A Duchess for all Seasons: The Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  He wanted to tell her how pleased he was with all of her hard work. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for the way he had acted in the stables and his study. Most importantly, he wanted to tell her that she was right and he was wrong. About so many things.

  But to do all that, he had to find her first.

  “Well?” he asked, hands settling low on his hips. “Have you seen the duchess or not?”

  “She’s gone, Your Grace.” Peterson frowned. “I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.”

  Evan didn’t like the finality in his valet’s tone. And he sure as hell didn’t like his use of the word ‘gone’.

  “Gone?” he growled. “What the devil do you mean, she’s gone? Gone where?”

  “I – I couldn’t say, Your Grace. She left early this morning. At daybreak.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  Peterson met his employer’s furious gaze without blinking. “To be honest, Your Grace, I did not think you would care.”

  “Well you thought wrong,” Evan snarled.

  “Might I ask where you are going?” Peterson called after him as he threw open the door and stormed out into the brisk autumn air.

  “To get my damn wife back.”

  “You’re here.”

  Turning at the sound of her husband’s stupefied voice, Hannah tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear and frowned. “Of course. Where else would I be?”

  “I thought…Never mind.” With a hard shake of his head, Wycliffe walked around a bale of straw and into the stables, the shoulders of his coat slightly damp from the misting rain that had just started to fall. Inside the barn it was warm and cozy and the smell of leather lingered pleasingly in the air.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Feeding the horses.” Picking up the nearly empty sack, she held it out. “There’s still a few carrots left if you’d like to join me.”

  Standing shoulder to shoulder, they walked slowly down the long row of stalls, neither one of them speaking. When the last carrot had been given out to a pretty sorrel with one brown eye and one blue, Hannah finally gathered the courage to face her husband.

  She’d been thinking hard about what Peterson had told her. The glimpse into Wycliffe’s past had given her a piece of the puzzle she’d desperately needed, but it hadn’t solved it for her. For that she needed her husband. But did he need her?

  “When I came here, I did so out of sheer desperation,” she began quietly. “I didn’t know anything about you except what I had heard through rumors and conjecture. Still, I thought I knew what to expect.” Biting her lip, she looked up to find him gazing down at her, his steely gaze unreadable. “But I was wrong.”

  Wycliffe’s jaw clenched. “Because I was even more hideous than you were led to believe?”

  “Because you were even more handsome,” she corrected. When he made a scoffing sound of disbelief under his breath she removed her glove and slowly, gently, traced his jagged scar with the tips of her fingers. “Beauty is not defined by our outward appearance. Those who think otherwise are cruel and smallminded.”

  “I am a cripple,” he said shortly.

  “Is that what you see when you look at yourself in the mirror? Because I see a man who is capable of more than he knows. You’re just wrapped in so much armor and ice that you can’t see it for yourself.” She knew she’d struck a nerve when she saw the flash of pain his eyes.

  “You’re afraid,” she whispered, her thumb resting against the raised edge of his scar as she cradled his cheek in her palm. “Afraid I will hurt you like your father did for putting you through such horrific treatments, and your mother for not stopping him, and the women for mocking you.”

  Wycliffe’s gaze darkened. “Colebrook told you about Lady Portia?”

  “No, Mr. Peterson did. But you should have. You’re my husband, Evan, and I am your wife. If we cannot share our secrets and our pain and our deepest desires with one another, then who can we share them with?”

  “I don’t know,” he said bleakly. “I’ve never…I’ve never had anyone I can trust.”

  Trust me. Love me. Choose me over them. Choose our future over your past.

  “I cannot promise I will never hurt you,” she said quietly. “I’m sure I do not need to tell you this, but you are a very infuriating man. And I know that we will argue and say things we don’t mean. But I swear that no matter what happens, no matter how angry you make me or how hard you try to push me away, I will never leave you in the dark.”

  “Hannah.” It was only the second time he’d ever spoken her name, and it was even more meaningful than the first. “Hannah, I don’t deserve you. The way I’ve acted…the things I’ve said…”

  “Were hurtful. I won’t deny it. But at least now I can understand why you said them.”

  He placed his hand over top of hers, pressing her fingers into his scar. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes, I can. I have.” She took a deep breath, preparing herself for rejection even as she hoped and prayed for acceptance. “I love you Evan.”

  “I love you Hannah,” he said simply, and her heart swelled with so much happiness it was a wonder she could contain it all. “I think I have loved you from the first moment you showed up on my doorstep, but I was too bloody stubborn and scared to admit it. Everyone I have ever loved has brought me nothing but heartache and pain. But you, Hannah…” Lowering his head, he claimed her lips in a kiss so soft and gentle it brought tears to her eyes. “You’ve given me nothing but light.”

  When they walked out of the stables the rain had ceased and the sun was beginning to emerge. Stopping suddenly, Hannah pointed up at the sky above Wycliffe Manor.

  “Look!” she exclaimed. “A rainbow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Not as beautiful as my duchess,” Evan said huskily. And taking her in his arms, he kissed her again.

  Epilogue

  One Week Later

  “Are you certain you will be all right here by yourself?” Hannah fretted. “There is plenty of room in the carriage. You could always accompany us, you know.”

  “On your honeymoon?” Cadence shook her head. “I think not. I will be perfectly fine remaining here. Elsbeth will be with me and besides, you’ll only be gone for a fortnight. It will give me time to catch up on my reading.”

  Hannah regarded her sister dubiously. “You hate reading.”

  “My sleeping, then. And we both know how much I like that. Go.” Looking out the window at the gleaming black coach where the Duke of Wycliffe was impatiently waiting for his bride to join him, Cadence gave Hannah a gentle push. “Enjoy your time alone together.”

  “Very well.” Hannah did not need any more urging than that. Pressing a chaste kiss to Cadence’s cheek, she whirled around and all but ran out the door. Her husband met her halfway and she squealed in delight when he picked her up in his arms and whirled her around before helping her up into the carriage.

  Cadence watched wistfully as they rolled down the long drive and out of sight. She was happy for her sister, but she couldn’t help but feel a touch envious as well. A perfectly understandable emotion, she supposed, given the circumstances.

  Lingering at the window for a few more minutes, she finally turned and headed for the stairs. Truth be told she didn’t know how she was going to occupy her time over the next two weeks; all she knew was that it was better to be here than in London. Wycliffe Manor may have been in the middle of nowhere, but that was what made it so appealing: she was far, far away from the mocking whispers of her peers.

  “Going back to your room to mope about and eat more chocolate?” a masculine voice drawled as she passed by the parlor. Cadence stopped and looked in through the open doorway. There, draped lengthwise across a chaise lounge and looking every inch the wicked, rakish scoundrel that he was, laid the Duke of Colebrook.

  Drats. She’s completely forgotten he would be staying here as well; the renovations on his estate having not yet been completed. For a mom
ent she considered chasing after the newlywed’s carriage before she dismissed the idea as folly. For one thing, she’d never catch it. For another, the estate was large enough for two people to avoid each other if they wanted to. And she dearly, dearly wanted to.

  There was just something about Colebrook that got under her skin, like a splinter she couldn’t quite reach. Every time she tried to yank the splinter out it embedded itself even further and she was left grinding her teeth in frustration, wondering if she’d ever be able to remove it.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she said crossly.

  Chuckling under his breath, Colebrook sat up. “Poor Miss Fairchild. Ever the brokenhearted damsel in distress. Do you know the best way to get over someone you used to love?” he asked.

  Ignore him, Cadence ordered herself. Ignore him and keep walking.

  “What is that?” she said with a jaunty toss of her head.

  “Kiss someone you don’t.” His smirking grin fading as he stared at her with eyes that were dark with lust and some other emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, he slowly uncoiled his lanky frame and stood up. “Come in and close the door, Cadence.”

  Cadence wasn’t naïve. She knew what would happen if she did as he asked. Just as she knew there were a hundred – no, a thousand – reasons why she shouldn’t.

  She swallowed.

  Hard.

  And then she walked into the parlor…and closed the door.