Page 38 of His Darling Duchess
“A remarkable young woman, the duchess,” Lansdown murmured. “I quite see why you are so hellbent on ensuring Grantleigh cannot impose on her further.”
Rhys snarled at the mere mention of the man. “If you’d seen the way he was trying to impose on her that night…”
“Oh, no need for that.” Lansdown held up his hand to tell Rhys he needed no more details of the attack. “If you felt the need to marry her immediately to avoid any damage to her reputation, it was clearly ugly enough. What do you plan to do with him? He’s still your heir.”
“The Americas. I can’t force him by cutting him off - that estate he’s on now is his own - and nor do I want to distress my aunt by calling him out in a duel or worse, trying to get him arrested and charged with attacking my wife.”
Lansdown made a face, just thinking of the mess that would cause. Because Grantleigh carried a title in his own right, hewould have to be stripped of his title by the House of Lords before he could stand trial for a criminal offence, and there were very few members of the House who would likely be convinced that such drastic steps need be taken for the assault of a mere woman. Most of them had probably done worse. Even with the powerful political connections of Aurelia’s father, it was highly unlikely Stowe would succeed in such an action, and in the meantime the press would have a field day with Aurelia’s reputation.
“So how will you get him to go?”
“That’s where having a reputation as a cold-hearted killer comes in handy.” Rhys knew his smile was grotesque. “That’s what the army trained us to do, after all. I’ll just tell Grantleigh I’m not interested in honourable duels. I’ll give him one month to settle his affairs and depart for the Americas, and if I ever catch him on British soil again, I’ll just kill him. Outright.”
“He’ll believe you?”
“Of course he’ll believe me. Because I’ll mean it.”
Lansdown blew out a long breath, staring at him. They’d both killed, many times, but never in cold blood. Nevertheless, Rhys knew himself capable of it.
And it wouldn’t be cold blood, because his blood ran hot with rage every time he even so much as thought of finding Aurelia trying to fight off Grantleigh that night.
Chapter Sixteen
The crisp scent ofcinnamon and cloves wafted through the air as Aurelia bustled about the estate, directing the cook and housekeeper in their holiday preparations. Though she tried to lose herself in the cheer of the season, a heaviness clung to her heart, and she cut a lonely figure as she
Aurelia sighed, brushing a stray curl from her eyes as she surveyed the great hall. Garlands of holly and pine adorned the staircases, while a towering fir tree stood in one corner, waiting to be dressed.
“Shall we hang the ornaments now, my lady?” Mrs. Henley asked, balancing an armful of candles.
“Yes, let us make haste,” Aurelia said. “We have much to do before nightfall.”
The housekeeper and butler exchanged a knowing glance, having grown accustomed to their mistress’s melancholy moods in the days since Stowe’s departure. They worked incompanionable silence, the only sounds that of rustling ribbon and tinkling glass baubles.
Aurelia selected a glass orb from the basket, watching as the firelight danced across its surface. How she wished Rhys could be here to see the tree in all its festive glory. She pictured his face alight with boyish delight as he gazed upon the decorations, his arm slipping around her waist to draw her close. A blush crept into her cheeks at the memory of his touch. Oh, how she missed him!
With a sigh, Aurelia returned her attention to the tree. She mustn’t dwell on such fancies, not when there were guests soon arriving. Her parents had sent word that they would call in on their way back to London from their estate - her father would not be away from London for long, even with Parliament not in session - and she expected them on the morrow, to spend Christmas with her.
“My lady," Mrs. Henley said quietly, entering the drawing room with arms laden with garlands of holly and ivy. "Would you like to assist me with these?"
"Oh, indeed," replied Aurelia, forcing a smile onto her lips as she turned from the window, where she had once again drifted, to gaze longingly down the avenue, hoping against hope for a tall figure on a great dark horse to appear. She approached the hearth where a fire crackled merrily, chasing shadows to the corners of the room. The warm glow beckoned her closer, reminding her of the love that burned within her own heart.
Together, Aurelia and Mrs. Henley draped the garlands along the mantelpiece, intertwining them with ribbons of gold and crimson. Aurelia's fingers brushed against the sharp points of the holly leaves, the brief sting serving to anchor her to the task at hand. As they worked side by side, Aurelia found solace in the domesticity of the moment, the housekeeper's steady presencegrounding her amidst the uncertainty that swirled around her like so many eddies of snow.
"Mrs. Henley," ventured Aurelia, pausing in her efforts to secure a particularly stubborn sprig of ivy. "Do you ever feel... lost, when those you care for are absent?"
The older woman considered her words carefully, her brow furrowed beneath the lace cap that crowned her silver hair. "Aye, Miss, I do. But I have learned that time apart can strengthen the bonds of affection, like the roots of an ancient oak tree reaching deeper into the earth." She gave Aurelia a kindly smile. “You will be glad to see your family when they arrive, I’m sure.”
"Thank you," murmured Aurelia, her heart swelling with gratitude for the housekeeper's wisdom, even though it was not her family on her mind just then. "That is a comfort to me."
"Your Grace!" came another voice. It was Mr. Roderick the cook, beckoning to her from the doorway with a flour-dusted hand. "I have just taken the first batch of gingerbread from the oven; would you care to join me in decorating them?"
“Mr. Roderick,” the housekeeper reproved, “surely that is a little beneath Her Grace’s dignity?”
“Far from it!” Aurelia denied, her spirits lifting at the prospect of further distraction. “I have a great love for gingerbread, as I have already told Cook, and have been looking forward to the treat of decorating them for days. The cook gets to eat the broken pieces, is that not correct, Cook?”
Mr. Roderick laughed cheerfully. “You may eat as much gingerbread as you wish, Your Grace, broken pieces or not! But we’d best hurry down, for the pot-boy was already eying the tray and there might not be much left if we let it cool enough for small hands to snatch!”
Chuckling, Aurelia followed him from the room, her spirits lifting again. In the bustling warmth of the kitchen, Aurelia donned an apron and set to work alongside the cook. Together,they piped intricate patterns onto the golden-brown shapes, sharing laughter and stories as they brought the gingerbread men and women to life. The aroma of cinnamon and cloves enveloped them, a fragrant embrace that served to chase away the chill that had settled in Aurelia's bones.
