Page 19 of Duke of the Sun

Cordelia, embarrassed and enraged beyond belief, did not dare give the Duke the respect of a bow. She merely turned, and marched out from the study.

“I will do every bit of itmyself.”

CHAPTER6

Michael glanced up at the grandfather clock for the third time. He shuffled around in his seat, eyeing the table full of sandwiches and fruits set up in front of him. His stomach grumbled. Across the room, a few servants waited beside the wall politely, not making eye contact with him. He could only imagine how he might’ve looked to them, his face scrunched up and full of anger.

Lunch was served an hour ago. The Duchess had been fetched before then, and once at the start. Michael sent another servant for her after half an hour had passed, but no one had come back. Not even the servant herself. Michael’s foot tapped impatiently against the floor. How disrespectful could one woman be?

Michael smacked his palm against the table. The plates and tiers of food shuddered, a few utensils falling to the floor. The servants remained still beside the wall. He rose from the table and paced along the length of the room. His hands remained at his sides, curling and unfurling with every passing second. The irritation within him was something he couldn’t ignore. How could he overlook such a discretion, something that people of polite society were taught from an incredibly early age?

The Duchess deliberately crossed him, a fact that he had no doubt about. No matter the differences between them, they were wed, and he happened to be the head of the household. To refuse to dine with him was as rude as an unwarranted slap to the face. He could not remember another time when he was so angry, when he was so furious he thought he could tear through an entire room. He breathed in deeply, pausing in front of the table.

“Fetch me Mrs. Bellflower,” he suddenly said, to no one in particular.

Immediately, the two servants poised by the wall bowed their hands and sped out of the room, pelting off in two different directions. Michael stared at the curtain, which he closed the moment he entered the parlour. Almost all the windows on the side of the estate faced the lake, something he had no interest in seeing. A light draft swept in through the cracks, pushing the curtains open every now and then.

Michael’s hand clenched into a fist, his scarred skin wrinkling unpleasantly.

“Your Grace.”

He turned to see the housekeeper standing in the doorway. She bowed her head and pressed further into the room.

“You called for me, your Grace?”

“Where is the Duchess?”

Mrs. Bellflower pressed her lips together. “Your Grace,” she said, “The Duchess has been in the gardens, overlooking her workers for the orangery herself.”

Michael stepped closer to the housekeeper. “Herself?”

“Yes, your Grace,” she replied. “Her Grace has done it plenty of times before, and -”

“What?” he shouted, interjecting in the middle of her sentence. His temper rose and rose, till he could no longer dare to hold any of it in. “Does no one in this household understand the meaning of propriety?”

Mrs. Bellflower lowered her head.

“Who allows this?”

“I am under no authority to halt it,” she responded in a quiet, timid voice. “I might express my displeasure, but I am of no station to argue, your Grace.”

Michael glowered. “Can’t Hunters make a point about it? This is my reputation we are speaking of!”

“I thought it was the Duchess’s,” she said.

“It is both of ours, Mrs. Bellflower!” Michael shouted again, his voice clashing against the walls. “No wonder the Ton believes her to be having affairs, left and right! The woman deals with men without a damned chaperone!Men!”

Mrs. Bellflower flinched backwards a step. “I apologize, your Grace.”

“I -” Michael hesitated. Watching the housekeeper take a step backwards, flinching from the strength in his voice, sent an ill-boding feeling down the back of his spine. He lowered his hands, and took a step away from her. Not once, despite the regret or the remorse, did Michael feel his anger simmer down. His rage was practically tangible.

“I suggest you and Hunters change the way you handle things around the estate,” he snapped.

Mrs. Bellflower bowed her head. “Yes, your Grace.”

Michael stormed by her and entered the hallway.

There was never a time in which his mother took unchaperoned men into the estate. Much less hired hands, workers from below their station. It was despicable and demeaning, an act that could put the Duchess in more trouble rather than not. He had not a clue about those workers, about what they did or where they came from. All he knew was that his wife was there, alone with them.

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