The Corinthian Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  After breakfast, Oscar saw to it that her mare was saddled and ready and waited for her to come out. The sound of hooves on gravel caught his ears, and he turned to see Bertie riding up towards him.

  “Morning, Bertie,” he said, as his friend dismounted. They shook hands and Bertie gave him a searching look.

  “Well? How did it go? Is she speaking to you?”

  Oscar shrugged, wishing he could be more positive with his answer but knowing he deserved everything he got.

  “She’s speaking to me, but…. Oh, bloody hell, Bertie, I’ve made a blasted mess of everything. We went to this concert last night and Ranleigh was there, hanging around like a bad smell.”

  He glowered and kicked at the gravel with his boot.

  Bertie returned an I told you so look that Oscar could not avoid.

  “I’m taking her out for the morning, having a picnic by the river.”

  “Good,” Bertie replied, tapping his crop against his thigh, his expression thoughtful. “Though I wouldn’t expect her to throw herself into your arms. Stubborn little thing when she’s thwarted, you ought to remember that much.”

  Oscar nodded. He did remember. She was stubborn and wilful and not past meting out her own form of vengeance if she felt it was deserved. He had no expectation of returning to her good books—let alone her affections—by the end of the day, but it was a start, surely?

  “Bertie!”

  They turned to see Ella beaming at her brother and running down the steps to give him a hug. Just as last night, Oscar caught his breath.

  The Aldous family were far from penniless, but it had always been obvious that Pearl had won the lion’s share of any budget for clothing. Ella’s clothes were often Pearl’s garments made over, and the colouring didn’t always suit her.

  Now, however, she was dressed in the height of fashion and the difference was breath-taking. Her riding habit was a dark charcoal grey, which might have been dull on a less vivacious creature. Yet her grey eyes sparkled, and the trim matching hat sat neatly against her dark curls, a jaunty white feather bobbing as she moved. The high waist showed off her figure, and an amount of braiding across the bust and around the cuffs made her cut quite a dash.

  “I say, Ella, old girl, you do look in prime twig,” Bertie said, his tone approving as he looked his sister over. “Never would have believed you could look so natty, but that rig… that’s fine, very fine indeed.”

  Ella practically glowed with pleasure at her brother’s praise, and Oscar cursed his friend for taking the wind out of his sails. He’d been just as ready to compliment her, but now it would seem as if he was only echoing her brother.

  “Oh, Bertie, we’re going for a ride. Would you like to join us?” Ella asked, as Oscar’s plans to spend some time alone with his wife began to slip from his grasp.

  Bertie glanced at Oscar, who glowered a little until Ella turned to look at him too.

  “No, don’t think so, Ella,” Bertie said, correctly interpreting the look in Oscar’s eyes. “See you when you get back, though.”

  Oscar nodded as Bertie took himself off, leaving them alone.

  “Shall we go, then?” he asked, feeling strangely nervous.

  Ella nodded and moved to the mounting block as the groom brought her mare up alongside. Once she was settled, Oscar mounted and led them away from the house.

  It was a bright morning, with a fine mist wreathing the ground as the sun came up and sparkled on the dew.

  “Bertie was right, you know,” Oscar said, looking over at her. “I hardly recognise you. You’ve become quite the beauty. I know you must have been beautiful before, but… how did I never see it, Ella?”

  The words were full of confusion and frustration and Oscar didn’t try to hide the fact. He would be honest with her from now on.

  A blush pinkened her cheeks and only added to the lovely picture she made.

  “I think you flatter me, Oscar. I have finer clothes now, I suppose. Mintie’s modiste is quite a wonder, so that perhaps is the difference. Though I have also learnt a great many things about myself over the past weeks. About other people, too.”

  She brought the mare to a trot, moving ahead of him as the lane narrowed and, for a moment, he could not speak to her again.

  As soon as the road widened he moved to her side again, watching her and wishing he could read the look in her eyes, or interpret the edge to her words when she spoke to him.

  “Are you terribly angry with me?”

  She glanced at him and then looked away again before shaking her head. “Not angry, no. It was my fault after all. If I hadn’t been so stupid….”

  He watched as she clamped her lips shut and said no more.

  “It wasn’t stupid, Ella,” he said, his voice low. That she could believe that, when she’d been so courageous for him, made his chest ache. “I… I still can’t believe you did that for me. It was incredibly brave.”

  She shook her head, and he got the impression she was holding back tears. “It was stupid, and now we all have to live with the consequences.”

  Before he could reply, she’d urged her horse into a canter. She didn’t slow again until the cottages at Berry Street were before them.

  Once away from him and in the company of his tenants and the workmen, she relaxed. Oscar could see the change in her. She laughed and smiled, and everyone seemed enthused and energised by her presence.

  Oscar had stepped forward, hoping to have a word with Mr Burrows and ask if they had the supplies they needed to complete the work.

  “Did the new delivery of thatch arrive?” Ella asked.

  Burrows nodded. “It did, though I still reckon we’re short.”

  “Well can you calculate by how much? If you would you make me a list of everything else that’s required, I have a meeting with the bailiff this afternoon. If we’re to have a chance of getting it in time, he’ll need the information right away.”

  “Consider it done, your grace. I’ll bring the list up to the big house this afternoon, if that suits you?”

  “As long as it’s before half past three,” she said, nodding. “Now, how is the decorating coming along?”

  Oscar watched, bemused as Ella strode off with Mr Burrows, leaving him behind like a spare part. For just a moment, he felt a little miffed. He usually dealt with such matters as this and had done since he was a very young man. He took estate matters seriously, especially those pertaining to his tenants, and to be put aside with such speed was daunting. Yet the slight was forgotten as another sensation took its place.

  He dawdled behind, watching Ella from a distance as everyone stopped what they were doing to greet her, eager to draw her attention to what had been accomplished since she was last here.

  Pride swelled in his chest. She was carving a place for herself, and not only as the Duchess of Rothborn. Ella was wriggling into their hearts, the same as she’d done to him, and he doubted they would realise she’d done it, either.

  As he entered the first cottage, which seemed well on its way to completion, he looked around with approval. The place was as neat as a new pin, and the decorating was well underway. The smell of fresh paint was heavy on the air, and he smiled at Ella as she turned to look at him.

  “You’ve done wonders, Ella,” he said.

  The pleasure in her eyes at his approval hit him square in the chest. Perhaps she cared what he thought still? A little, at least.

  “I didn’t do it with my bare hands,” she said, shaking her head at him with amusement, deflecting his praise. “All I did was make sure the materials and workmen arrived. Anyone could have done that.”

  They inspected the rest of the cottages, all of which were in various stages of completion.

  “Was there much left after the fire, Mr Burrows? In the way of belongings, I mean? Furniture and the like.”

  Burrows shrugged, his expression grim. “Some fared worse than others, your grace. The Smith family managed to get all their belongings out as theirs was the la
st house to catch. The Roberts, though, they barely escaped with the clothes on their backs. Most of the others salvaged bits and pieces.”

  Oscar nodded. “Along with that list of materials, perhaps you could ask the families to make a list of the things they lost. We should see what can be done to help get them back on their feet. I also want to know how that fire started. If we’re going to rebuild Cripps Corner, I’d rather avoid a repeat performance.”

  Burrows smiled at him. “Thank you, your grace, I’ll see to it at once.”

  Oscar turned to see Ella watching him. She said nothing, but her expression was approving and, for the first time since he’d returned, Oscar felt a little more hopeful that all was not lost.

  Chapter 16

  “Wherein the truth is hard to find.”

  After their tour of the cottages, they carried on down to the river for their picnic. He could see that Ella was itching to stay and help, but she could hardly do so in her riding habit and so she bid everyone good day and promised to return soon.

  Oscar dismounted and hurried to help Ella down. He’d missed the opportunity before as she’d leapt down unassisted in a flurry of skirts. Quite inappropriate, of course, but he’d smiled at the sight as it was so like her. Perhaps little Bug hadn’t entirely vanished after all. He realised he was pleased to discover it.

  “I can get down by myself,” she objected as Oscar held out his arms to her.

  He noted the slight blush in her cheeks and wondered what caused it. Did she like the idea of his hands on her, or did it simply make her uncomfortable?

  “I know you can,” he said, the words gentle and a little rueful. “It seems you can do a great many things without me, but I’m your husband and I would like to help where I may, if you’ll permit me to?”

  She didn’t answer but nodded and allowed him to help lift her down. Goodness, but she was tiny. He kept his hold on her slender waist for a moment, staring down at her and wishing once more that he could interpret the look in her eyes. Before he could decipher it, she had stepped back, and he let her go.

  Oscar watched as she walked down to the river’s edge, and then he unstrapped the picnic he’d had made for them.

  “Where shall we sit?” he asked, holding the blanket aloft.

  Ella pointed. “Over there, in the sun.”

  He spread the blanket out as directed and Ella came and sat down, as far on the opposite side of the blanket as she could manage. Oscar unpacked the picnic, stealing glances at his wife as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the sunshine on her face.

  “Do you remember when we came fishing down here, and Bertie fell in?” he asked, hoping to remind her of merrier times.

  The smile that broke over her face made his heart kick in his chest and the sensation startled him so he found himself staring at her. Was this really Ella?

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, delighted. “And you tried to get him out and ended up getting your new boots wet. They were from Hoby and cost a fortune, and you were utterly furious.”

  Oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “I was the most dreadful coxcomb, I admit it.”

  “Was?” she repeated, with the faintest lift of one eyebrow.

  “Oh, come, come, Ella,” he said, handing her a slice of pie and an amused if reproving look. “I think you can’t call the kettle black when you look like you stepped from a fashion plate.”

  She took the pie from his hand, shrugging a little and at once the temperature plummeted.

  “Perhaps, but I’m just trying my best not to show you up any more than I already have.”

  He stared at her, dismayed by her cool tone, but her face was turned away from him so he could not see if she’d meant to cut him so neatly.

  “Ella,” he said, his voice low. “If you think I am in any way ashamed of you, or that I regret our marriage, then you have it all wrong.”

  She made a sound of disgust and returned a rather hard stare. “You said carrying my lifeless body from the Rowley mile wouldn’t have pleased you any more than marrying me did.”

  Oscar felt the sting of those words as she flung them back at him, just as keenly as she must have done on hearing them. He fell silent for a moment, and then shook his head.

  “I can’t pretend I’m not an idiot at times, Ella. Good Lord, you’ve known me all your life, you must know by now that I’m an expert at putting my foot in my mouth. All I can tell you is that I was still in shock. It all happened so fast, and I’d never considered you as anything more than Bertie’s sister―damn it, Ella, you were my sister, too.”

  “I understand, Oscar. I promise you I do, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt at the time, but… I know you don’t see me that way.”

  Her tone remained cool and unruffled as she answered him and his heart ached, a growing fear in his chest that he’d done too much damage to mend.

  “You’re wrong.” Oscar stared at her, frustrated by the hurt and uncertainty in her eyes.

  That he was responsible for it only made matters worse.

  He shifted closer to her, shoving the hamper out of the way in annoyance so he could reach out and touch her cheek, turning her face towards his.

  Grey eyes stared back at him, a little too bright but composed, even somewhat accusing.

  “I didn’t see you that way, but that’s only because I’m a bloody fool, Ella. It’s me that needed to grow up, not you.”

  The words were harsh and his voice rough as he realised how bloody true that was. He watched the change in her as he spoke: the darkening of her eyes, the way her breathing sped up. Her gaze fell to his lips, and the longing to kiss her was so forceful that it made him feel quite off balance.

  Wondering if he’d be slapped for his trouble, he leaned in slowly, giving her every opportunity to tell him to go to hell. Instead she sat, frozen, not rejecting him but not exactly overwhelming him with enthusiasm, either.

  Daunted but hopeful, he brushed his lips against hers. What she felt, he couldn’t decipher, not only because she didn’t move an inch, but also because he was quite overwhelmed. He felt a jolt of recognition, of something so achingly familiar yet new and strange too. Her lips were soft and so damn sweet, and one brief touch was far from enough, yet he forced himself to move back, not wanting to scare her off or overstep the mark without invitation.

  As he drew back, he saw that her cheeks were scarlet and her breathing rapid, but she looked away from him and busied herself with unpacking the rest of the food.

  “Chicken drumstick?” she asked, holding out a package wrapped in waxed paper.

  The words were a little breathless and her anxiety was palpable, so Oscar just nodded and took one with a smile.

  They passed a pleasant enough afternoon and, if the conversation was stilted, it was better than her not speaking to him.

  Oscar tried everything he knew to put her at ease. He’d never had trouble charming women before, yet every time he came close to giving her a compliment or tried to increase the intimacy between them, a rather searching look entered her eyes. It was piercing, considering, as if she were weighing him up. She didn’t trust him anymore.

  After so many years of friendship, the truth of that cut him deeply, but he had no one to blame but himself.

  They rode back to the house in time for Ella to change before her meeting with the bailiff. Oscar almost offered to come with her, and then changed his mind at the last moment. The project at the cottages had been hers, and she’d managed perfectly well without him. He didn’t want her to believe he was barging in and taking over. Better if he showed her that he trusted her judgement and left her to it.

  “Can we do this again?” he asked, calling out to her as she headed into the house.

  God, but he felt foolish, asking his wife if he might see her again, but he had no illusions. He was in her hands. If she didn’t want to see him, she’d evade him.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, though the words were mor
e polite than enthusiastic.

  “Tomorrow morning?” He hated the hopeful tenor of the words but couldn’t help it. She needed to know how much he wanted to spend time with her.

  Her hesitation told him far too much.

  “Not the morning,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “But I need to go into town in the afternoon, if… if you would like to accompany me?”

  Oscar snatched at the opportunity before she took it back, wishing he had the nerve to ask what she was doing in the morning, but he had no wish to pry.

  “Yes, I’d be pleased to.”

  She nodded then, still looking a little uneasy as she ran into the house.

  ***

  Ella rose early. She’d slept ill in any case, so there seemed little point in lying in bed.

  With Nancy’s help she dressed as fast as she could, hoping to avoid Oscar at breakfast. He was always an early riser, so she’d need to get out early if she hoped to miss him.

  Today she chose a dusky pink riding habit, with a charming hat of the same shade. It was a rather more frivolous outfit than yesterday’s sombre grey, but yesterday she had been striving for sophistication. She’d wanted to show Oscar she was a grown woman, not a child.

  Ranleigh, however, needed no convincing.

  She knew she was playing with fire, meeting him as she was. Her experience with men might be non-existent but she knew he desired her. He would never make a move, though, she felt sure. Not only because he knew she loved Oscar, but because he was trying to help both her and her husband. He was an honourable man and he wanted them to be happy together, and he’d not let his own desires get in the way.

  Ella’s thoughts travelled back to the previous afternoon and picnic she’d shared with Oscar. More specifically, that kiss.

  She wondered how many times she’d dreamed of kissing Oscar over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? More than likely. Yet the reality had been so much more.

  It had been perfect. His words had been a balm to her heart, his kiss had made her bones melt and her heart tremble… yet she had no idea if any of it was real.

  Oscar was kind and generous. He always had been. It was one of the reasons she loved him so. He always had time for people, even those who tried his patience. He cared deeply for the fate of his tenants, and for all of those on his estate. His friends and family could always rely on him in difficult times. She’d never once seen him shirk his responsibilities.