Page 16 of The Duchess Trap
“Preferably not even that,” the Duke said tersely, wholly ignoring her jesting manner.
Her jaw dropped as her sense of propriety escaped her. She was once again dismayed by her husband’s behavior. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am always serious.”
She harrumphed. “That cannot be true. I have heard stories of your escapades and dalliances. I am sure you were not always serious with other young ladies.”
The Duke snorted. “You listen to gossip?” He twirled his spoon through his soup, then added almost inaudibly, “That is rather disappointing, but I should expect nothing more or less.”
Catherine ground her back teeth in frustration.
I will not be thwarted. I will not allow him to mildly insult me. I must make some progress with him tonight—lest I want to spend the rest of my days dining in silence.
“I wish to listen to you, Your Grace. If you are determined to be humorless, then share with me the trite matters of the day. Perhaps we make talk of the weather?”
“The household,” he said flatly, lifting his glass of claret with unhurried precision. “We may speak of household affairs, if you wish. Nothing else concerns you.”
The calm dismissal struck harder than any raised voice could have. She stared at him across the expanse of table, the flicker of candlelight catching along the severe line of his cheekbones, dancing over the uncompromising set of his jaw. He looked utterly composed and impenetrable, while she burned.
If only the simpering young ladies he so much wanted to rid himself of could see him now. If any dared to spend a whole day in his presence, he would not have felt the need to marry me. His standoffish attitude would have sent them running.
“Nothing more,” she repeated, as she tried to puzzle out the inconsistencies in his nature. Outwardly, when he mingled with others, he gave the impression of being a bit roguish. But now, whilst in his own home, he was rather reclusive and curmudgeonly. She drew a deep breath, then nodded. “Then let us speak of accounts. My father’s debts, for instance.”
That earned his attention. Slowly, the Duke lifted his gaze and stared at her.
“They have been paid.”
She choked back a gasp. “Paid?”
“Yes. In full.”
The words were startling. Catherine pressed a hand to her breast as though her corset might suddenly loosen enough to allow air into her lungs.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Her throat worked, but no sound emerged. She could hardly think for the rush of relief flooding her chest, the sting of tears rising unbidden.
“How…how did you manage it all so quickly? I only just arrived and…”
“I do not waste time. It is an invaluable commodity.”
Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. When she had sent the letter to Lord Felton earlier in the day, she had been filled with such elation at knowing that soon, very soon, all her family’s debts would be paid. But somehow, without her knowledge, the Duke had already seen to her needs.
“And Brightwater House?” she whispered, the words no louder than a prayer.
“I purchased it,” the Duke returned as though it were nothing at all, an item jotted at the end of a long list of business dealings. “As your husband, it falls under my protection. As its matron, it falls under yours. You may continue the work you do there with my full support.”
Her lips parted. Her heart squeezed painfully.
Brightwater. Saved.
The faces of the children rose in her mind, their laughter echoing in her memory, her mother’s voice whispering,“Promise me you’ll protect them, Catherine.”
She blinked rapidly, vision blurring. Her head swam with so many thoughts.
The Duke does not tend to his own estate with such enthusiasm. I spent the day pointing out one improvement after another. Yet my home…my father’s debts…Brightwater. He made all those things a priority.
