Page 68 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
She walked towards him, and he took her hand, helping her into the carriage. “Your mother said we should take our time though I’m not sure what she meant by that.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Neither do I.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she just meant that she means to stay for the rest of the soiree. How she managed to make friends among these people, I don’t know, but she has.”
“Well, she was sitting with Old Lady Spencer, who has been dubbed our wise old lady of the district. I think she’ll be fine.”
“Mm.” His hand stayed on hers, fingers caressing her knuckles gently. “Hopefully she does not get my mother burned at the stake.”
Freya gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “The wise old lady might one day be accused of witchcraft. Isn’t that how it goes?”
Freya burst into surprised laughter. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh yes. Who is the local clergy? Does he hate women? That’s how it begins.”
Freya laughed some more, shaking her head in bemusement. “The local priest is a very mild-mannered man. He never even raises his voice, nor does he condemn us for our iniquities. Only urges us to love one another.”
“Well…” He leaned close to her, whispering in her ear. “I suppose I can do that.”
She froze, wondering if he realized what he had just said. His face remained good-humored and mild, and she decided that he had meant it generally and not to her specifically.
She sat back, leaning slightly into him when he put his arm over her shoulders. He sighed. “Isabella and William will be at the door to meet us when we arrive at Stark Manor. I wish there was somewhere we could be alone.”
“Well…” Freya started, avoiding Eric’s eye, “thereisthe Dowager Cottage. It has its own gate and a little lane that you turn off just before you arrive at the gates of Stark Manor. We could go there.”
“Excellent idea.” He took his cane and banged three times on top of the carriage. It came to a stop, and he leaned out to talk to the coachman, telling him to drop them off just before Stark Manor and then return to the party for his mother.
“Yes sir.” The coachman tipped his hat at Eric before resuming the journey. Freya just watched him, marveling at how easily he had agreed to her suggestion. She was used to everything being a fight with the Duke and having her views valued and heard was something new.
She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. He turned to face her, giving her a smile and squeezing back. She sighed with contentment, knowing that she truly did want to be here with this man who was her husband.
The coachman came to a stop just before the small tree-lined lane that led to the Dowager Cottage. Eric and Freya alighted, waving him away before making their way on foot. “I don’t know the last time anyone was there. It might be quite dusty,” she said uncertainly.
“Then we shall air it out,” he suggested gently.
He sighed with pleasure, looking around. “These trees remind me of our home in London. I loved how they hung over the path, as if they were curious about the passing people, while providing shade on the hottest days. Can we come here again?”
“Of course. If you wish.”
“I do wish. I already sense that this place will be special to us.”
They came upon the black-painted iron gate that led to the cottage, and Freya was relieved to find that it opened easily on well-oiled hinges. She led the way to the cottage door and tried it, holding her breath.
The door was closed but not locked, and they stepped in to find a lovely sitting room, free of dust or dirt and arranged with old but clean furniture. “It seems someone makes it their business to clean this place,” she observed.
“Mmm,” Eric said, still holding her hand as he moved towards the short corridor. There was a kitchen to his right, the carved wooden counter clean and empty of dishes. They walked past it and found an empty room next with old peeling wallpaper on the walls and nothing but a rocking chair in the corner. They continued walking, and the next room was where they found what they were looking for.
A large sturdy bed sat in the middle of the room, fitted with a white sheet and two goose-down pillows. There was a large chest of drawers just below the windows, and that was it. Freya and Eric exchanged glances before hurrying over to the bed.
Eric grabbed Freya by the waist, holding her to him. He turned his head to whisper in her ear, “Do you remember when you asked me if you could do the same thing to me as I did to you, the first time we made love?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“Well, you can. Would you like to try?”
She turned around in his arms and put her own around his neck. “I would, yes.”
He smiled. “All right, then the first thing to do is of course…”
