The Spring Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 2)

by Jillian Eaton

  “Would you like to meet the rest of them?” she asked.

  “The rest of whom?” Using his sleeve, he wiped the remaining layer of flour off his face.

  “My animals. They’re all in the old carriage barn. Well, most of them,” she amended with a glance down at Henny who had fallen asleep nestled against her chest. Derek lifted a brow.

  “How many animals do you have?”

  “You’ll see,” she said cheerfully. Tucking Henny back into her pocket, she hesitated for only a second before lightly wrapping her fingers around her husband’s forearm when he offered it to her. Side by side, the Duke and Duchess of Hawkridge set off across the lawn towards the carriage barn.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Eleanor said ‘animals’, Derek had been expecting one or two geese and a cat. Not the entire menagerie of furred and feathered beasts that awaited him when his little wife slid open the door and gestured for him to quickly step in.

  “The pygmy shrews have been trying to escape,” she explained as she slid the door shut.

  “Shrews?” Instantly wary, he stopped short and looked down at his feet. The floor of the barn was covered in a thick, sweet smelling layer of straw. Three wooden pens at the far end of the barn contained a trio of piglets, two geese – the infamous Ronald and his brother, he presumed – and twin lambs that were no bigger than a dinner plate. “You didn’t say anything about shrews.”

  Her lips curved. “They’re harmless. Although I would check your pockets before you go. They’re always looking for a cozy place to nest.”

  Bloody hell.

  “Perhaps this was a bad idea.” He started edging towards the door. “I’ll come back when the rats, er, shrews are all properly contained. I wouldn’t want to step on one.”

  “Then I would suggest you stop moving.” One glance at his face and her smile widened. “Your Grace?” she said sweetly.

  “Yes?” Derek muttered as he continued to search the straw.

  “Are you afraid of pygmy shrews?”

  “Afraid of – no,” he said, looking up at her with a scowl. “What an absurd thing to suggest.”

  “You certainly look rather afraid,” she pointed out. “If you’d like, you can go stand on that chair. They shouldn’t be able to reach you there.”

  The chair was tempting, but he wasn’t about to go leaping up on furniture like a frightened school girl. “I don’t need a chair,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “And I am not afraid of pygmy shrews.” His voice lowered. “I’m afraid of rats.”

  It was a silly weakness he’d never admitted to anyone before. Mostly because he knew that if his grandfather found out, he would have teased him mercilessly. Or – even worse – put rats in his shoes. Which was precisely where he’d discovered one when he was eight years old, and why he still loathed the beady-eyed creatures to this day.

  “Well I can assure you there are no rats in here. They chew,” she explained when he looked at her suspiciously. “And they’re constantly getting into the grain in the horse stables. Whereas pygmy shrews only eat insects and insect larvae. Oh look! There’s one now.”

  With all the speed and precision of a cat pouncing on a mouse, she dropped to her knees in the straw and cupped her hands together. She rose slowly to her feet; a duchess with straw in her hair and a pygmy shrew trapped between her palms. A beam of morning light swept in through a window, illuminating the dusty gold smattering of freckles across her nose and turning her tousled mane from deep red to burnished copper. It spilled over her shoulders in a wave of curls that glowed like fire against her porcelain skin.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, staring at her in astonishment. How had he not seen it before? Perhaps because her beauty was nothing like Vanessa’s cool, reserved prettiness. Eleanor wasn’t a finely tended rose kept under glass. She was a wildflower growing in an untended field. Her petals weren’t perfect. Her leaves were a bit frayed. But all of her imperfections only made her that much more stunning.

  Straw rustled under his boots as he started to step closer to her, possessed by the sudden urge to gather her in his arms and twist his fingers through those glorious curls and kiss every imperfect freckle scattered across her cheeks.

  Then he remembered the rat.

  “Don’t worry.” Mistaking his approach for interest in the pygmy shrew that was poking its twitching nose out between her fingers, Eleanor smiled and held up her hands. “Bianca doesn’t bite.”

  “Bianca?” he questioned, one brow lifting.

  “Yes. I named all of them after characters from Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew.”

  Every muscle in his body stilled. “All of them? How many are there?”

  “Only four.”

  Only four. He barely managed to restrain a snort. She might as well have said there were only four horsemen of the apocalypse.

  “Hold out your hands,” Eleanor instructed.

  Derek blinked. “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “I promise she won’t bite. Bianca is a lady. Aren’t you?” she cooed, nuzzling the shrew’s tiny nose. Her laughing gaze flicked to her husband. “Come now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then prove it.”

  Of course she would call him out. Any other woman – or man, for that matter – would have known enough to respect his wishes when he made them clear the first time. Then again, Eleanor wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met before. Before he had returned to Hawkridge he’d always seen her peculiarities as flaws. Things to be ignored instead of encouraged. But now he wasn’t beginning to wonder if her uniqueness wasn’t the most special thing about her.

  “Fine,” he said grudgingly as he held out his hands.

  “Closer together and cup your fingers. Yes, like that. Are you ready?”

  No.

  “Just do it,” he said, gritting his teeth and looking past her to the far wall. He held his breath when he felt a slight weight drop into his palms. Let it out in a slow, controlled hiss of air when whiskers brushed against his skin. Gazing down, he found himself staring at one of the smallest creatures he’d ever seen. Covered in sleek brown fur with a hairless tail and a pointed nose, Bianca the pygmy shrew was smaller than the length of his thumb. She wandered to the edge of his hand, peered down at the long drop below, and promptly turned back around.

  “Isn’t she adorable?” Eleanor beamed, their shoulders brushing as she positioned herself beside him so they could look down at Bianca together.

  Yes, he thought silently, although he wasn’t looking at the shrew. She certainly is.

  “I found the entire litter washed up in the field. That happens sometimes after a hard rain. Their mother was nowhere to be found, so I brought them back here. They’re almost ready to be released.”

  Eleanor’s enthusiasm was contagious, and despite his earlier reservations he found himself warming to the miniature rodent with the long whiskers and pointy snout. “And your other animals?” he asked, nodding towards the pigs and the lambs and the geese, all of which had settled down for a mid-morning nap. “How did you manage to find those?”

  “Well I…” she hesitated. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes,” he said, surprising himself. “I really do.”

  “All right. Then let’s start with Sir Galahad and Lancelot…”

  One by one she introduced him to her pets. Most of them would be released into the wild or given back to their owners, she explained, but some – like the pigs, who had been turned away from their mother at birth – she was afraid to return to the farmer for fear of finding them on the dinner menu.

  “You’re going to need a bigger barn soon.” Carefully transferring Bianca back to her adopted mother, Derek rested his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle. “Not to mention the fact that this building should have been demolished last year. Do you see the beams there, how they’re leaning to the side? That’s only going to
get worse. It’s not safe.”

  “But there’s nowhere else for the animals to go,” Eleanor protested. Returning the pygmy shrew to a square wooden box, she joined her husband in studying the interior of the dilapidated barn. “I know it’s a little worn, but all of the other outbuildings are being utilized. This was the only one that was free.”

  “Then we’ll build another,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Derek considered himself to be a generous man – when the occasion suited. Over the years he’d spent a significant fortune on presents for his various mistresses. Diamond necklaces. Ruby bracelets. Emerald earrings. He gave them priceless pieces of jewelry not because he necessarily wanted to, but because it was expected of him. When one kept a mistress it was what one did. And they’d all shown their appreciation in a myriad of creative (and pleasurable) ways. But not a single mistress had ever looked at him like Eleanor was looking at him now.

  “Really?” she whispered, her eyes as bright and wide as he’d ever seen them and filled with gratitude. One glance into those green shimmering pools and a man would be lucky if he didn’t lose himself forever. “You would do that for me?”

  I would hang the stars for you.

  The foolishly romantic thought, far better suited to a dreamy eyed poet than a cynical duke, made him scowl. Where the devil had that come from? Furthermore, why was he standing ankle-deep in straw learning all about pygmy shrews when he should have been in his study catching up on a year’s worth of correspondences?

  The country air was clearly getting to his head. It was the only damn thing that made any sense. The sooner he returned to London the better. Then he could focus on finding a new mistress. One who didn’t defy him or run around the lawn chasing after geese or forget to wear bonnets.

  “It wouldn’t be for you, it would be for the estate,” he said brusquely. “

  The light in Eleanor’s eyes dimmed. “I see,” she said, trying – and failing – to mimic his cold, businesslike tone. There was nothing cold or businesslike about her. From her Titian curls to her red hot temper, she was all heat. “Well either way, my animals will be appreciative. I’d like to speak to the foreman before he begins construction. I have several ideas that I think–”

  “No,” he said abruptly.

  “No?” Her eyebrows drew together. “No to what?”

  “All of it. All of this.” He gestured to the wooden pens with a short, agitated sweep of his arm. “You are not an architect or an animal doctor. You’re a duchess. And it’s time you began acting like one.” In the back of his mind Derek knew he was being a right bastard, but he didn’t care. It was better to be angry than weak. Better to think of his wife as a means to an end rather than the means to a beginning. He’d come here to consummate his marriage and save Hawkridge from his cousin. Not fall head over heels for a wild hellion with straw in her hair and a hedgehog in her pocket

  I would hang the stars for you.

  Bloody hell. If his grandfather ever heard him spouting off such utter twaddle the old man would laugh himself right out of his grave.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Eleanor demanded.

  “It means your days of tromping around the estate like an uncivilized savage are at an end. You belong in the ballroom, not the barn. I’ll hire a tenant farmer to care for the animals and you will start attending to your duties as the Duchess of Hawkridge.”

  Heat flashed in her eyes as her tiny hands curled into fists. Sensing her growing ire, one of the geese – Donald? – let out a startled honk. “These are my animals and I will care for them. You have no right to tell me what to do!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Red,” he said silkily. “As your husband, I have every right. You belong to me as much as this barn and the land it sits upon does.”

  If her gaze was any hotter he would have been incinerated where he stood. “I don’t belong to anyone, least of all a pompous, egotistical husband who should have remained in London!” Her skirts swished furiously as she advanced on him and jabbed a finger at the middle of his chest. “Why couldn’t you have stayed away? No one wants you here!”

  The barb was a cruel one made all the sharper by the ghosts of his past.

  No one wants you here.

  You’re worthless.

  You’ll never amount to anything.

  His teeth clenched, sending a fissure of tension radiating through his jaw and into his skull. He captured her wrist before she could drill her finger into his chest again, fingers closing around bones that were as slender and slight as the wing of a bird. How could something so delicate contain so much fire? Staring down into her flashing gaze he was tempted to kiss her, just to see what all that fire and fury would taste like.

  “Be that as it may,” he ground out, “I am the duke, and as such my word is law. You will obey me. Is that understood?”

  “The only thing I understand,” Eleanor sneered, “is that I never should have married you. Go to hell, Derek! Maybe you’ll find an obedient wife there.” Snatching her wrist free she turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her with so much force the entire barn trembled.

  Chapter Twelve

  If anything good came of Eleanor and Derek’s spat in the barn, it was that Derek stopped his campaign of flowery compliments and meaningless gifts.

  When they passed one another in the hallway they each looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence. Choosing which room to occupy became a battle strategy, with Eleanor laying claim to the front drawing room and the library while Derek stayed mostly in his study and the gaming room. Dinner was a frigid affair, with neither one speaking a word. If not for Georgiana’s careless prattle they would have eaten in complete silence.

  So it went for the better part of a week…until the night everything changed.

  Awakening with a start, Eleanor sat bolt upright in bed and clutched the sheets to her chest as she looked wildly around the room, wondering what had woken her. She had her answer a few seconds later when a thunderous booming crash shook the windows.

  Rain lashed against the glass in pounding sheets and when a jagged streak of white lightning raced across the sky it illuminated the entire room. Throwing her blankets aside, Eleanor slid out of bed and dashed to the nearest window. She’d always been drawn to the magnetic power of storms. There was something almost otherworldly about them, and when she was a child learning about Greek mythology she’d believed – at least for a time – they were the result of Zeus’ wrathful temper.

  Pressing her nose against the cool glass, she eagerly awaited the next boom of thunder. When it struck it seemed to shake the entire house, from the rafters to the floor boards. Grinning ear to ear, she jumped back and glanced at the foot of the bed where Henny liked to burrow.

  “Henny, did you hear that? It sounded like – Henny?” Concern tempered her excitement when she realized the little hedgehog wasn’t in her usual spot. Another flash of lightning lit up the room as she returned to the bed and looked under the blankets and pillows, but her pet was nowhere to be found. Frightened by the noise, she must have scurried off while Eleanor still slept.

  “Henny!” Dropping to her hands and knees, Eleanor began a frantic search of the room. She was wedged halfway under the bed, rump in the air and nose burrowed in a ball of cat hair, when she heard the door creak open.

  “This looks alarmingly familiar,” Derek drawled as he walked into her bedchamber. “Please tell me you’re not stuck again.”

  “I’m not stuck. I’m – ow!” she hissed when she hit her head on one of the wooden slats. Rubbing the injured area, she managed to scuttle sideways out from under the bed and clambered to her feet to glare at the duke. “I’m looking for Henny. The storm scared her and she’s run away.”

  “Henny…Henny…” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t shaved in the past two days, allowing a scruff of dark shadow to grow along the lower half of his face. It made him look less like a duke and more l
ike a pirate, one whom Eleanor hoped was going to return to the sea very, very soon. “Short, round woman? Prickly demeanor? Enjoys grubs and crumpets? You know, I never thought of it before, but aside from your physical attributes and the grubs – which are utterly disgusting, by the way – you and that hedgehog of yours have quite a bit in common.”

  “Ha ha,” Eleanor bit out sarcastically. “If you’ve come in here just to insult me–”

  “I came in here,” he interrupted, “to deliver a special gift.”

  She’d been wondering if he would try to bribe his way back into her good graces with a pretty – and completely useless – piece of jewelry. She might have even been swayed to forgive him…if the gesture was genuine. But since she knew it wasn’t, she had no interest in accepting a fancy bauble just so he could appease his conscience. If he even had a conscience. After their argument in the carriage barn she was beginning to have her doubts.

  “I don’t want an apology necklace or bracelet,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

  “Would you settle for an apology hedgehog?” And with a showy flourish he dipped his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a very sleepy looking Henny. With a big yawn the little hedgehog turned around once, twice, and then curled up in a ball in the middle of Derek’s palm. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open.

  “Where did you find her?” she gasped.

  “Tickling my ear, if you must know. I thought for a moment my wife had come to make midnight amends.” His teeth flashed wolfishly in the darkness. “Imagine my disappointment when I rolled over and found my bedmate had quills.”