Page 22 of Captured By the Cold Duke
“I’m surprised you didn’t tell me,” she said.
“Well, I thought your brother might have told you,” Minerva said with a shrug. “Since you two were such good friends back then.”
Minerva’s tone was light, but Cherie couldn’t help but wonder if her friend was trying to remind her that there was once a time when she had very much liked the duke.
Her friend’s words from the other day came back to her:you can either make the best of your situation, and try to get along with your husband, or you can keep this anger up, and doom yourself to a life of unhappiness.
Was this Minerva’s attempt at trying to encourage Cherie to get along with her husband? By reminding her of their previous friendship?
Cherie glanced at her husband, and she was surprised to see that he was already looking at her, a slightly sad look in his eyes. It seemed that Minerva’s words had also reminded him of an earlier and simpler time in their relationship.
Minerva isn’t the only one reminding me of our friendship, she thought.He is also different today: funnier; charming. He reminds me of the Casserly I used to know before he was the Duke of Wheaton.
The duke’s eyes slid from Cherie’s to her friend’s, and he smiled. “I appreciate that you have been following my career in such detail, Lady Minerva. And I hope that when it comes time for you to marry, that you will marry a man who appreciates your interest in the world.”
“I’m very interested in the world,” Minerva said seriously. “How did it go, anyway? With raising the wages? Did it lead to a higherquality of life for the workers and better productivity, as you argued?”
The duke’s smile faltered. “At first it did,” he said. “But my father decided it was too expensive and that the rate of productivity had not increased enough to justify the raise, so he fired about half the workforce. It was… a very difficult time.”
“I can imagine,” Minerva said, nodding. “It is a pity your father couldn’t compromise.”
Thomas looked away. “He was an uncompromising kind of man.”
Minerva nodded, then seemed to lose interest in the conversation, her eyes riveted to the sight of her sister walking ahead of them with Lord Dawson.
Cherie, meanwhile, fell back, and after a small hesitation, her husband also slowed his pace to walk beside her.
“It must have been very hard to work for your father,” she murmured. “I know that you never got along with him.”
“Yes,” the duke said, a little stiffly. “It was not easy. We rarely saw eye-to-eye on business… or anything else. He would probably be very disappointed if he could see the changes I’m making to his company now.”
The duke swallowed as if there were a lump in his throat, and Cherie felt a small piece of the ice that encased her heart these days melt.
“I realize that I have not been more sympathetic to the grief you must be experiencing,” she said after a moment. “In all the chaos of everything that has happened, I don’t think I have even properly offered you my condolences for his death. Everything has been such a mess these past few weeks, but I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
“It’s all right,” the duke said, very quickly. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”
Cherie bit her lip, wondering if she dared to ask more. “What happened, exactly?” she asked after a long moment. “You said it was quick, but were you able to put any of these differences behind you and say the things you wanted to say?”
The duke frowned, and his body became even more rigid. Tension seemed to be radiating from him, and Cherie knew that he was not going to tell her anymore.
“Let us not speak of such unhappy things,” he said, his voice oddly emotionless. “Not when new love is blooming around us.”
He gestured towards Chastity and Lord Dawson—who didn’t appear to be speaking—and then set off at a faster clip, catching up to Minerva and taking her arm. Cherie lingered behind, watching and wondering.
So, it is his father’s death that has led to the change in his personality. It was good to have this clue, but Cherie also felt determined to discover more.
Nine
“It looks like there's going to be thunderstorms tonight, Your Grace,” Thomas’s valet said as he removed Thomas’s cravat. The wind had just let out a frightful howl, and rain had begun to lash against the window of Thomas’s bedroom.
“Yes, I believe you’re right,” Thomas said, glancing out the window where thick rain was illuminated by one of the oil streetlamps that had recently been installed in Mayfair. “Will you see if Cook has any wax from the leftover candles that she could make into earplugs?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” his valet replied, then hesitated. “Does the noise disturb you when you sleep?”
“It’s not for me,” Thomas said, grimacing. “It’s for the duchess. Her Grace dislikes thunder.”
The valet finished undressing Thomas, then bowed and left, promising to speak to Cook at once.
