Page 51 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
Mr. Hartwell studied her face carefully for a long moment, and Joan could see him weighing her words. The silence stretched between them, filled only with the soft ticking of the mantel clock and the distant sound of birds singing in the garden.
“I appreciate that, Your Grace, I do,” he said finally, his voice gentler than before. “But it would be easier to believe – easier for all of us in the village to believe – if His Grace were to visit us occasionally. Show his face, every now and then, and speak with us directly. That will assure us that he is well aware of our existence, beyond mere names in a rent book.”
Joan understood his plight greatly. From what she had learned about her husband, he certainly preferred to keep his public presence low, and she knew it was because of the rumors that surrounded his name. Even her own cousin was certain no good would come out of their union, her conviction based on heresy about a man she had never personally exchanged words with.
But she could see Mr. Hartwell's point as well, and she understood the need his tenants had to see him as more than a landlord. They needed to feel as though their welfare mattered to the man responsible for their livelihoods.
“Mr. Hartwell,” she said slowly, an idea beginning to form in her mind, “I recently caught wind of a harvest festival to be held in Millfield next month. It sounds as though a good time is guaranteed, if the way the servants have excitedly whispered about it is any indication. Do you think such an occasion could provide an opportunity for His Grace to meet with his tenants in a more... informal setting?”
The farmer's eyes lit up with interest, his form looking lighter as his frustration was replaced by hope. “Aye, Your Grace, it certainly would. 'Tis a grand celebration, bringing people together from miles around for games and dancing and other kinds of merriment. There's music and food, friendly competitions for the children, and everyone feels like family at the end of the day. The Duke's presence would be most welcome – more than welcome. It would be an honor.”
Joan felt her heart rise into her throat as she spoke, frightened and excited at the prospect of her proposal. “Then I shall ensurethat His Grace, myself, and our daughter attend as a family. We can meet with tenants, address concerns, and celebrate alongside everyone else.”
Mr. Hartwell's aged and tired face broke into the first genuine smile she had seen from him, his features looking more open than they had been in the minutes he had been in her presence. “That would be splendid, Your Grace. Truly. The people would be honored by your presence, and it would mean more than you know to see that His Grace cares enough to celebrate with us.”
After Mr. Hartwell took his leave, expressing his gratitude repeatedly and with obvious sincerity beforehand, Joan remained in the blue parlor, her thoughts wandering to her husband.
When they had first met at that inn five years ago, Graham had spoken of his father's passing with a hint of grief tinging his voice, but that was not what had stayed in her mind, untouched by time. It was the way he had desperately hoped to be able to care for his family in the face of such a difficult loss.. The man she had known then had walked with burdens on his shoulders, determined to honor his father's memory by protecting and providing for those left behind.
Now, looking around at the home he had provided her and their daughter, it was obvious he had excelled at his hopes. He was caring for many families now, beyond his own blood relations, his generosity extending to the souls who worked and lived on his lands. There was no basis to accuse him of neglecting his wife and child either, as they had been utterly spoiled since theirfirst night in the estate, his thoughtfulness managing to steal her breath each time she thought about it.
Joan realized that Graham embodied perfection in many ways, and the clarity of the realization brought a twinge of worry. In the face of her own unworthiness and inadequacies, would he send her away? Would she disappoint him, irritating him as a burden with no use?
The thought sent cold fear racing through her veins, and she shook her head, willing such thoughts away.
No, she told herself determinedly.I will do all I can to be useful to him, so that he has fewer reasons to turn me away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She was still nursing troubled thoughts when the familiar sound of Graham's voice in the entrance hall reached her ears. Her heart throbbed as her mind acknowledged his presence and she realized that she had missed him in his absence.
Rising quickly, Joan smoothed her skirts with hands that trembled slightly and moved to greet him, her heart lifting despite her worries at the sight of his handsome face as soon as she opened the door. Even with the signs of exhaustion under his eyes, the sight of him still made her heart quake strangely as it yearned for his embrace.
“Welcome home,” she said softly, suddenly unable to look him in the face for much longer.
Graham's face lit up at the sight of her, the weariness and tension from his excursion seeming to melt away.
“Joan,” he murmured, crossing to her with quick strides and pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, his lips warm against her skin. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with heat and leather created an intoxicating mix that threatened to render her drunk unless she put some distance between them. “How was your day,mo ghràdh?”
“Eventful,” she replied, then proceeded to tell him about Mr. Hartwell's visit and the concerns he had raised, watching Graham's expression grow increasingly troubled as she spoke. His dark eyes grew stormy, and she could see his jaw tighten with the controlled anger of a man who took his responsibilities seriously.
“Three letters?” he repeated, his voice sharp with disbelief and mildly withheld fury. “I have received no correspondence from Mr. Hartwell, not a single piece. I shall have to investigate immediately what happened to them – whether they were misdirected or deliberately withheld.”
“There is something else,” Joan said, feeling a little overwhelmed with nervousness. “I told him we would attend the harvest festival in Millfield. As a family.”
Graham's eyebrows rose in surprise, and she could see him trying to understand the information she had just passed, as well as its implications.
“Did you? Well, that was thoughtful of you. The carriage can certainly take you, Sophia, and some of the maids. It should be a lovely outing for you both.”
“No,” Joan said, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice, “I meant all of us. Together. As a family.”
Graham’s frown deepened slightly, and Joan could see the familiar shadows cross his face – the same expression he wore whenever the subject of public appearances arose.
“Joan, I appreciate your intentions, truly I do, but I prefer to leave the locals to their devices. It's better for everyone if I help them as their landlord from a distance, through proper channels. My presence tends to... complicate matters unnecessarily.”
Joan felt something stir within her chest, a strange mixture of disappointment and determination that surprised her with its intensity. The words came from her heart before her mind could stop them.
“It would be nice to go as a family,” she heard herself say, her voice soft but steady. “Something I was looking forward to with genuine anticipation. And I believe Sophia would enjoy it tremendously as well – she so rarely has the opportunity to see other children or experience community celebrations.”
