by Jane Goodger
“It hurts. My God, it hurts,” she whispered, hugging herself and rocking. She knew one thing, she never wanted to hurt like this again. Never.
Chapter 19
It was strange that when Elizabeth, the new Duchess of Bellingham, stepped from their carriage, she felt much like she imagined she would all those months ago when she’d agreed to marry the duke. She was completely overwhelmed and more than a little frightened by what lay ahead. Bellewood, from first appearances, was the most elaborate and beautiful private palace she had ever seen. It was almost ridiculously grand, making their Newport cottage look like an outbuilding in comparison. Nothing had prepared her for the grandeur, the immense size, of Bellewood. Her first reaction when she stepped out was to let out a small giggle. She turned to share her feelings with Rand, but he swept past her, staring at the palace with the oddest expression.
The center of the baroque building was dominated by a huge portico with six grand columns. Two wings stretched out from the main hall in an ominous embrace of granite and mullioned windows. It was a blustery, cold day, but Elizabeth, who was finally feeling more herself, did not care as she stared at the manse that would be her home. For all its massive grandeur, a closer look revealed that the palace was in disrepair, the grounds neglected. Even the long winding drive leading to the palace had been rutted and lined with rather sick-looking trees. It was obvious that not a penny had been spent on Bellewood in years.
“This is where you grew up?” Elizabeth asked, trying to picture a little boy running about.
“I used to get lost, all the time,” he said, staring at the palace. “You can see, it needs repair. I’m afraid most of the servants have been let go. I’ve only a butler, cook, house keeper, and a handful of servants. I know you’re used to more.” She watched as the muscle in his jaw bunched.
“This is plenty,” she said, referring to the vastness of the building. Though she would never say so, she found the palace completely uninviting.
He turned to her. “My first priority, as I’ve said, is to help my tenants. I’m afraid conditions here are not what you are used to.” The wind buffeted his hair and drove his collar up against his neck, making him look much as she’d pictured Heathcliff in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, angry, masculine, and unapproachable.
“You’ve told me about the heat. A nice big fire will be fine,” Elizabeth said, trying to be cheerful.
“There is almost no furniture. It’s filthy. The grounds are in ruin.”
“You’ve told me this,” she said, getting impatient.
She wanted to simply go in and have her things un packed. Perhaps having a nice warm bath would be lovely and then she’d crawl into bed. She was feeling better after their ten-day sea trip, but she was still weak from what she’d gone through.
“If I had a choice, I would not bring a bride here,” he said, his eyes still on the palace.
It was such a ridiculous statement, Elizabeth almost laughed. In front of her was perhaps the grandest palace in England, but for Buckingham Palace. If it needed a bit of sprucing up, well, a bit of dust wouldn’t hurt her. “Where would you bring her?”
“Anywhere else.”
Rand took one step toward the entry, and the massive door swung open to reveal perhaps ten servants waiting inside, lined up like a small troop of soldiers bundled against the cold. The damn place had always been difficult to keep warm, even when there had been funds to do so. The list of things facing him was overwhelming, and would have to start with such basic things as ordering coal and hiring servants. He certainly couldn’t expect someone who had grown up in the luxury Elizabeth had to huddle by a fire for warmth. No doubt she’d never lived in a home without central heating or a toilet and bath for each bedroom. No doubt she was wishing she was anywhere else at the moment but standing in front of this broken-down mausoleum. But Rand had nowhere else to go and the great responsibility of bringing back the estate to its former grandeur weighed heavily. But all that would have to wait until the tenants’ homes had been completely refurbished. It would likely be years before the palace was the way he wanted it. Again, he found himself humiliated with the knowledge that the woman standing next to him meant the difference between vast wealth and complete ruin. He’d thought he’d gotten used to the idea, but standing at his family’s estate, he fiercely felt the shame of what had become of Bellewood.
“Your Graces,” a man in a formal black suit said, bowing. Those servants in line bowed or curtsied, deep and low.
“Tisbury,” he said in greeting, looking about the massive and quite empty entry hall. The private apartments on the southern wing were far more homey than this, which at one time had been opened for passing tourists. Now, the tourists would have nothing to see but a great amount of marble and dust. The contrast between Bellewood and Elizabeth’s finely decorated homes was quite glaring, and he dared a look at her to gauge her reaction. She stood next to him, smiling at the servants, looking amazingly uncertain for a girl who had been drilled from birth for such a life.
“We have had a difficult journey, particularly Her Grace. I pray her room is ready and a fire lit.”
“Yes, Your Grace. We’ve done what we could do to make your apartments comfortable.”
“If you please, Your Grace,” a maid said, dipping a curtsy in front of Elizabeth that would have looked far finer if she hadn’t been wearing two thick sweaters over her uniform. “I will show you to your rooms.”
Rand could feel Elizabeth looking at him, but he let her go without a word. The last time he had held her had been on the ship when she had been so very ill. He had told her he did not hate her, and that was true enough. But nor could he allow himself to love her, as he so foolishly had. Every time he thought of making love to her, every time he’d kissed her neck, he’d touched that necklace, and she had known it was there, giving her comfort so that she could bear his touch when she obviously longed for another.
Rand would be a good husband. He would make certain they had an heir. He would work himself into exhaustion to make Bellewood as beautiful as she ought to be and his tenants well off and happy. But he would never allow his heart to be willingly given to Elizabeth. At least he prayed to God he would not. Even now, as she walked away, bewildered and probably a bit frightened, a small part of him called out for him to go to her, to comfort her, to let her know everything would be all right.
“We have much to do in the next few days, Tisbury.
Including hiring enough servants to take care of Bellewood as she deserves.”
The servants cheered at that news. They’d likely worn themselves into a frazzle knowing the duke was arriving with his new duchess. “Mrs. Stevens, you have my permission to hire your staff as you see fit. Enough to care for the main public rooms and the south wing.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the woman said happily. She’d been with the family for fifteen years, and had been heartbroken when she’d been forced to let go of most of her staff.
“If you could direct someone to bring in our luggage, I believe it has arrived behind us.”
“Dinner at eight, Your Grace?”
Rand smiled. Even with such commotion, there were some things that had to remain constant, and one of those was dinner at eight. “Yes, Mrs. Stevens. I’m looking forward to some fine English cooking.”
Elizabeth followed the maid, feeling a bone-deep chill in the long hallway that a dozen fires could not change. When she was a girl, her father had brought her to an ice barn in the middle of June, and she had marveled at how cold it was inside. That was how cold it was inside Bellewood. She still wore her long coat and muff and realized why no servant had come forward to take them.
“Should be a bit warmer in your room, Your Grace. We’ve had a fire blazing all day,” the maid said in an accent that was difficult for Elizabeth to understand. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor that was completely unadorned by carpets. Finally, the maid paused and opened a set of towering French doors. “This is the private
dining hall,” she said. She nodded to a door on the left. “His Grace’s rooms are there.” She moved to a door opposite and separated from Rand’s by the large dining room. “These are your rooms, Your Grace,” she said, opening the door to reveal a wonderful blast of warm air.
“Oh, it’s so warm,” Elizabeth gushed, immediately going to a large, ornate fireplace where a fire merrily danced. “I feel as though I haven’t been warm in ages.”
“Yes, Your Grace. The porters will be bringing you your things shortly. Dinner will be served at eight.” With that, the maid curtsied and left.
Elizabeth stared at the fire a moment before turning to survey her new rooms, letting out a small “oh” when she finally comprehended what her eyes were seeing. It was a perfectly lovely room, nicely lit by floor-to-ceiling windows that even now rattled a bit from the wind outside. But the room, as large and lovely as it was, contained only three pieces of furniture: a large wardrobe, a bed, and a washstand. Elizabeth eyed the washstand with a bit of amused disappointment. Her rooms back in Newport and New York had a private bath with a flushing toilet, a wonderful round tub with hot and cold running water, and a basin. Seeing a room off to the side, Elizabeth hurried over, struck by how cold the room got once she was away from the fire. It was a small, and quite empty, sitting room. No toilet, no bathtub. No hot and cold running water. Looking back to the room, she spotted a chamber pot, ornately decorated with nymphs running about, probably in search of a proper toilet, she thought. Obviously, installing indoor plumbing had not been a priority for the cash-poor Blackmores.
A sound at the door took her attention away from her thoughts of a warm bath. Rand stood at the entrance, staring at her as if it were her fault the home was inadequate. Then again, Rand seemed to look angry all the time of late. She missed the way he’d been at Rosebrier before, and knew she had no one to blame but herself. Which made her angry and surly and completely unhappy.
“At least it is warm in our rooms,” he said, looking about her room.
“It’s lovely,” she said. When he raised a sardonic eyebrow, she smiled sheepishly. “Sparse, but lovely.”
“Perhaps you should rest before dinner,” he said. “You are still recovering from our trip. I’ll see you at eight, then.”
“I am tired,” Elizabeth said, realizing that she, indeed, was exhausted.
He looked as if he were about to depart without another word, but he stopped. “I shall be extremely busy in the next few weeks and rarely here. I will leave it to you to get the house in order. Servants must be hired, things ordered. I had forgotten how empty this place was. It’s completely inadequate. I realize that.”
“May I order plumbing first?” she asked, making what she thought was a joke.
“You may do whatever you wish with your father’s money,” he said.
He left then, leaving Elizabeth feeling quite horrid, and ridiculously guilty for something that was not her doing at all. She’d never once thrown in his face that every penny they would spend was from her family. She loathed the entire discussion of money and how it surrounded their entire wedding like some malevolent cloud. How dare he use that to make her feel even more awful than she already did.
“I didn’t hear you ever complaining about the settlement before,” she shouted to his retreating back. “I will not be made to feel badly about something I never wanted in the first place.”
He was back in an instant, his face dark with anger. “You have made it entirely clear, many times in fact, that you did not want this marriage. Spend the goddamn money, Elizabeth, for it will be your only comfort in the months to come.”
She shrank back from his anger, from the venom in his voice. “I meant only I never liked the idea of buying a title.”
“Then we are in agreement about this entire marriage, for I never liked the idea of being bought. Yet here we are, my dear.”
“Here we are,” she said, feeling sadness overwhelm her.
“Our things have arrived,” he said, backing from the door to allow two young porters into her room with one of her massive trunks. By the time she was done directing the men where to put it, Rand was gone.
Chapter 20
“Are you not yet breeding?”
Elizabeth stared at the dowager duchess with horror and not a little fear, for the woman was, without a doubt, the most intimidating person she had yet to meet. She made her mother seem a cozy, country lass who cooked apple pies for a brood of children. The dowager sat on a thronelike chair, her hair piled high and ornately upon her head, draped in jewels and squeezed into a gown so intricately made, Elizabeth imagined an army of seamstresses must have been employed. She gazed down at Elizabeth through a pair of quizzing glasses as if she were a new and inadequate servant. And she wanted to know if she were “breeding.”
One must have sex in order to have children. How she longed to say those words, especially because Rand stood behind her, likely highly amused that his mother was treating her so abhorrently. “No, ma’am,” she said, her cheeks burning with humiliation.
“You do know that is your most important duty.” She looked back at Rand. “She does know this, does she not?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Elizabeth could hear in his voice that he was trying not to laugh. She only wished she were sharing his great amusement instead of being put on display. Rand had warned her that his mother would be angered that he married an American, and that his mother knew almost nothing of his financial difficulties. It gave Elizabeth little comfort to know that her family’s money would no doubt go a long way toward making this woman’s life more comfortable. The dowager lived in a lovely town house that Rand had been on the verge of losing, for it was the only piece of property, other than Bellewood, that he had left to sell. His mother had been completely ignorant of this. How Elizabeth longed to tell this woman that she was completely dependent upon her money, to bring her down a bit. It was clear within minutes of their meeting that she thought Elizabeth specifically, and Americans in general, far beneath her consideration.
After her torturous interview, which lasted perhaps five minutes, the dowager dismissed her, forcing Elizabeth to wait in the hall like a wayward child while Rand spoke with his mother. She could not hear a word they said, only certain tones that told her Rand was placating and his mother enraged. Honestly, one might think she’d been a wharf rat the way the woman was carrying on. Elizabeth, who all her life had been treated with the utmost respect, found herself in the position of being made to feel inferior. She did not at all feel that way, however, which likely had the older woman in a snit.
Elizabeth would no sooner apologize for being American as she would for her father’s overly generous settlement that would benefit the old cow.
Inside the room, Rand was only mildly irritated by his mother’s behavior. She was behaving precisely the way he imagined. If anything, she had deported herself with immense calm and restraint, compared to how Rand expected her to act.
“Mother, she comes from an excellent family.”
“An American, really, Rand. When you wrote to me, I could not believe it. I simply could not fathom why you would choose an American when there are so many fine English ladies who would far better fill the role of duchess. Why her? By the way, I heard she was brought about by her mother last year and I must say at the time I thought it completely vulgar of the mother to think any one would consider the girl. And then my own son…”
Apparently, her rage made her unable to continue.
Rand let out a sigh of impatience. While he could not tell his mother the true reason for the marriage, he also would not lie and tell her he’d fallen madly in love with her. “She’ll make a fine duchess. She is beautiful and extremely intelligent. I believe she will handle the duties with ease.”
“She looks like a child. How old is she?”
“She is nineteen.”
His mother pressed her lips together. “She is a child.”
“You were seventeen wh
en you married Father,”
Rand pointed out.
“But I did not become a duchess until I was well into my thirties.”
Rand was so very tired and completely overwhelmed by everything that needed to be done with the estate, he had no energy left over to deal with his mother. He’d only arranged this meeting to get it over with. “I cannot argue with you, Mother. Time will tell if Elizabeth is up to the task. Right now, I would be more worried about me.”
His mother waved away his concerns. “You will do fine. I do wish you’d spent more time with your brother and father, but it is in your blood to lead. I have no doubt, none at all, that you will fill those shoes and fill them well.”
“Then please have confidence in my choice of duchess.”
She pressed her lips together and forced a nod. “I shall visit you when you can present me with a grand child,” she announced, dismissing him. “See to it that it is done quickly.”
With a nod and a barely hidden smile, Rand left, glad the interview was over. He’d been away from Bellewood for four necessary days, but with everything he had to do, it seemed far too long. Their days had been spent or dering massive amounts of goods, including basic furniture for their apartments and consulting with builders for the necessary upgrades to Bellewood. Nothing would be done until spring, but they could at least come and see what putting in central heating, a modern kitchen, and central plumbing would entail. For now, he was busy working on the tenants’ homes, some of which were barely livable. He’d also hired a property manager, and a valet, though he hardly thought he needed one with their social life nearly nonexistent.
