Page 30 of The Duke and the Scarred Bride

“What might that be, Your Grace?” Mrs. Owens asked, turning to her.

“Perhaps you could sit with me—keep me company while I eat,” Louisa requested, trying not to let her desperation show. “I come from a large household, so this silence is new to me.”

She saw the pity flicker in the housekeeper’s eyes, and she had to look away. She had enough of the pity for her scar—why on earth should her marriage be a source of pity as well?

“Certainly, Your Grace. I do have some pressing duties, but I can spare some minutes,” Mrs. Owens replied as she came back to sit across from her, looking at her with eyes filled with motherly affection.

It was so intense that Louisa averted her gaze.

“I cannot express to you how happy I am that this house has a mistress again. The last mistress was His Grace’s mother, but she died soon after having ‘em boys.”

“What of the previous Duke, my husband’s brother? Surely, he had a wife?”

“His Grace’s older brother was a very good duke, but he did not have much success with the ladies—did not know how to deal with ‘em. That was why he put off marrying for a very long time before death snatched him away,” Mrs. Owens replied with a sad sigh, shaking her head. “That is why I am grateful to have a lady at the helm of affairs. The previous Dukes were not particularly interested in rebuilding the castle. They had other… distractions.”

What distractions exactly had made them ignore the dilapidated state of their residence? Louisa wondered.

How exactly had the resources of this estate been squandered, so much so that the previous Dukes had grown comfortable with living in a manor that was literally falling apart around their ears?

Louisa suspected that Mrs. Owens knew the full story, but from the mutinous set of her lips, she instinctively knew that the woman would not tell her because of her loyalty to Percival. However, she appreciated and admired her devotion.

“I will be leaving now, Your Grace. I have to confer with Cook on some pressing issues,” Mrs. Owens said, standing up to leave.

“Thank you, Mrs. Owens. I can manage on my own.”

The buxom woman scurried out, leaving Louisa to her thoughts.

While she understood that Percival had married her solely for her dowry and social status, that did not translate to avoiding her as if she had the plague.

Why on earth would she have to sit at the breakfast table by herself, being plagued with thoughts of the possible cause of his absence? This was not the life she had signed up for, and he could not force her to live it.

Her chair made a scraping sound that was decidedly too loud as she suddenly pushed it back in averyunladylike way and stood up. But at that point, she couldn’t care less—her insides were boiling with self-righteous anger.

She marched towards her husband’s study—the same study he preferred to stay in to avoid her. She didn’t bother knocking, she just pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His dark head was bent over some ledgers, but it snapped up at her entrance, and he watched her with a look of slight irritation in his eyes.

Hewas irritated?Shewas the one who had been dumped in an old manor falling apart at the seams and left to her own devices.

“What seems to be the matter,Duchess?” he asked, removing the spectacles that were perched on his nose.

His tone was downright mocking, but even as she boiled with anger, she had to admit that the pair of spectacles seemed toincrease his appeal even more. That thought was enough to add kindling to the already raging fire that was her anger.

How dare he behave so dastardly when he had such a beautiful face?

“It appears the matter concerns you,Your Grace. We have much to discuss.”

“That conversation will have to wait. I have a lot of work to do,” he said, turning back to the ledgers.

“I will have that conversation now, not later,” she insisted.

Percival looked up in surprise at her vehement tone. He must have understood the depth of her anger right then.

He rose from his desk, watching her curiously. “You do not have to be unreasonable to make your point.”

“I am the unreasonable one?” she asked incredulously, her voice rising. “You should have never married me if you hated to see my face so much.”

“I married you despite the scar on your face. I never cared about your scar,” he argued, his eyes hardening. “Why would you assume such a thing?”

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