Page 86 of His Auctioned Duchess
Later, after Bridget had gone to rest, Caroline stood by the window in her bedchamber, the pale afternoon light spilling across her face. Her reflection in the glass looked both regal and uncertain, the diamonds at her throat unable to disguise the turmoil in her eyes.
She did not hear Richard enter until his reflection appeared beside hers.
“She looks well,” he said quietly. “Content.”
“Yes,” Caroline murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she was speaking to herself. “It seems so easy for her—this… happiness,” she mused aloud, watching Bridget from a distance without a care in the world.
Richard stood beside her, contemplating her words. “Perhaps she does not count the cost,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was low and steady, carrying with it a certain depth and understanding.
Caroline turned slowly to face him, curiosity and a hint of confusion in her eyes. “The cost?” she repeated, seeking clarification, trying to grasp what he was implying.
He met her gaze directly, without hesitation or reservation. “You think of risk before reward. It’s in your nature,” he explained simply, as if this was something he understood deeply about her.
Caroline attempted to smile, but found it difficult as her throat felt tight and constricted with unspoken emotions. “You make it sound like a flaw,” she responded, a bit of vulnerability creeping into her voice.
“It is what makes you cautious,” he said softly. “And what keeps you alive.”
There was a pause, then, in a voice almost too gentle to be his, he added, “And if you ever wish for what she has, Caroline… I will face that cost with you.”
The words struck through her composure like sunlight through frost. She could not answer; her heart would not allow it. Instead, she turned back toward the window, her hand brushing against his as she whispered, almost to herself, “We shall see.”
CHAPTER 25
Richard had been awake since before dawn. They had travelled late last night after Bridget had left. They were finally back to his home, with John, as their chaperone, of course. Caroline had asked for further proof of his change while travelling, but this time, it didn’t only concern him.
Which was why he now stood at the window of his study, hands clasped behind his back, watching as the tenants began to arrive across the lawns. Wagons rumbled up the drive, their wheels crunching softly over gravel; men in work-stained coats removed their caps, women gathered their shawls more tightly around their shoulders. There was a subdued murmur of curiosity among them—few had expected to be summoned to Ashwood Hall, and fewer still could remember a time when the duke had invited them there himself.
Today was different.
Caroline entered quietly behind him, her presence a soft rustle of fabric and light. She wore a gown of pale green muslin thatcaught the morning glow, the color setting off the brightness of her eyes. Richard turned at the sound, his expression composed, though a flicker of warmth stirred in his gaze.
“They are nearly all here,” he said.
She stepped beside him, looking out over the gathering. “They seem nervous,” she observed.
“They are,” Richard replied evenly. “Most have never seen me without a ledger between us.” He sighed, “Why did you convince me to do this?”
Caroline smiled softly, a gentle and knowing smile that hinted at a plan forming in her mind. "Because you need to give them a reason to look past just numbers in their ledgers," she said, her voice carrying a little spark of mischief.
He looked at her closely for a moment, watching her with curious eyes. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying to hold back a smile. "You plan to soften them up, don’t you?" he asked, his tone teasing yet intrigued.
"Well, someone has to do it," she replied lightly, her words dancing with playful ease. "After all, the Devil of the Ton can’t manage it all by himself. You know that."
He chuckled softly, the sound almost a hum of amusement. Although he was entertained, his eyes stayed locked on her face, as if trying to read her intentions. "So, you’re set on ruining myreputation for being intimidating, is that it?" he questioned with a mock-serious tone.
“I am determined,” she said, “to make your people love you. Respect might be a good start, but it’s hardly ever enough.”
The words struck him more deeply than she knew. He had commanded loyalty, fear, and respect—but love had never been in question.
By midmorning, the tenants were assembled upon the south lawn. A platform had been set up before the steps of the Hall, modest but formal enough to lend weight to the occasion. Richard ascended first, Caroline following at his side, her gloved hand brushing his arm for balance. Murmurs rippled through the crowd at the sight of her; it was rare enough for a future Duchess to attend such a gathering, rarer still for one to stand among them rather than above them.
Mr. Alden, Richard’s steward, wrung his hands nervously behind a stack of ledgers. “Your Grace, if I might remind you, there is protocol–”
Richard silenced him with a look. “Protocol can rest for one day.”
Caroline turned to the steward with a reassuring smile. “I promise not to overturn your precious order, Mr. Alden. We simply mean to listen.”
The first speaker was an elderly farmer, his shoulders stooped, his hat twisting nervously in his hands. “Your Grace,” he began, voice trembling, “forgive me for troubling you, but the Ashbrook flooded again last week. The soil’s gone soft and half my seed with it.”
