Page 49 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Woodward looked at her helplessly. “It’s not for me to say, Your Grace.”

“Woodward,” a deep voice said.

The manager turned, as did Laurel, and saw the Duke of Linfield standing there.

“Do you have something to do, Woodward?” he demanded.

Woodward shot to his feet. “In fact, I do, Your Grace.” He glanced back to Laurel. “Please forgive me, Your Grace. Thank you for your kind invitation to tea but I have a vast amount of work to complete.”

With that, the older man hurried from the room.

Her husband didn’t seat himself. Laurel nervously moistened her lips, waiting for his anger to erupt. It didn’t. Instead, it was as if the room turned ice cold.

“My childhood is of no concern. I am an adult now. The Duke of Linfield. I haven’t been a child in a long time, Laurel. Nor an idealistic man going off to war, thinking he might change the world. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me as I am. I wish the door to the past to remain closed.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, her heart pounding, more afraid of this cold, aloof Anthony than the distant or sometimes angry one.

“I’m glad we could come to an understanding. I think it’s time we returned to London. Don’t you agree?”

She felt as if he’d slapped her. They were supposed to spend the week here, getting to know one another. Except he didn’t want her to know him at all. Or what had happened here between him and his father.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“See that your maid packs for you. We will leave first thing in the morning.”

Anthony turned and walked away but Laurel wasn’t going to let him do so again. She was tired of him leaving her.

“Aren’t you going to stay for tea?” she asked.

He faced her. “No. And I will be out for dinner. I will see you in the carriage tomorrow.”

With that, her husband abandoned her.

Again.

*

Not a wordpassed between Laurel and Linfield during the coach ride back to London. She kept her gaze turned out the window, watching the lush, green countryside pass by, determined not to be the first to speak. She wanted to hide all her varying emotions. Her hurt. Disappointment. Anger. Frustration.

Would the rest of her married life be so up and down?

She found it exhausting and unsatisfying. Worse, she would have to keep all of this to herself. Her relatives would be curious as to how she and her new husband were getting along. Sharing the truth with them was the last thing she planned to do. The same went for Aunt Constance and Hannah, though it might prove harder to hide the rift with the two women living in the same house with the warring couple.

The carriage pulled up in front of the Linfield London townhouse. The door opened and her husband climbed out. He handed her down and immediately returned to his seat.

“I have business to attend to. I will see you tonight.”

Laurel clamped down on her jaw, not wanting to show how startled she was. With a flick of the reins, their driver took off. Moments later, the second coach pulled into place. Retta and Monkton climbed out. By now, the front door had opened and a footman appeared. She assumed the trunks would be taken care of as she marched into the entry way, cursing silently.

The housekeeper appeared. “Your Grace.” She sounded startled. “It is good to see you. Allow me to show you to your rooms.”

Laurel followed the woman upstairs. The bedchamber was large and airy though the furniture looked quite dated and both the wallpaper and carpet were faded.

“Your dressing room is through that door. All of your clothes that came after the wedding have been placed in your wardrobe.”

A footman entered, bearing her trunk, Retta on his heels.

“I see your maid has also arrived.”

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