“Go ahead.” He nodded brusquely at the empty chair beside him. She sat down, and for a moment the two siblings gazed at the slowly burning logs without speaking.
Their relationship had always been, if not troubled, then at the very least strained. With only two years separating them they’d been thick as thieves when they were children. More than once they’d been confused for twins, as one never did something without the other. Then their parents died…and everything changed.
Georgiana was immediately taken under their grandmother’s wing, but it was their grandfather who sent her away to boarding school. She hadn’t wanted to go. Had begged Derek to help her stay. But as a boy of only twelve there’d been nothing he could do but watch through a sheen of angry tears as her carriage drove further and further away.
When she returned four years later she was a different person. Or at least that was how it seemed to Derek. Gone was the rebellious tomboy who had loved to climb trees and catch frogs. In her place was a quiet, polite, ladylike stranger who no longer looked at him as if he’d hung the moon. In fact, she’d been so busy preparing for her formal debut she’d hardly looked at him at all. Over the next two years they’d grown even further apart, and when she married her count he felt as if he were attending the wedding of a stranger.
This was the first time they’d been under the same roof in nearly a decade. She was his closest living relative – he didn’t count Norton – and he didn’t know what to say to her. Shifting his weight, he cast a surreptitious glance at her profile out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re up late,” he noted.
“I often have trouble falling asleep,” she said without looking away from the fire. “I find it helps to read.”
Which must have been why she’d come into the library. “I can leave.”
“No, stay. Please,” she added when he started to stand. “Do you know this is the first time we’ve lived in the same house since I married James?”
Derek nodded. “I just had the same thought.”
“I miss him the most at night. It must be the quiet, for I hardly think of him at all during the day. Do you think that’s strange?”
“No,” he said, for he often found himself thinking of their parents in a similar fashion. “I don’t think it’s strange at all. It has only been seven months, Georgiana.”
The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Seven months…” she murmured. “Sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Other days I expect to turn my head and see him still standing behind me.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
“I didn’t love him,” she continued after a long pause. “But I did like him. He was kind, if a bit boring. We were trying to have a child when he passed. For a while I hoped…but it wasn’t meant to be, I suppose. Just as well. Children are messy creatures. Always getting into this and that. When do you think you and Eleanor will have them?”
Startling slightly at the sound of his wife’s name, he crossed his arms and frowned at the fire. It was nearly out, having smoldered down to a few logs that glowed orange and red in the dark. “I don’t know. Eventually, I suppose. I need an heir.”
“Yes, you do. Unless you want to tie Hawkridge up in a pretty red bow and hand it over to Norton.”
“I am well aware.”
“Then what are you doing down here instead of upstairs with your wife you haven’t seen in nearly a year?” One elegant black brow arched as she finally turned her head to look at him. “A wife whom, if I remember correctly, you sent on her merry way as soon as the marriage ceremony was concluded. You didn’t even let the poor thing partake in her wedding feast and she so does love to eat.”
“I thought she would be happier in the country.” The feeble excuse was the same he’d used when anyone else had inquired as to Eleanor’s whereabouts in the months following their wedding. Poor health, he’d said. She does best in the fresh air. No one believed him, of course. Wives – especially new ones – were never really sent to the country for their health. But it was what a husband was expected to say even when the truth was painfully obvious.
“Eleanor is the healthiest person I’ve ever met,” said Georgiana, her lifted brow indicating she didn’t believe him for a moment. “Surprising, really, given all the time she spends with those animals of hers.”
“Animals?” He knew his wife had a hedgehog named Penny or Whinny. Ginny, maybe? He’d considered forbidding her to bring the pet to Hawkridge – God knew the spiky little rat had already caused enough trouble – but he hadn’t wanted the headache of another long, drawn out argument.
“Yes. She has an entire barn full of them. Geese and pigs and rodents and heaven knows what else.” Georgiana flicked her wrist. “All rescued or saved in some manner or another. She’s a regular animal Joan of Arc, your Eleanor.”
“She isn’t my Eleanor,” he scowled.
“Oh?” his sister said with a hint of amusement. “Then just whom does she belong to?”
No one, was his immediate thought. Eleanor belongs to no one. She was like a wild filly who’d not yet been tamed. One that had never felt the constrictive binding of a halter or the cold metal of a bit pressed between its teeth. After their kiss, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to gentling her.
“I like her, you know,” Georgiana said when he remained silent. “Although she is an unconventional choice for a duchess. She would have been much better suited if she married a baron, I think. Or mayhap a doctor.”
Derek straightened in his chair. “Are you saying I’m not suitable enough for her?”
“No. I am simply saying she is not who I would have picked for your wife. But the damage has been done, as they say, and there’s no going back now.” She propped up her chin on the palm of her hand and blinked languidly at him. “What do you plan to do with her?”
“Do with her? She isn’t a piece of furniture to be polished and packed away.”
“And yet that is precisely what you’ve done. Married her and packed her away. Which makes me wonder what you’re doing here now.”
His scowl deepened. “I thought you were happy to see me.”
“I was. I am. Now that James has passed, you and Eleanor are the only family I have.”
“What about Norton?” he asked, wanting to gauge his sister’s attachment to their slimy weasel of a cousin. If the will was brought to court, Georgiana could prove to be a useful ally. Her husband’s family had high connections, including a magistrate. He had been waiting to tell her about their grandfather’s will until he knew for certain where her allegiances lay.
“I’d rather be related to one of your wife’s pigs,” she said with a sniff. “I claim no relation to that wastrel.”
“Good. In that case, I have something to tell you…”
“Grandfather always did like to have the last word, didn’t he?” Georgiana said once Derek had finished.
“Grandfather was a tyrannical bastard who wished I had died instead of Father,” Derek said flatly.
“I won’t argue with you.” She sat back, her fingers pressing together as she gazed contemplatively into the fire. “So that’s why you’ve returned. To save the dukedom by sleeping with your own wife. How very noble of you.”
When she put it that way…
“I would have gotten around to consummating the marriage eventually,” he said.
“What’s stopping you now?” his sister demanded. “I assume you want this matter over and done with as quickly as possible so you can return to your life in London. I was a married woman, and as such I know that the deed cannot be done with you down here and her up there.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Eleanor is not exactly fond of me.” He glanced at the fire. Save one log that stubbornly refused to yield to the flames, it had all but gone out.
“And?” Georgiana challenged. “You’re the Duke of Hawkridge. Your reputation proceeds you wherever you go. They say there isn’t a woman you c
annot woo into your bed with no more than a look. So woo you wife, meet the terms of the will, and be done with it. Let’s not forget the woman carries a hedgehog with her wherever she goes. How hard could it possibly be?”
Chapter Ten
How hard was it to charm a woman who kept a hedgehog in her pocket? Very hard, as soon Derek discovered for himself over the next five days. Very hard indeed. Especially since Eleanor seemed to be going out of her way to avoid him.
When he ventured outside she snuck back in. When he went in search of her inside the house she slipped back out. The only time he saw her for more than a few minutes was when they dined together, but even then she proved to be completely immune to his attempts at seduction.
He stroked his hand down her arm and she brushed it away as if it were a bothersome gnat. He pulled out her chair before she sat down and she informed in no uncertain terms that she was perfectly capable of pulling out her own chair, thank you very much, and she didn’t need a man to do it for her. She’d fed the bouquet of flowers he picked for her to the goat. When he asked if she wanted to go on a moonlit walk around the pond she said she was too tired, and then two hours later he glanced out the window and caught her scampering around the lawn in the dark catching fireflies.
Which was why he was so surprised when she barged into his office in the middle of the afternoon and demanded his immediate assistance in a matter of life or death…
Spring was a busy time for animals, which meant it was a busy time for Eleanor. She’d found not one, not two, but three different nests that had become dislodged from their perch after a rainstorm. They were all filled to the brim with chirping baby birds, and after trying – and failing – to return them to the trees they’d tumbled out of, she’d resorted to caring for the babies herself. Not an easy task, given they had to fed worms every few hours.
And she had to dig the worms up herself.
But she didn’t mind the work. She didn’t even mind the dirt. What she did mind was Derek following her around like a little lost puppy wherever she went. The man was making a damned nuisance of himself. It seemed as if every time she turned around there he was with a flowery compliment (‘you’re looking simply ravishing this evening’ and ‘your hair is the color of a fiery sunset were two of his favorites, even though she knew he abhorred her red hair) or a handful of roses or a shiny piece of jewelry. The worst of it was when he pretended she was an invalid and insisted on pulling out every single chair she tried to sit down in, or rushed to escort her up the stairs, or – in one particularly memorable case – whisked off his jacket and placed it on the ground so she wouldn’t have to step in a teensy tiny puddle of mud. Truth be told she hadn’t minded the last (it had been strangely satisfying to grind her heel into his fancy satin-lined coat), but the first two weren’t to be borne.
It wasn’t that she disliked the attention. He was, after all, her husband. But she absolutely hated that it all seemed so rehearsed, like a play that kept running over and over again even though it was poorly acted and the sets were in complete disrepair.
What she wouldn’t have given for a dash of spontaneity! Like the night he’d appeared in her bedchamber and kissed her positively senseless. That certainly hadn’t been rehearsed. To her disappointment, however, he’d kept his lips to himself…and even though she’d considered kissing him, she hadn’t quite yet managed to gather the courage.
“It’s quite a predicament, isn’t it Henny?” she asked her hedgehog as they strolled leisurely around the pond. Henny waddled cheerfully besides her, stopping every so often to sniff out a grub in the bright green grass.
It was a beautiful spring afternoon, the sky a clear, endless blue with nary a cloud in sight. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun after two gray, gloomy days of rain. Birds sang from the treetops as they busily flitted from branch to branch, their beaks filled with tufts of horse hair and pieces of straw. From one of the pastures came the distant echo of hooves as the young foals frolicked next to their dams, and a cow’s chiding moo as it called out to a calf that had wandered too far. It was a time of renewal and rebirth, of hope and wonder, of confusion and speculation.
“If only I knew what he wanted,” Eleanor mused as she opened her eyes and resumed walking. “What do you think, Henny?”
But if the hedgehog knew why the duke had suddenly turned from a mocking, arrogant scoundrel into a sweet, doting husband, she kept it to herself.
They rounded the far edge of the pond and started back towards the house. Eleanor slowed her steps to keep pace with Henny’s considerably shorter legs, and even though she was tempted to scoop the hedgehog into her pocket, she knew her beloved pet needed the exercise after a long winter with too little activity and too many crumpets.
Belatedly remembering to put on her hat before they came into view of the manor, she tugged the bothersome bonnet down over her head and was just beginning to tie the strings when the frantic sound of honking filled the air.
“Oh no,” she breathed when the honking was swiftly followed by Mrs. Gibbons’ blustering shout and the unmistakable thwack of something very sharp striking something very hard. “The geese must have gotten out again! Henny, come on. We have to hurry!”
Picking her pet up by her soft underbelly, she dropped the wiggling hedgehog into the pocket of her cornflower blue dress, picked up her skirts, and raced towards the house as fast as her legs would carry her.
She’d just reached the outside door to the kitchen when it flew open and poor Donald, his white wings extended and neck stretched out in alarm, came flapping out followed closely by Mrs. Gibbons yielding a large butcher’s knife.
“I’ll get you this time you damned rascal,” the housekeeper said grimly. “You’ll not evade the pot again!”
“Mrs. Gibbons, what are you doing?” Eleanor cried. “Put that knife down at once! You’re going to hurt someone!””
“Aye,” the housekeeper said grimly. “I’m going hurt this goose! I warned you, Your Grace. If that feathered fiend ever dared enter my household again he would be tossed straight in the stew!” With that dire threat she chased Donald around the corner and out of sight.
Realizing the housekeeper wasn’t going to listen to her, Eleanor dashed into the house and ran straight to her husband’s study. She barged in without knocking, her frantic gaze seeking and immediately finding Derek sitting behind his desk. He half rose when he saw her, dark brow furrowing.
“Eleanor? What–”
“You have to come at once! Mrs. Gibbons is trying to murder Donald!”
His eyes widened. “Mrs. Gibbons is trying to murder the new footman?”
“No!” Grabbing his arm when he came around his desk, she half pulled, half dragged him out of the study. “Donald the goose!”
“I don’t understand–”
“This is no time to argue!” Eleanor yelped. “It’s a matter of life and death!”
They caused quite the spectacle as they ran through the kitchens. The duchess, her cheeks flushed and her bonnet askew, with the duke right on her heels and a hedgehog clinging for dear life to the edge of the duchess’s pocket. Maids dropped whatever they were doing in their haste to jump out of the way, including a large bowl of flour that hit the table with a clatter and sent a cloud of white flying up into the air.
Following the sounds of Mrs. Gibbons’ shouts and Donald’s desperate honking, Eleanor discovered the enraged housekeeper and the terrified goose behind the stone greenhouse. Mrs. Gibbons had managed to pin Donald in a corner and the goose was alternating between hissing and honking, snapping his beak whenever the housekeeper tried to strike him with the butcher’s knife.
“Do something,” Eleanor told her husband desperately.
Only later would she realize it was the first time she had ever asked for his help. And much, much later she would look back at the memory and smile, for – even though she didn’t know it then – it marked a momentous turning point in their relatio
nship. But of course she didn’t think of any of that now. How could she, with Donald’s life hanging in the balance?
“Please,” she whispered, gazing up at Derek imploringly.
He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across her cheek. It was a glancing touch, but no less powerful for its brevity. Eleanor felt a shiver of awareness ripple down her spine when their eyes met, worried green sinking into steady golden brown. There was a dusting of white flour on his nose and chin, but in that moment – at least to her – he’d never looked more like a duke.
“Don’t worry,” he said quietly before he turned and marched up to Mrs. Gibbons.
Helpless to do anything but watch and wait, Eleanor clasped her hands together as he and the housekeeper had a terse exchange. She couldn’t hear what was being said over Donald’s honking, but whatever it was caused Mrs. Gibbons face to drain of all color and the knife to drop from her hand. Eleanor breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the sharp blade sank harmlessly into the ground. Sensing the danger had passed, Donald immediately stopped honking and, with one last hiss at his arch nemesis, ran straight to Eleanor who crouched down and wrapped her arms around his trembling body.
“You stupid goose,” she said with great affection. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed put? Go on, then. Back to the carriage barn with you.”
Donald lovingly rubbed his head against her knee. Sitting back on her heels, Eleanor watched him waddle away with a faint smile curving her lips. She was going to miss Donald and Ronald when she released them into the pond, but she knew they would be happier there than cooped up in a barn. As soon as their house was finished – a floating apparatus she’d designed herself that would be anchored to the middle of the pond and keep them safe from a prowling fox – they’d be ready to make the transition. She would still visit them every day, and–
A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection Page 16
