Page 19 of Caught With the Scarred Duke
Stepping back into his bedchamber, he closed the door on her, though the wounded expression upon her face could not be shutout so easily. But if he had to be cruel to be kind, that was exactly what he would do.
Teresa stared at the closed door, listening to the retreat of Cyrus’ footsteps in the room beyond—the room she was forbidden to enter. Her skin tingled where he had touched her accidentally, her own hand moving to cover the spot, wondering if she had imagined the kind gesture of him fixing her sleeve. It certainly did not match with his second abrupt dismissal of her.
Do not stand here like a fool!
Shaking off her confusion, she turned away from where she was not wanted, and, with her head held high, she retraced her steps to her own bedchamber.
The warmth from the fireplace soothed her like a hug from one of her sisters, or Beatrice, and she sat right down on the rug before it, to savor its heat. Her eyes kept prickling, trying to form tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to let that infuriating man affect her in such a way.
“He is not my captain,” she muttered at the dancing flames. “Rest assured, my curiosity has been satisfied. As I have long suspected, imagination is far greater than reality.”
Deep down, she wished she had been more confident in her assumption, for then she might not have found herself in thissituation. She would not have burst into that room at the ball, would not have tried to kiss him, would not have bound herself to a man who clearly did not want anything to do with her, like every other gentleman she had ever encountered in society.
Why did I think he would be any different?
“The irony is,” she whispered to no one at all, imagining that Beatrice was there at her side, “now I am guaranteed to never know what it feels like to be kissed.”
She laughed bitterly, shuffling backward until she felt the support of the armchair against her spine. Relaxing against it, she gazed at the flames for a while longer, trying to see her future in the fiery flicker, but it was only when the blaze began to die down to embers that she truly saw her fate.
I will never live the love story I have dreamed of my entire life.
“But Iwillbe happy,” she vowed, glaring at the glowing embers. “No matter what, I will find a way to be happy, from this moment on.”
She was just twenty years old; she would not letthisbe the end of her story.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Any instructions today, Your Grace?” Belinda asked, setting down an enormous plate of buttery eggs on thickly cut toast, with a small bowl of blackberries, freshly picked from the garden.
It had been almost a week since Teresa’s arrival, and she had not seen hide nor hair of her husband. She took breakfast at the small table in her bedchamber, ate luncheon in the kitchens, and dined alone in the evening, though the staff did their best to keep her company. Yet, most were not comfortable conversing freely with their Duchess; it went against the very nature of their work.
“I have had a few thoughts,” Teresa said, becoming more grateful by the day for the housekeeper and her perpetually cheerful demeanor. “My efforts with the music hall were, admittedly, ill-judged. As was my suggestion to cover all the walls in tapestries and drapes to make it a little warmer.”
Belinda chuckled, pouring a fresh cup of weak coffee for her mistress. “Not ill-judged at all, Your Grace, just ambitious.”
“You are too kind, and a terrible fibber.” Teresa smiled. “Nevertheless, I have decided that I will start small.”
“How small?”
Teresa took up her cup of coffee and sipped. “Plants.”
“Plants, Your Grace?”
“Flowers, specifically. Perhaps, a little tree or two.” Teresa gestured vaguely around her with her free hand. “I would like to brighten up the hallways, and there is an abundance of beautiful flowers in the gardens that would look beautiful indoors. Of course, I shall probably need to procure an equal abundance of vases, but, as I said, I am starting small. A hallway and a room at a time.”
Belinda pulled a face as she fetched a tiny dish of salt from the breakfast tray, and put it beside Teresa’s plate, already accustomed to her new mistress’ habits and likes. Indeed, the housekeeper seemed to have a gift for predicting what Teresa might want or need before she even asked for it.
“Not a good idea?” Teresa asked, noting the frown.
“A lovely idea,” Belinda replied, hesitating. “However, you might have some trouble convincing Mr. Brewster. The head gardener. He is… very particular; I think that’s the polite way of saying it.”
Sprinkling salt on her eggs, Teresa nodded, steeling her determination. “I shall take care of that.” She glanced up at Belinda. “In the meantime, do you think youcouldfind me some vases? They do not have to be remarkable, just able to hold water. I should hate to turn the hallways into a treacherous feat of keeping one’s balance in my attempt to brighten them up.”
The housekeeper chuckled. “I’ll have a few of the maids gather some from the storage rooms. Last time I checked, we’ve got more vases than we know what to do with. Itisa shame the same can’t be said for tapestries, though.” She paused, smiling. “You’ll get used to the cold and, in the height of summer, I promise you’ll be glad of it.”
“Thank you, Belinda.” Teresa sighed softly. “Truly, thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Your Grace.” Belinda’s gaze flitted toward the door, as if to make sure they were alone. “And I’m sorry that His Grace hasn’t been in your company more. I wish I could tell you that he hasn’t always been so withdrawn, but… I don’t want to lie to you.”
