Page 18 of Duke of the Sun

Cordelia passed through the kitchen and working members of staff. They all greeted her kindly with smiles and bows. She continued her way through the halls and up the staircase, peering into rooms and growing more annoyed by the second. The longer she was away from the work, the less things she got to see get done. If there was one thing Cordelia realized throughout her time alone, it was that, deep down, she was a perfectionist.

And besides, the butler agreed to the work weeks ago. In fact, he had already done the work, before the Duke had ever arrived. Cordelia bristled at the idea of things changing just because her beastly husband decided to stick around for longer than a day.

Her walking quickly became a march, the sweat returning to her forehead once more. Twisting around a corner, Cordelia slowed as a few familiar voices grew louder. Down the hall, a few servants moved in and out of a room, carrying furniture out while bringing older furniture in. Cordelia gaped.Those are my new furnishings!Another servant pulled in a distinctly familiar colored desk.And that is from the old set!

Cordelia’s hands tightened into fists as she stormed down the hall.

“The desk used to be on the northern side,” Michael was saying from within the study. “The one with the oak.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Cordelia stood on the threshold, hands placed firmly on her hips. Within the room, a few servants lingered near the pair of desks, lifting it a foot in the air to move it around. Beside them, Hunters pointed to where they needed to go. In the center of the room, directly across from where Cordelia stood, was the Duke.

For a moment, she was shocked into stillness. The Duke wore a white button down that had been tucked into his trousers, a vest tightly fitted above it. The sleeves puffed along his arms, and were bunched up to his elbows. The Duke pulled his longer hair into a small tail at the back of his head, a few stray strands framing the sides of his face. He turned, eyes falling upon her heavily.

Almost instantly, the Duke glowered at her. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head.

“Good morning, your Grace,” Cordelia began, keeping herself civil. “I hate to be a bother, but -”

The Duke looked away, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Cordelia glared. “But,Hunters agreed to help me in overseeing the work being done on the orangery.”

“He is busy,” the Duke replied. “More to the left.”

The servants scooted the desk.

“Your Grace,” Cordelia blurted, “I must insist. As the work on the orangery comes to a close, these final repairs are pivotal to the longevity of the crops kept inside.”

The Duke turned to face her once more. “The work you claim to be so important cannot be contested to the work that needs to be donehere,” he said. “If I am to be here, I need to be able to work.”

Cordelia held her hand up towards the servants removing the new furniture. “What was stopping you from working with how it was?” she asked. “Everything you needed was already there.”

“You wouldn’t know what I needed.”

“Does the furnishing displease you that much? That it renders you unable to do your tasks?”

The Duke took a threatening step closer to her. “Do I need to remind you who I am? To whom everything here belongs to?”

“You don’t need to,” she hissed. “You’re already bringing back the old furniture!” Cordelia raised her hands, trying to calm herself down. “Your Grace,” she began through gritted teeth, “I would very much like to make sure the orangery turns out the way I would want it to be. Unfortunately, I doubt I can do it on my own. Weeks ago, Hunters began helping me on this endeavor, and committed himself to it. You surely wouldn’t miss him for an hour or two, would you?”

The Duke paused, his face going incredibly still for a moment. His expression was unreadable, eyes only narrowed slightly and his mouth drawn in a fine line. Slowly he pressed forward, till he loomed over her.

“I will remind you one more time, your Grace,” he said in a quiet, growly voice. “I am here now. Hunters is, and will always be,mybutler. Your orangery continues production for one reason and one reason alone. Do you know what that might be, your Grace?”

Cordelia stared up at him, determined to show him how confident she could be. She ignored the feeling of sweat trickling down her face and the length of her spine. For a moment, she imagined how wild she must have looked: her hair unkempt and windblown, sweat trailing down dirt-stained cheeks, tall work boots reaching up to her knees.

Cordelia lifted her chin, her face inching closer to his own. “No, your Grace.”

The Duke’s glare deepened. “Me.”

She flinched, her demeanor faltering for a second.

“You do not give me orders,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”

Cordelia nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. The Duke’s gaze snapped down to her lips for a moment before they went back up. He turned away almost instantly, returning to watching the servants move around his furniture. Beside them, Hunters remained, not once daring to give Cordelia the slightest look of support.

She knew that, once, she was nothing more than a stranger in those halls. The rest of them were entirely strangers to her, too. But after the years, as she melded into her role as Duchess more easily, Cordelia felt as though she earned the respect of the entire staff. Suddenly, with the Duke’s arrival, everything she had already done seemed to go out the window, no longer mattering in the grand scheme of things.

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