Page 9 of In Need of a Duke
“Never.”
CHAPTER 1
Stonhurst Estate
Cumbria
1825
Yesterday she thoughtherself lost forever in the bleak, gray days of late winter.
Charlotte tipped her face up to the rare appearance of sun in chilly late February, smiling to herself. Soon, spring would be upon her, and she would have made it through the hardest part of the year.
She grabbed the mist bottle from high on the shelf in the conservatory and carefully sprayed her growing collection of rare plants. Mr. Browning had arranged for another shipment of the prized specimens. Soon, her hobby would rival that of Lady Cranbourne’s obsession.
“Would you care for some tea, Your Grace?” Mr. Fitzwilliam asked from beside the bubbling fountain behind her.
Charlotte spun around and fell back against the workbench. “Is it time already? I apologize, I…”
She shook her head, brushing off her hands and frowning at the dirt wedged beneath her nails. It wasn’t as if she didn’t enjoy her gardening. It was what others would think that bothered her. A duchess would never dirty her hands.
Montague Fitzwilliam, twenty and eight, and looking particularly handsome, shrugged. “It’s only I thought you might enjoy a break.”
A break?
There was no break for the Honey Duchess. That’s what the gossip rags liked to refer to her as, and even after eight years of being married, the not-so-polite whispers continued in drawing rooms across London.
There was no break because no matter where she turned, she ran into his ghost.
Eight years a wife, and her husband couldn’t stand being in the same room as her. She hadn’t seen him in almost two years. Even then, it was only for a brief visit that ended with him storming out of Stonehurst after spending more time meeting with the land steward than with her.
That was the day Lily had met Lieutenant Rafe Davies, and the last day she had seen her husband. Lily and Rafe later married that autumn. Kate, thrown into a scandal with London’s most notorious rake the year prior, left Charlotte soon after for Scotland, where she met and wed Laird Gabriel MacInnes.
And Charlotte remained.
Stuck.
“Are you sure you are well?” Monty asked. His dark brow was pinched as he stuffed his hands into his pockets of his fine riding attire. He was the eldest son and heir to a mining fortune.
“Yes, of course.” Charlotte pulled on a smile, even as her heart quieted. It was splendid to feel the sun sink into her skin, warming her up. She had been cold for far too long.
And today was her wedding anniversary.
She pushed off the workbench and fussed with her hair. “Yes, tea would be perfect. Where are the others?”
“Changing, we just returned from a ride. Nate was nearly thrownfrom his horse. That wall by the river on the west side of the property should be seen to immediately. It’s crumbling and spreading far too wide for it to be safely jumped.”
What a terrible hostess she was.
Stonehurst was far too big for her to be the only one in residence. With Kate leaving, Charlotte had agreed to host several house parties for Lord Nathaniel, Ian’s younger brother.
At least he acknowledged her.
“Charlotte, I speak only out of kindness when I ask this, please, will you smile?”
She touched her face, the warm burn of an embarrassed blush biting her cheeks. “I thought I was…”
With a sigh, Monty stretched and ruffled a hand through his bronze hair. “Nate is worried.”
