Page 17 of Claimed By the Duke of Ice

“Give him patience, Your Grace,” Mrs. Snievely urged gently. “And you will be pleasantly surprised by what that will earn.”

* * *

Nathaniel didn’t know how to stop pacing. Every time he did, he found himself going to his door and heading back to Grace’s room. He should have rephrased his last few sentences better. He should have at least tried to hold her hand through his gloves. He should have done something to show her that his interest in her was genuine.

Grace had been the very picture of beauty for their wedding. Her simple white dress covered with lace had been the perfect choice, accentuating her features while taking nothing away from them. When he had lifted her veil and saw the mixture of excitement and fear in her eyes, it had actually comforted him, for he was feeling the same way.

Nathaniel looked down at his hands with disgust and ripped the gloves off, letting them fall to the floor. He wished so badly he didn’t have to wear them. Many young boys had lost their mother, some in way more brutal ways than his own had been taken—so why was he the one cursed to never be able to touch another again?

A knock came at his door, pulling Nathaniel from his thoughts, and he hastily picked up his gloves and put them back on. A moment after he called for entry, Mr. Snievely walked in, holding an earthen jug and wearing a smile. Nathaniel felt some of his stress smooth away, and he smiled back at the patriarchal figure.

“Mrs. Snievely informed me that you had requested her and a new handmaid to see to your new duchess, so I thought this would be a good time to bring you your wedding present, Your Grace,” Mr. Snievely explained after paying his respects.

“You are too kind, Mr. Snievely,” Nathaniel replied with a grin. “Come, bring it to the table and tell me what you’ve made this time.”

Mr. Snievely was always working on new methods and recipes for distilling alcohol, and through the course of the last decade or so, he had become quite the expert on home-brewed concoctions.

“It’s on the sweeter side, this one is,” Mr. Snievely explained, uncorking the jug. “Still packs quite the wallop, though, ye see.”

Nathaniel pulled two small glasses from his drink cart and sat them down on the table, so Mr. Snievely could fill them. He was surprised when the drink came out a ruby red.

“Is it a wine?” he asked, bringing the glass up to his eyes to study it further.

“Aye,” Mr. Snievely agreed. Then, with a chuckle, he added, “but also nay. It’s got the sweetness of wine, but the kick of whiskey she does.”

“Fruit or grain?” Nathaniel asked curiously.

“Both, Your Grace.”

“How fascinating,” Nathaniel murmured, bringing the small glass toward Mr. Snievely.

“To your new bride and your marriage,” Mr. Snievely toasted respectfully. “May you both have health and happiness for the rest of your days.”

Their glasses clinked together in friendship, and Nathaniel took his first sip. The taste of strawberry exploded on his tongue, followed quickly by a fizz of tartness, then ended with the slow burn of whiskey as he swallowed it down.

“That is excellent,” Nathaniel praised, sliding his glass across the table toward Mr. Snievely. “Pour us another.”

Mr. Snievely poured Nathaniel another glass but then corked the jug.

“Respectfully, Your Grace, this is for you and your wife to enjoy. I was happy to join you in a glass, but the rest is for you,” he explained.

Nathaniel swallowed the drink, enjoying the buzz it created in his head, and sat the glass back down.

“How long have you and Mrs. Snievely been together, Mr. Snievely? Nathaniel asked.

A smile drew against the man’s hardened face as a wistful look came over his aging eyes.

“The missus and I have been married thirty years now, Your Grace. But we met when we were ten or so, I’d say, and have been smitten closer to forty. Even as a boy, I was taken with her, I was,” he replied happily.

“And you’re still… ‘smitten’ with her now? Surely, you’ve faced many hardships together in your years?” Nathaniel asked. This made Mr. Snievely chuckle, and he shook his head.

“Aye, but that’s what tells ye the love is growin’, ye see,” Mr. Snievely explained, “that the more hardships you survive together, the more you appreciate about that person. She fixes you in her ways. You fix her with yours.”

“It can’t have been easy,” Nathaniel mused.

“True love never is, Your Grace,” Mr. Snievely replied. “That’s why it’s so rare. Why it stays mostly in the storybooks. But it can be done.”

Nathaniel stared back down at his gloved hands, and he flexed them.

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