Ashbourne winced and raised a hand as if to defend himself. He opened his mouth, but she did not have the fortitude to withstand an apology. Not tonight and not one to be laced with placating falsehoods as she was sure his would be.
“It needn’t matter what role I am to play in this farce.” She took pleasure in repeating the terrible word. “I’ve had worse accusations thrown at me. Being deemed ugly is hardly the worst of them. But if I am to play a role in this marriage, I should ask that you play one as well.”
He blinked at her, and she knew she had his attention.
“It is my duty as the duchess to beget an heir for the continuation of the title, and I will not allow your inability to couple with someone as ugly as myself to prevent me from doing my duty.”
He raised his eyebrows at the word couple, and she could only imagine what he thought of her. She pressed on.
“As I require your assistance in such matters, I will expect you to visit my bedchamber every evening as is suitable until an heir and a spare are produced. Do I have your word on this matter?”
Ashbourne continued to blink.
“Visit your bedchamber?”
She swallowed. How could a man so well respected be so utterly obtuse when it came to personal matters?
“I require you as a partner in sexual congress so we may create a child who may one day inherit the Ashbourne title.”
He blanched, and she worried for a moment he would upset his stomach. She wasn’t sure how much spirits he had consumed, but it was likely a great deal to require assistance in obtaining his home.
“Ashbourne, do you understand the terms of the agreement?”
“I’m to visit your bedchamber every evening.”
“Every evening that is acceptable. I shall inform you of the evenings when I am not able to receive you, and you will be relieved of your duty for that evening. Once the heir and spare are secured, you will be released from your requirements. You need never visit my bedchamber again.”
She had until that very moment kept a firm hold on her emotions, but when she realized at some point Ashbourne would no longer visit her, a coldness passed through her. The awful truth of it was she enjoyed his company. He was easy to converse with and possessed an intelligent demeanor. She had thought she had done remarkably well when it came to the match until she’d learned she was only a pawn in his terrible plan.
She cradled the empty teapot in her lap, wrapping both of her hands around the pottery and squeezing it to stay focused. She was nearly there.
A look passed over his features then, so fleeting she almost missed it. Had she not known better she would have thought him sad that she would be reduced to such an arrangement if only to get the baby she so badly wanted, but Ashbourne didn’t think of her in those terms. She filled a purpose for him. He would fill a purpose for her, no matter how her heart might yearn for more.
Ashbourne nodded, his eyelids slipping.
“I require a verbal affirmation.” She grabbed his arm to keep him from falling back into unconsciousness.
He pitched forward, and she feared he would tumble from the sofa.
“I will gladly visit your bedchamber every evening, Your Grace.” His lips turned up in gleeful smirk before he fell backwards on the sofa with a rapturous snore.
She studied him for several seconds, her emotions in free fall as she thought of the smirk he’d given her, almost as if he looked forward to his nightly visits. It was absolute nonsense.
She pushed to her feet and whistled for Henry even as her gaze remained on her unconscious husband.
But even as she told herself it was rubbish, she couldn’t help but remember what Viv had said.
Men didn’t chase after women for whom they did not care.
* * *
He awoke questioning several things at once.
Why was he asleep on his drawing room sofa?
Why did he smell of tea?
And most importantly, why was the sofa and his person so damp?
He struggled to a sitting position and regretted it immediately. The room swam about him like a strange theater show at Covent Garden. He shut his eyes, putting a hand to his forehead to see if he could physically stop the spinning. When he was fully upright and had stabilized himself against the sofa cushions, he attempted to open his eyes again. Just mere slits at first, he worked his way until they were completely open.
He was most definitely in the drawing room of Ashbourne House. He reeked of tea and whiskey, an odd combination of which he had no memory in terms of how it had come about.
He got his feet under him and pushed upward, but it didn’t take. He collapsed back against the sofa just as the door opened. Carver entered with a silver tray. The aroma of strong coffee assailed him, and his stomach threatened to turn over. The butler deposited the tray in front of him.
“Your Grace,” he said with a small bow.
The tray contained an urn of coffee and a plate of plain toast. Bile bubbled in his throat at the sight of it, but he knew if he were to gain his feet this morning, he must consume it. He started with the coffee.
“The house is readying for your departure, Your Grace, and you and the duchess shall be underway as planned.”
He squinted at the butler. “Underway?”
Carver straightened. “Yes, Your Grace. You wished to leave for Ashbourne Manor today. Have your plans been altered? I will alert the staff immediately if so.”
He waved a hand. They were leaving today? How was it here already? He could hardly remember the night before. Where had they been? A ball of some sort, he surmised if his wrinkled attire were any suggestion.
“Carver.” His voice sounded as though it had been mangled by various forms of farm machinery. “Carver, where is the duchess?”
“She is breaking her fast presently in the morning room.”
Dax had almost managed to get his fingers around the steaming cup of pitch black coffee when something in Carver’s voice stopped him. The butler had been with Ashbourne House since before Dax held the title and never had he heard the butler’s pitch fluctuate. But just then, Dax swore he heard the smallest of inflections.
He squinted up at the man. “She’s breaking her fast. That’s superb.”
Carver would not meet his gaze.
“Carver.” Dax struggled to clear his throat. “I appear to be suffering the effects of ingesting dangerous levels of alcohol. May I have committed some act during my state of drunkenness that I may regret?”
Carver’s lips firmed, but man of honor that he was, he did not flinch.
“Your Grace, may I speak boldly?”
Dear God, what had he done? “Yes, you may.”
“The servants and myself and Mrs. Fitzhugh have heard only the rumors that pass so quickly below stairs, Your Grace, and the actions of yourself and the duchess from which to draw our conclusions. I would not think to make assumptions which would impugn your honor.”
“Drat, man, spit it out.” Dax had the cup of coffee in his hand now and attempted a sip. The liquid was hot and rich, and it flooded every sense he hadn’t shredded with alcohol. He could feel each inch of him coming back to life with every sip, and the fog began to lift from his mind.
“Your Grace, something occurred at the Devonshire ball last eve which resulted in the duchess returning to Ashbourne House alone and awaiting your arrival here in the drawing room until nearly dawn.”
Carver needn’t say anything more because just at that moment the previous night came careening back to Dax, and his stomach did give up then. The cup rattled on the tray as he plunked it down before dropping it.
“Carver, I’ve done something unforgivable.”
The night before materialized in sick snatches of memory. Speaking with Sebastian about Eliza. Eliza overhearing what he’d planned for his marriage. He’d chased after her. He remembered at least that, but Sebastian had stopped him. He couldn’t remember why Sebastian had stopped him, but after that, he only had cloudy
pieces of memory that involved whiskey and his club.
This time when he got to his feet they held under him.
“I must speak with the duchess.”
Carver took two neat steps backward. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”
Dax was fully alert by the time he made the corridor, and he raced down the stairs. The breakfast room was just off the main corridor, and he was there within seconds.
Eliza sat with her back to the front windows, and she was illuminated in morning sunshine. Her riotous hair was neatly pinned, and her gown was of an unmentionable blue. Henry was nowhere to be seen.
He stepped into the room, clearing his throat to bid his wife good morning, when he took in the rest of her visage. There were dark bruises beneath her eyes, and a puffiness to her cheeks that was not normally there. He recalled what Carver had said. She’d waited up for his return. She was likely dead on her feet, sleep deprived, and—
With cutting clarity, the sound of her sobs rushed into his memory.
He’d made her cry.
No, it was more than that. The sounds she had been making could only come from someone who had had their soul wrenched from their body.
She looked up as if sensing him, her teacup braced almost to her lips. The breath froze in his lungs, and it was a physical thing to force himself forward. He collapsed in the chair closest to her, forgetting any sense of propriety.
“Eliza, I must beg your forgiveness.”
Her lips had been slightly parted as if she’d meant to say something, but at his outburst, she set down her cup with a precise thud.
“Whatever are you going on about?” Her frown caused a line to form between her eyes. “Carver was to take you some coffee and toast. Did you not receive it? I should hate to think your frivolity of last night will have undue repercussions this morning.”
He blinked. Undue repercussions?
She gestured with a nod to the sideboard. “Eggs always seemed to help Andrew when he sowed his wild oats in his youth. Cook makes the most remarkable eggs. Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”
She was offering to get him some eggs?
“Eliza, last night—”
“Oh, yes, I’m glad you should bring up last night. I had cause for concern that you might not recall some of what occurred while you were under the effects of the drink.”
He licked his lips. God, he could drink the entire Thames right then. “Yes, I must admit I can’t recall everything, but I do remember the important parts, and I must beg your forgiveness. I can explain what it is you overheard. I didn’t—”
She waved a hand at him, a smile coming to her lips. “Oh, you needn’t bother about all of that. We came to an understanding when you returned early this morning. There is nothing to apologize for.”
He blinked, studying her face. She was like a porcelain figurine with over-large eyes and caricature features. But it was her eyes which gave her away. Her smile never reached them, and the lines about her mouth marked a certain fragility. He hated himself then. He hated himself for his carelessness, for…everything.
“Eliza, there is. You must know—”
Again, she stopped him. “Ashbourne, please. You mustn’t go on like this.” She pushed to her feet, setting her napkin beside her untouched plate. She drifted over to the sideboard and loaded a plate with eggs and toast. When she returned to the table, she placed the plate in front of him and reached for the teapot. “Is tea all right? I had Carver bring up the only urn of coffee to you this morning. Cook is attempting to ready the kitchens for our departure, so there isn’t any more to be had, I’m afraid.” She poured a neat cup of tea for him.
He could do nothing but watch this soulless pantomime. Eliza was doing everything she could to show him she was all right. That she was unfazed by what she had overheard the previous night. He had suspected deep within her was a steel forged of the disparaging remarks and cutting actions directed at her by those members of the ton, but he couldn’t have guessed she was this determined.
She resumed her seat. “Now then. While you break your fast, I will go over the arrangement you agreed to last evening upon your return.”
“Arrangement?”
Now her smile held a degree of something else, something calculating. “Yes, arrangement. I did have to wake you from your stupor. I do apologize for that.”
“You doused me with cold tea.” He didn’t know how he knew that, but suddenly, he understood why he was still damp.
She had the audacity to appear chagrinned. “Yes, there was that. I do apologize. However, I think we were able to come to a wonderful arrangement. Don’t you agree?”
Whatever this arrangement was, it seemed to placate her somehow, so he nodded along. “Yes, a wonderful arrangement.”
Now her face broke into a real smile, and he realized he’d just again agreed to whatever it was she had in mind.
“Splendid.” She got to her feet again. “I must finish packing, and there’s Henry to see to. One of the footman has taken him into the gardens for a romp. I must say the staff are rather enamored of him. I do hope the servants of Ashbourne Manor will feel the same.”
She was almost to the door before he remembered to stop her.
“Eliza, what arrangement have we come to?”
She turned quietly, her hands held calmly before her.
“You’ve agreed to do your part in producing an heir for the title.”
What little blood was left in his head drained immediately out of his body.
“I bed your pardon.”
She straightened, facing him fully, her head canted just enough to show she was enjoying this.
“You’ve agreed to visit my room every night until an heir and a spare to the Ashbourne title have been created at which time your duties are fulfilled, and you must never visit my room again.” She gave a shrug with a smile so tinged with sadness, it wrenched his heart. “It’s a wonderful arrangement, don’t you agree?”
He thought if he were to stand and go to her, wrap his arms around her and kiss her the way he had that day in the Ravenwood drawing room, she would dissolve directly under his touch. She was so carefully holding herself at that moment, he couldn’t bear to torture her any longer.
“Yes, I do agree.” He kept his tone low, and he could see understanding in her eyes. She knew he understood just how much this was costing her.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to get her to agree to more. He wanted her to know he was going to do his damndest to make her understand how much he wanted to be with her, how much he enjoyed being with her. But he knew right now was not the time for such truths. It would take time for her to heal from what she had heard, for her to trust him again if she had ever trusted him at all.
He used the chair to help him stand. “I should like to begin tonight when we arrive at Ashbourne Manor.”
She blinked, and he realized he’d startled her. So she hadn’t been quite convinced of his earnestness. A spark of something dark and instinctual burned low within him. He was going to enjoy this little arrangement as long as he kept his wits about him and didn’t do something foolhardy like fall in love with his wife.
“Tonight would be most agreeable.”
“Then we’re agreed.”
“Yes, agreed.”
If either of them used the word agree once more, they would be hauled to Bedlam.
She nodded. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”
He was pleased to see she stumbled the slightest bit as she left the room.
Chapter 8
She sat on the forward-facing bench, Henry perched at her side, and she settled her features into a mask of neutrality, prepared for Ashbourne to join her in the carriage.
It was hardly past noon, and the footmen had loaded the last of their trunks some moments before. She’d kept her carpetbag with her watercolors and travel writing desk in the compartment with her in hopes they’d distract her during the journey. She wasn’t sure how far Glenhaven and t
he Ashbourne seat were from London, but she was prepared to ignore absolutely everyone and everything for the duration.
She was still shaken by their encounter in the morning room earlier. While she had prepared herself for their first true interaction after learning of his hurtful plan, she wasn’t at all ready for his emotion-filled apology. She’d almost believed him.
However, she couldn’t quite believe he was sorry for what he had said. He was more likely he was sorry he had been overheard. It needn’t matter. She had no whimsical ideas of herself. She knew just how plain and unworthy she was. It was best that they didn’t flit around the subject. A straightforward marriage predicated by structure was much more to her liking.
She pressed a hand to her chest and blinked out the window.
Yes, a marriage of arrangements was just fine.
The door snapped open, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from flying to it, heart tripping at the expectation of seeing her husband again.
But it wasn’t Ashbourne. It was the coachman.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace. Are you ready to depart?”
She blinked at the empty seat opposite her. “Yes, but where is the duke?”
The coachman pulled on the brim of his hat. “Gone ahead, Your Grace. He prefers to ride atop his steed for this journey.”
“Yes, of course,” she said quickly to get the coachman to close the door.
He did with stunning speed, and the carriage rocked with the force of it.
Blissfully, she was alone, and the tears came of their own accord.
She swatted at them, hating herself for having any left to give.
He didn’t wish to ride with her. Well, that was all well and good. She would enjoy the privacy for a bit anyway. With her sisters always about in her younger years, she’d grown used to them prattling on with constant frivolity. She may even enjoy the quiet around her for a bit.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 10
