The one relief she had was a set of her own rooms, a sanctuary of sorts. A smaller room had been set up for Oliver, but as soon as he was what the Duke deemed of an appropriate age—that being two years—the boy was moved to his own room. It was as if her son had been torn from her, but she hid her sorrow and visited him as often as the nanny would allow.
If that could have been the worst of her time in Blackwood Estates, she would have been relatively happy. However, many nights had been spent in the room where she was now. For what reason depended on the Duke’s mood. If Caroline did not smile at a man, Reginald would grow angry, accusing her of being rude and unsociable. If she did smile, and Reginald was in one of his tempers, he would accuse her of horrible things. The problem was knowing which rule to use in which situation, for his judgment of her would vary from one time to the next.
At other times, he would comment that she disgusted him. This latter was his favorite topic of conversation when they had no guests to stay his tongue. It was the reason she enjoyed when they hosted various functions, for then he typically kept his comments about what he thought of her to himself.
Coming of age in her small village, the looks of men—both married and not—convinced her that she was at least attractive. Her dark hair and blue eyes caused more than one girl to despise her, although she never did anything to bring about their hatred. Perhaps she should have advocated for herself more, but she had not liked being disagreeable to anyone.
The sound of footsteps made her sit up and wrap her arms around her bent knees. She trembled with fear as the key turned in the lock, and when the door opened, Reginald entered, his hand covering his mouth as he coughed. A lingering illness, or so he had said, that he was unable to shake.
“Reginald,” Caroline said as she stood, “I would like to apologize.” She could not bear another strike of his hand or the lashing of his tongue. Whatever she could do to appease him, she would.
“Remove your clothes,” he commanded.
She did as he asked, and as she worked the tiny buttons that ran down her back, she feared he would grow angry once again because she moved too slowly. However, he did not. Instead, he studied a piece of brown cloth that he had carried in draped over his arm, a sinister grin on his face.
When she finally removed the gown, she stood shivering before him in her shift.
“The shift, as well.”
She opened her eyes widely but did as he bade. Was he planning on performing his husbandly duties on her after so long? The thought of that made her sick, and soon she stood before him, bereft of clothing, her arms wrapped around herself to not only keep her warm but to hide her shame.
“Put that on,” he said, tossing her the cloth. It was a plain dress made of burlap. She had not owned anything so poor even when she was a child.
When she finished donning the dress, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out into the hallway to stand in front of a small mirror that hung on the wall. “Do you know what I see?”
“No,” she whispered. She attempted not to wince at the hold he had on her arm, the bruises left the night before still tender.
“A woman of low class who has been given the opportunity to be a Lady,” he said with a sneer. “It seems as though she does not appreciate what she has been given, so today, you will work as the peasant woman you are!”
“Reginald,” she begged, “I can explain about last evening.” She continued to plead with him as he marched her down the hallway.
He said nothing, but as they passed his bedroom, what was left of any hope Caroline had disappeared. For standing there was Miss Mary French, her long red hair flowing down her back and devoid of any clothing. In her hands was a large necklace of glistening jewels, larger than anything Caroline had ever received.
Hot tears burned down her cheeks as she was led outside. At least the servants had the decency to turn away as she and Reginald walked past, but no one dared intervene. Work was difficult to come by for many these days, so no one was willing to set in to give aid, for they knew the only outcome would be dismissal, and she did not blame them for their hesitancy.
They came to a stop in front of a large sectioned-off square of dirt, and Reginald released her arm. “I want this soil turned by sundown, or you will remain in that room all week.”
She nodded as she wiped the tears from her face. How ironic that she would be working a small plot of land even after she married one of the most influential men in the area.
“I understand,” she replied. Then she glanced around. “Where are the tools?”
He snorted. “You will use your fingers. I suggest you get started now; time is slipping by.”
Caroline looked over the area with concern. “All of it? With my hands?” she asked, shocked that he would make such a demand of her.
“All of it.”
Her humiliation deepened when she went to her knees just as Philip, the family’s gardener, came around one of the far hedges and stopped to stare.
“Hurry, now,” Reginald said. “You are no longer a Lady. You will return to your roots and conduct yourself in the way of your parents.”
The words hurt more than ever. Her father had died three years earlier, her mother not two months ago, and she had not been allowed to attend either of their funeral services. For her, that had been worse than the beatings, worse than being locked in that room, and he knew it.
She glanced down at the ill-fitting dress and gasped. “This dress is much too revealing!” she said in a hushed tone. The truth was, if she was not careful and she bent over too far, her bosom would fall right out! Was he devising another reason to be angry with her?
“I assumed you enjoyed the admiration of men,” Reginald said in his haughty tone. “You, gardener!” he called out. “Come here.”
The man hurried over, his long, dark locks concealing most of his face. Caroline had not realized it before, but she did not remember ever seeing his face, at least not all of it. He always kept his hair so that it came to just below his shoulders, but rather than pull it back as was the fashion, he allowed it to hide his features.
“Your Grace,” Philip said with a bow.
“See to it that my wife remains here all day working. I do not want her to rest, nor should she eat or drink. I have business to conduct in town and need someone to keep an eye on her.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the man replied with another deep bow. “I will not falter to uphold your command.”
The Duke gave the man a sniff and then turned and marched away.
With tears running down her face, tears she could not dam, she leaned over and began to claw at the hard soil, pain shooting up her arm as a fingernail caught on a pebble and attempted to pull away.
She worked without stopping, and a short time later, she looked up at the window and pursed her lips. Miss French stood looking out the window as the Duke came up behind her. He kissed her neck and then led her away. Although his affairs had been known to her for so long, having the adulterous woman mock her caused a new feeling to come over Caroline.
So, the man had not gone into town yet, more than likely needing to satisfy his cravings beforehand. At least it was not Caroline who had to see to that, for the idea made her ill.
For the first time in years, she was no longer scared. No, her fear was now overtaken by anger.
Chapter Three
Philip Butler stood at attention, his heart going out to the young woman left in his care. At the age of four and thirty, he had seen horrible things in his life. However, this had to be among the worst he had encountered. No woman should be treated in such a disgraceful manner, regardless of her station in life. Even women of the lower class were not treated as work animals in the manner the Duke demanded of his wife.
Employed by Reginald Hayward for four months, Philip was thankful for the work and the wages it paid. However, in that short time, he had seen what the Duke had done to the innocent beauty now on her hands and knees digging in the soil.
Yet, this was not the only reason Philip despised the man. He had heard the manner in which the Duke spoke to his wife, the sharp tongue he used with her was sickening, and he had witnessed the man strike her twice. The second time it had happened, Philip had bit on his lip so hard to keep himself from screaming at the man that he drew blood. According to the house servants, the beatings were a common occurrence, and knowing this only fueled the disgust Philip had for the man.
A woman of such beauty should be held in high regard, or so he thought. And the Duchess was truly unique. Her face seemed sculpted by the finest artist; her eyes sparkled with a light that could have filled a dark night. Her body was shapely, especially in the dress she currently wore; although he refused to stare. Such a beauty did not deserve to be scrutinized with lust but only with respect.
The Duchess stopped digging and straightened her back as she wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead.
He reached into his pocket and produced a kerchief. “Please,” he offered.
She narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced toward the house. “I must refuse,” she said in a low tone. “His anger…” Her words trailed off, but she did not need to say them aloud for him to know what she meant.
A sound came to his ear. “Listen.”
She glanced around, confusion written on her features. “I hear nothing…”
He held up a single finger to silence her and quickly walked away, moving along the side of the house. Pushing through the shrubbery, he peeked between two branches. His ears had not deceived him. A trail of long red hair disappeared into a waiting carriage followed by the Duke. Within a few moments, the carriage pulled away and disappeared down the drive.
“May you never return,” Philip whispered after the pair, and then he turned and headed back to where the Duchess was back at her tilling.
“Here, drink and cool yourself,” he said, handing her a leather pouch that hung from his boxcloth braces where they were attached to the front of his pants. It only held a small amount of water, but it was enough to quench his thirst when he did not wish to stop and ladle water from the barrel behind the shed.
The woman’s eyes widened with fear. “I cannot disobey my husband,” she said in a shaky voice.
“He is gone,” Philip replied, motioning the pouch toward her once again. “Of course, I cannot report what I do not see.” He set the water on a rock beside her and turned as if looking off toward the shed. “It is such a lovely day. I don’t suppose rain will be coming judging by those clouds.”
He could hear her drinking from the pouch, and he smiled to himself. He pretended to study the sky for several more moments before hearing a quiet “Thank you”. Then he turned around to find the pouch back in its place on the rock.
“Do you enjoy working here?” the Duchess asked.
He looked down at her lovely features, and he could not stop the thoughts that tore through his mind. They were not the villainous thoughts of rakes and degenerates, but rather of a man whose heart was filled with warmth. Somehow, he found himself wishing that one day the Duke would leave her, and she would be available to find a man fitting her elegance and beauty. “Yes, Your Grace, I do,” he said in response to her question.
She gave a small smile and squinted as she looked up at him. “There is no reason for formalities here,” she said with a sigh. “Please, call me Caroline. I am a peasant, after all.” He thought he saw a flare of anger behind her eyes, but it was gone so quickly, he was unsure it had been there.
“Of course,” Philip replied, though he was unsure what he thought of her request. Would he be able to see her as a woman and not a Duchess? He studied her again and found his answer. Yes, he most certainly could.
“My husband must think highly of you to charge you with the task of watching over me. Though, I do wonder, why did you offer me water when he forbade it? I could tell him you defied him if I chose to do so.”
Philip let out a small sigh. “That you could; although, I believe you would not do so.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I see a woman nobler than the title she carries,” he replied. He cursed himself silently. He had a job to do, which was not complimenting the woman before him. “I am sorry for speaking in such a bold manner.”
She offered him another of her wonderful smiles, one that was warmer than the sun that heated his back. “Thank you for your words, Philip. They are more comforting than you realize.”
He said nothing, for he feared what he might say. Instead, he gave her a nod, and she turned to resume her work. He wanted to kneel at her side and help her with the task she had been given, but he knew he could not. Not only for the fear of the Duke learning he had done so, but also because he recognized that she needed the work to aid in venting her anger. No, he had no business taking away from her that which would allow her to become stronger, for she tore at the soil with a vengeance. What she needed was to be left alone.
***
Although he took a great risk, Philip managed to secure some food and more water for Caroline. The woman had gobbled down the food as a street urchin who had not eaten in weeks, her eyes darting fearfully toward the house.
“My ears never fail me,” he assured her. “I will hear when he returns.”
She gave him a nod and slowed her eating, for which Philip was glad. He could not have her choking on the bread when she was not to be receiving any food whatsoever. She took another drink from the pouch and then handed it to him.
“Thank you,” she repeated for the fifth time. “One day I shall repay your kindness for the deeds you have done here today.”
He went to tell her that it was not needed, that the payment he sought would not come from her, but a sound caught his attention. He followed her gaze to the back door where her son, Oliver, walked through with his governess. When he turned back to Caroline, the look of longing she had on her face was heart-wrenching. He knew the son was used against her, oftentimes being withheld from her for many days when the Duke was angry with her.
“Mother!” the boy cried as he broke free from the grasp of the governess and ran toward Caroline. He was soon in his mother’s arms as she planted kisses all over his cheeks.
“Oh, Oliver!” she said as she pushed him away lightly and looked him up and down. “How are your studies?”
The boy hugged her again, and she closed her eyes as if savoring the moment. “I am learning my letters,” Oliver said as he pulled away from his mother’s grasp. “Miss Lindston says I’m very bright.” He paused as he noticed Philip. “Oh, hello.”
“Hello, young master,” Philip replied with a bow.
Miss Lindston approached, her face filled with concern.
“Is everything all right?” Philip asked the governess as he forestalled her. “You look very upset.” Behind him, he could hear Caroline and Oliver talking, Caroline telling her son of her love for him. It was Philip’s hope to give them as much time as he could.
“Quite well, Mr. Butler,” the governess replied curtly. “His Grace told me…” She paused to lower her voice and lean in. “Not to allow Oliver near his mother today. I must not disobey him.”
“I could not agree more,” Philip replied. “For to disobey his word would be most unfitting.” His mind churned as he thought of a way to keep the woman at bay for longer. “It reminds me of a story my uncle once told me.” He tapped his chin. “Wait, perhaps it was my father.”
Miss Lindston attempted to look past him, but he shifted in the same direction. “Well, it makes no difference who told me, does it?” He laughed and was amused when the governess gave a distracted laugh. “Well, it was the story of a Duke and a servant named David.” He p
aused again. “Wait, do you know this story already by chance?”
“Hardly,” Miss Lindston said with a sniff. “Now, pardon me.” She pushed past him, and a moment later she grabbed the boy by the hand and pulled him away from Caroline. “Now, Oliver, we must keep to our schedule. Come, it is time for our walk.”
Oliver stared at his mother with sadness in his eyes, but he did as the governess asked.
Caroline watched the pair walk away, her eyes clouded with tears. “Once again you have intervened and helped me,” she said without looking at him. “I promise I will repay the gesture now twice over. Do not hesitate to tell me what you want when the day comes when I am able to oblige.”
“Thank you…Caroline.” He would never take that repayment, however. He had helped the woman, for she was good and not for any form of personal gain. For a brief moment, as he looked at her, he thought that maybe he could love such a woman again. However, he had experienced that type of love before, and the pain was still much too strong to even consider it risking such a relationship again. Plus, this woman was not available to love; she was a married woman, married to the man who was his employer.
Therefore, with a smile, she turned to continue with her work, and Philip returned to his. He was certain both hoped the Duke would be in a better mood upon his return than that in which he had left.
***
The sun was nearing its resting place on the horizon when the Duke returned, his mistress at his side. Philip stood straight, his head bowed so his dark hair hung over his face lest his own eyes betray the anger he held. Although he did not mind the time he spent with the Duchess, he could not condone such abhorrent behavior from any man, be he Duke or peasant. However, voicing his opinion would get him dismissed, and this position was much too important to him. This, of course, brought on a bout of guilt for putting his work before the needs of the young woman who was bent over in the dirt, but his dismissal would not help her either, for his words would do nothing to change the course of action the Duke had set.
The Duke of Ravens Page 2
