Page 49 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
Andrew blinked at him, knowing what it meant to have a duke as prestigious as Lysander cease business dealings with someone.
“Are you sure, Your Grace?” Andrew pressed, sounding reluctant.
Graham sat back, waving Andrew off to do his bidding as he muttered.
“There must be consequences for bad behavior. That is what my father taught me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Tell me more about this prince.”
Those seemed to be the exact words Sophia wished to hear, and she immediately opened up her book to regale her mother with tales of this valiant, noble prince who put the safety of his princess above all else. Something about her daughter’s voice, the way the afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the drawing room, casting geometric patterns of light across the Persian carpet, filled Joan with a sense of contentedness.
Her embroidery sat by her side, forgotten as she focused her attention on her daughter, a smile on her face as she listened closely.
Days like these felt like a dream. The golden rays that made her daughter look so ethereal, the faint scent of lavender in the air – courtesy of the fresh flowers Mrs. Wintersdown ensured were placed in each room every four days – all of it attested to the good life that Joan had found.
One she only hoped would last.
Things with her husband were perfect, but the unease beneath her skin remained, gripping her whenever she watched him interact with their daughter. She still did not understand what her worth was to him, could not fathom the basis of their union, beyond a means for him to get close to Sophia.
“I told Papa he was like a prince, and he said I was his princess!” Sophia stated proudly.
Joan ignored the pang in her chest that stung, putting on a brave smile for the sake of her child, who had dreamed of a father for so long, who was deserving of all the good in the world.
“Is that so? Well, he is not wrong at all. You are my precious poppet princess. Even lovelier than any of the flowers in the gardens.”
Sophia blushed, so pleased she rushed to her mother’s side to cling to her arms.
“Papa also said you were his queen,” she told Joan with a grin.
Joan’s heart skipped a beat; this time, warmth spread through her veins.
“R–Really?”
“Yes!” Sophia nodded, looking for all the world like there was nothing better to her. “I told him I can’t be the princess because you are the princess. And he said you were his queen!”
Why did Graham insist on being like this? Why was it so important for him to be so kind and affectionate towards her? Especially since he already had Sophia hopelessly enamored with him?
“Wouldn’t… wouldn’t that make him a King then? If I am his queen and you are our beloved princess? Kings are quite noble too,” Joan pointed out when she found her voice.
Sophia gasped, as though the revelation had just shattered her perception of all she had known.
“It would!”
Joan giggled, her heart so full of love, despite the confusion that plagued her mind. She loved her daughter, and she hoped that Graham’s kindness would never cease.
The peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the soft sound of Williams clearing his throat from the doorway. Joan looked up to see the butler's usually composed expression marked by uncertainty, his hands clasped behind his back as he straightened his posture even more.
“Your Grace,” he began, his voice carrying a tone that suggested something was amiss. “There is a gentleman here to see HisGrace. A Mr. Thomas Hartwell, one of the tenants from the town. He seems quite... agitated.”
Joan cleared her throat, holding onto one of Sophia’s hands with one of hers, the other smoothing the fabric of her dress as she rose. Through the window, she could see the empty circular path where only two of their own carriages sat beneath the oak trees. Graham had departed over two hours ago for a meeting with his solicitor, and as more time passed, she suspected he would not return until evening.
“His Grace is not at home presently,” she said in a quiet tone, knowing that the butler was well aware of this. “Perhaps Mr. Hartwell could return tomorrow when my husband is available?”
Williams shifted again, and Joan could see the reluctance in his lined face. “I did mention that possibility, Your Grace, but he insisted the matter was urgent. He's traveled quite far – left at sunrise, he says – to speak with His Grace about some dispute regarding his land. The man seems genuinely distressed.”
Joan felt her stomach tighten with nervousness, a familiar flutter that had to do with her lingering uncertainty about her role in this grand house. The weight of responsibility seemed to press against her shoulders like a physical burden, the heaviness making her feel a little winded. She was still unfamiliar with her tasks as a duchess, still learning how to maintain the delicate balance between authority and humility that the position required. The thought of handling estate matters withoutGraham's steady presence made her feel like a child playing at being an adult.
