Page 15 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“Thank you, Osmond,” she said cheerfully after listening to whatever response was given to her.
If Gwendoline knew that her husband had eyes and ears everywhere, she did not show any sign of it. Sometimes she lingered in the kitchens, not caring that everyone stared at her because duchesses were not expected to linger in places where the servants congregated.
Cook would redden and smile at her compliments, not expecting the praise of the lady of the house.
At first, the servants were skeptical of her. They thought that the new duchess was simply trying to endear herself to them. Even Damian wondered if it was all a ploy and if she was more like Montrose than he had initially thought. However, the new lady of the house remained as she was from the start.
Friendly. Inquisitive. Willing to learn.
She gave him a headache.
Gwendoline had relegated him to the shadows in the corners of his own home. The wide-eyed girl who tiptoed from one room to another now walked with her back straight. It didn’t matter that her clothes had loose threads or that she didn’t have any piece of jewelry. There was a different kind of confidence in her, one that didn’t involve any artifice.
Surely, she had her own jewelry? Perhaps Montrose had sold it all or kept it for himself for when he finally married.
The ton had speculated that neither of them would ever find a wife. They thought Damian would never marry because of his rakish ways, and Timothy should not marry because of how he treated women.
On his walks, Damian would also see a different side of his wife. Whenever she thought nobody was watching her, she would pause by the windows and look out. Her gaze would become distant, and her hand would reach out for the glass sometimes as if it had the answers to her questions.
Then, after moments of introspection, she would take a deep breath and roam Greyvale’s halls and galleries. It looked like she had tasked herself with saving his domain, like a helpful ghost.
It was a wonder to see her drawn face break into a friendly smile as she conferred with yet another member of his household.
She talked to the head gardener about the greenhouse, the flowers, and even the garden as a whole. She recommended a planting schedule that she believed would ensure the blooms lasted longer. The gardener seemed happy with her suggestion.
“That’s a practical and insightful recommendation, Your Grace,” he agreed, not even offended that a duchess was giving him some recommendations on how to do his job.
Moments like this made Damian smile, though faintly and fleetingly. Had he managed to marry a clever woman? His only intent was to marry her as part of his long-term plans. He didn’t care about her skills and capabilities.
At every turn, she seemed to haunt him.
And sometimes, he had to meet her ghost head-on.
Damian had not intended to follow Gwendoline tonight. His feet had moved down the dimly lit hallway of their own accord. Candlelight flickered from the sconces on the stone walls, casting shifting shadows on the paintings.
The thought that he’d see her came to his mind. After all, she was known to check on the staff even in the evening. She liked to ensure that not only was everything in order but also everyone was well.
It was peculiar for a duchess who grew up as the daughter of an earl, but Damian found himself inexplicably fascinated by it.
The chance encounter started innocently enough. She was a distant figure at the end of a corridor, her hair catching the faint glow of a servant’s lamp. Her voice was soft as she exchanged words with a maid.
“Oh, Hannah, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you finishing up for the night? It’s late, and you’ve been working so hard. Please don’t feel you need to stay up on my account. I know you are not well. Have you taken the tea I made you for your courses?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Hannah replied meekly, looking at Gwendoline as if she were some saint or savior.
Damian could not blame the maid.
Usually, he would find a way to retreat without being noticed. However, he had enough. Her voice lingered in his dreams. It was a mix of the sweet, cajoling voice she reserved for the servants and the bitter, accusatory one she reserved for him.
And perhaps for Montrose.
Damian winced at the thought of being compared with the scoundrel. While he needed clarity and space, it seemed that he also needed to talk to Gwendoline.
At least, his feet believed so.
Ha!
They took his blameless self out of his chambers and to hers. They knew that she was still walking her usual path before she retired for the night.
