It’s not wet here,” she said. “Your stable doesn’t leak, or your windows.”

  “I thought you’d be down with your horse.” He walked over, brushed away a bit of straw, and sat on the boards beside her.

  “I visited Eira for a while, then I came up here to listen to the rain.” She tilted her head. “You can’t hear it in the house when it rains. I miss the sound of it. I always heard it when it rained at home.”

  His lips tightened. Not her fault. “Still miss home, do you?”

  “I miss some things about it. I miss the hayloft.” A smile flitted across her lips. “I used to play with my cousin there. Tilda and I would make dolls out of straw, and sew clothes for them. We played the most imaginative games.” She shrugged and turned to him. “Are the ladies looking for me again? I’m sorry. It’s only that I need a break from them now and again.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said ruefully. “It’s the same with my fellows. They mean well, as overbearing as they are.”

  “I know. I don’t wish to hurt their feelings when they’ve been so kind to us.”

  “I don’t think they are hurt. I think they are concerned.” He picked up a bit of straw and split it into pieces. “They wish us to be happy. They want this party to be a success.”

  “They say everyone will want to come see me. Am I such an exotic creature?”

  He looked over at her in the loft’s dim light. “Yes, you are.” How beautiful she was, and how unknowable, and sad. He reached to trace a lock of her hair, as blue-black as Eira was snowy.

  “Why haven’t you come back to my bed?” she asked.

  He let the bit of hair go. “I don’t want to trouble you while the ladies are here,” he lied. The truth was, he didn’t trust himself. The more frustrated he got, the more he feared hurting her again, holding her down, taunting her, using her in ways no man ought to use his wife.

  He wanted to have a good relationship with her, like his friends had with their wives. If only it was as easy as doing some particular thing, or saying some particular right words, but he didn’t know what those words were. “Sometimes I think about that afternoon in the meadow,” he said quietly. “I wish we could always be those people, Jack and Rose, flirting together without a care in the world.”

  “I had a care in that meadow,” she said. “I was to marry a duke the day after the morrow. A man I’d never met.”

  He frowned at her grim tone. “So you were.”

  “And you were to marry me. You didn’t even care.”

  “I hadn’t met you yet,” he said in his defense.

  She looked away from him, at the rain pelting the glass. “You speak of that time in the meadow as if it was a pleasant thing, but you took advantage of me. You thought me someone of no consequence, and so you toyed with me, and manipulated me into doing inappropriate things.”

  He did not remember it that way at all. He remembered bright sun, charming kisses, and her dark hair blowing in the breeze. “I wouldn’t say I toyed with you.”

  “I felt toyed with, afterward. You lied to me in that meadow, and played me for a fool.”

  “You lied to me too. You said your name was Rose, that you had a beau named Tommy. You made up any number of falsehoods.”

  “Between the two of us, you were more false.”

  The depth of her hurt surprised him. “I made you feel good that day,” he said. “There was nothing I did to you that you didn’t heartily enjoy.”

  “You believed you had a right to flirt with me, and kiss me, even spank me on my bare bottom. Because you are a duke, you believe you can do anything that suits your fancy, no matter who’s harmed.”

  “I didn’t harm you.” He let out a sharp breath and threw up his hands. “No matter how I come to you, we end up in an argument. No matter how pleasant I intend to be, you make me want to snap off your head. I loved our time in that meadow,” he said with injured passion. “I’m sorry you don’t agree.”

  “You will not understand,” she said, curling her body away from his. “You’ll never understand. You don’t even hear me when I say things. You only hear what you believe is true.”

  “What do you want? An apology?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I flirted with you that day, and kissed you. I’m sorry I spanked you, no matter if it made you excited.”

  “I wish you would not talk about that time in the meadow ever again,” she said. “I wish we could forget it.”

  “Why would I want to forget it? It’s the only damned time in our godforsaken history that we ever got along.” He stood with a grunt of irritation. “Very well. I will leave you to your solitude. Perhaps, with the way things go, it would be better if we never tried to talk.”

  “Perhaps it would be.”

  He went to the ladder and climbed down, trying to convince himself the tears in her eyes hadn’t mattered. She cried all the time, about everything, him most of all. He was damned tired of being painted as her tormentor, the evil duke, when all he ever wished in life was a happy and respectable marriage. He wouldn’t talk to her or go to her bed, if that’s what she wanted. There were plenty of other women who would be ecstatic to accommodate him. Once his friends left, he’d send Gwen to the country for the rest of the winter, and go on about his life however he intended.

  As long as she had her damned horse for company, he doubted she’d even care.

  Chapter Fourteen: Christmas Dinner

  Gwen went downstairs at the appointed hour, in the festive red gown and matching jewels the ladies and Pascale had advised her to wear. She stood at her husband’s side with the appropriate smile and greeted the guests for the dinner party, two dozen or more persons, not counting his friends and their wives.

  Arlington had no kind words for her, but he was all smiles for the guests, and she understood that she was to be all smiles too. This world was their stage, and she had to play her part, or he might punish her again in some horribly painful and sexually depraved way.

  Minette, Aurelia, and Josephine had certainly done a laudable job with the planning. The ballroom and dining hall were festooned in greenery, ribbons, and hundreds of candles, and holly decorated each place setting. The company was jovial and the musicians
were splendid, playing carol after carol in honor of the season. Even the cold and ice outside couldn’t dampen the celebratory atmosphere.

  Christmas was but a week away. If she was home in Wales, she would be relaxing before the fire with her family, enjoying merriment and conversation. She’d be chattering with Tilda and playing with her young nieces and nephews, and looking forward to the cook’s special Christmas pudding. She would not be in this stiff velvet gown pretending to be a happy duchess. She felt so alone.

  The duke, on the other hand, was surrounded by friends and admirers. He looked striking as ever, and was so good at his role. Why couldn’t she be shining and confident like him? What if all the discord between them was her failing? If you were prettier, wealthier, with better breeding... It was the same thing she had said to herself in Wales, when no one would offer her marriage. Now she was married and wished nothing more than to go back to Wales.

  “Come, Gwen,” said Minette, as Josephine and Aurelia flanked her on either side. “You cannot hide here in the corner. You must walk about and speak to your guests.”

  “But I’ve already forgotten their names,” she said, pushing down panic.

  “Stick with us,” said Aurelia. “We know all their names. And half of them are active gossips, so once you impress upon them that things are lovely in the Arlington household, it will put all the whispers to rest.”

  “You look beautiful tonight,” Josephine murmured, “so lift up your chin and smile.”

  Gwen tried to smile, she really did, but she felt so scrutinized. Ladies and gentlemen nodded to her and asked her questions, all of which were a variation on “Aren’t you so very lucky to have married the duke?” She wondered if those couples had love in their marriages. The duke told her that society disdained love, that it was a common pursuit reserved for the lower classes. She watched Arlington, tall and strong and handsome, as he conversed with some of the guests.

  I love you, she thought, looking hard at him. I love you, I love you. She wanted to love him, even if it was common or coarse. If she could go back to the meadow and pray again to the vague heavens, that was what she would beg for. Accord. Understanding.

  Love.

  They went in to dinner and Gwen tried to be merry. She sat near Minette, who was cheerful all hours of the day. She and Aurelia were both going to have babies in the new year. Gwen wondered if she would too. Her appetite fled at the thought of bearing the duke’s child. Then he wouldn’t only criticize her as a wife, but as a mother. She wouldn’t be able to bear it. She glanced up to the head of the table and caught his eye.

  He stared back at her with an inscrutable gaze. He was not thinking that he loved her, that was for sure.

  “Gwen,” said Minette, leaning close to her. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you having fun?”

  “Oh, yes, I am,” Gwen replied, forcing a smile. But she wasn’t. She was thinking how horribly lonely it was, to be looked at in that distant, detached way. Maybe love didn’t matter to the upper crust, but it mattered to her. Arlington’s physical attentions weren’t enough. His title and his protection weren’t enough either. Her heart cried out for something deeper. Please love me.

  Stupid girl. He would love you by now if you were good enough.

  Lonely, so lonely, while all around her, animated couples laughed and chattered about the holidays. Their easy voices rose and fell, but she didn’t know what to say. She hated the woman seated beside Arlington, because she spoke so easily to him and made him smile.

  Gwen tried to eat, but she couldn’t swallow past the tension in her throat, and the food on her plate began to blur. Oh, no. She could not cry, not after all their work to plan this party and show how happily married they were. Minette watched her, so sincere, so troubled that Gwen might be troubled.

  “What is it, dear?” asked Minette, taking her hand.

  “I wonder if I’m not feeling quite well. My head’s begun to hurt.”

  The first tears fell. She wiped them away as quickly and furtively as she was able, but more rose in their place. The loud-mouthed gentleman across the table stopped talking and stared at her. She heard two ladies whispering as she swiped at her cheeks.

  “I think I...”

  Minette gazed at her with such tenderness. “Perhaps the music is too loud.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Let’s go and find you a quiet place to rest.” Minette hustled her up and out of the room, assuring the others it was only a bit of headache. Arlington followed after, his expression one of dark concern.

  * * * * *

  Aidan had reached the limits of his patience. Who cried at a holiday party in one’s own house? In front of thirty-odd dinner guests? He burst into her chambers. Minette was comforting his weeping wife, murmuring to her and patting her arm.

  “Minette, please,” he said. “Don’t make a fuss. Go downstairs and rejoin the guests, and assure them everything is all right. We’ll be down in a moment.”

  She looked sideways at his wife. “Gwen is very upset.”

  “My wife and I are going to talk about things,” he said in as steady a voice as he could muster. “If you would allow us some privacy.”

  “Of course,” said Minette. “I’ll tell everyone you’ll be back shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  She cast one last concerned glance at her friend and let herself out, shutting the door.

  Aidan crossed to sit beside Gwen. “Whatever’s the matter?” he asked gruffly as she sniffled into her handkerchief. “You realize you’re making a muck of this party. If you want to cry, you can do it later, for as long as you want.”

  “Don’t you even care why I’m sad?”

  “I know why you’re sad,” he snapped. “Because you’re unhappy, because you don’t like it here, because you can’t hear the rain on the roof or some such nonsense. There are children starving in London, you know. Men and women dying in the streets of violence and disease. There are families freezing in this unseasonable weather. What a spoiled, sniveling piece of work you are.”

  This only made her cry harder. She ought to cry. She had stolen his peace of mind this past few weeks, made him a miserable man in his own house.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “You will dry your tears, go back downstairs among our guests, and do your goddamned duty.”

  “I can’t,” she said, covering her face with the handkerchief.

  He took it from her and mopped the tears from her cheeks. “You will. You’re the Duchess of Arlington and you owe it to me. You’re wearing the gown I bought you, the shoes, the damned rubies around your neck. You have responsibilities which I will not allow you to shirk. You will go downstairs and pretend that you are eminently happy.”

  She pushed away from him and took to her feet. “No, I will not! I am not happy. I am miserable here. You can give me a thousand gowns and a million jewels and I’d still be miserable because you have no heart.”

  She was shouting at him. He knew how to shout too. “I have no heart? What about you? You antagonize me in every way possible, and delight in making me look like a villain. You delight in humiliating me.”

  “I most certainly do not.”

  “You’ve embarrassed me repeatedly before my friends, before the king, before those guests downstairs. I can’t guess why, except that you hate me.”

  “No.” She shook her head, pacing to the window. “You are the one who humiliates me. You have no care for me unless I’m in a bed, or your perverse Greek temple.”

  “That is not true.”

  “You do what you must to keep up the appearance of a happy marriage. But you have never thought me proper, or worthy of your vaunted hand.”

  “You don’t act worthy,” he retorted. “You act like a petty brat the majority of the time. You say I keep up appearances...what did you think marriage was about?”

  “Love!” She burst into tears again. “Marriage is supposed to be about love.”

  “Oh, now we’re going to go on ab
out love again. I suppose you wish you had married some bloody farmhand back in Cairwyn.”

  “I do wish it, if he would have loved me,” she cried.

  “And you could have cooked and cleaned all day, and dropped his brats, and swept the hearth in his shambling cottage, wearing threadbare rags. Of course, all women dream of such a life.”

  “They do, if they are loved.”

  He crossed to her and took her arms. “You say you want love, but you offer me no respect. You have crossed me from the beginning, from the inn the night after we wed. Oh, he wants me to eat this duck. But I won’t, because that’s what he wants. Never mind that it’s just a piece of fucking duck that any normal person would eat without thinking. Everything has to be a fight with you.” He gave her a little shake. “If you want me to love you, Guinevere, stop being so hateful. Our marriage was not my fault.”

  “But you blame me,” she said. “You blame me for not being up to snuff. That night at the inn, you looked at me as if I were something you’d found on the bottom of your boot.”

  “I looked at you like a wife whom I did not know, and did not understand. I still don’t understand you. I don’t know how to make you happy. I don’t know how to make you smiling and content. I don’t know how to convince you that I mean you no harm.”

  “Meaning no harm is not the same as loving someone. And I know you’ll never love me.”

  “So you’ll live a whole life unfulfilled, is that it?”

  “Yes.” She swiped a hand across her damp cheeks. “It makes me desperately sad.”

  “Your nonsense makes me sad,” he said, walking away from her. “Please collect your wits so we can return to the party and salvage what we can of this debacle.”

  She stood where she was, her hands clasped in front of her skirts. “I’m not going back to that party with you.”

  He glared at her, feeling helpless frustration and rage. “What if I say I love you? What if I really, really pretend I mean it?”