Page 15 of The Duke's Return
Between her sisters pouting and trying to convince her to at least enjoy one cup of tea with them, she thought she heard her mother call to her to “Stop feeding the gossips,” as a vague farewell.
After Genevieve had waved to her mother and kissed all of her sisters goodbye, she took her leave.
Soon she would be fully packed, then on the road in the morning. Her stomach twisted as she reflected on her lively sisters. She wondered if she had ever been that cheery. If life was truly good for them here, and if they really were eager for their futures.
Maybe something was wrong with her. Genevieve dropped her gaze to her dress where she was twisting the folds terribly. She tried to stop. Once, she supposed, she wanted excitement and the unexpected. But now, all she wanted was peace and quiet.
Instead, she would soon be off on a journey. Or an adventure as Marianne had called it. Genevieve frowned at the idea, certain it would be a dull and unfortunate trip to the countryside. She hoped it would be over soon
CHAPTER 6
The following morning, Julian shambled into the carriage with a groan before collapsing onto his bench.
He had not slept well. Buried elbow-deep in his numerous files, he’d lost count of the lords and politicians prodding at him for attention and defenses for his behavior. Never before had anyone cared for his absence or his activities until now, requesting his compliance as though they could demand anything of a duke.
At least I don’t think they can. But it’s not a bet I should take judging on the potential risk.
Just as he ran a hand through his hair, having set his hat beside him, the carriage door opened again to grant access to his wife. He stared as Genevieve entered with careful movements that ended with her neatly fixing the wrinkles in her traveling gown.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she murmured without meeting his gaze. Then she reoriented a basket at her side to pull out a ball of yarn and two needles for knitting.
“Good morning,” he echoed.
His eyes trailed over his wife as the carriage started to move at last, on their way out of London and bound for the countryside. It was a momentous move in many forms. This was the property for which they had married, after all, for which he had bound himself to another person when he had spent thirty years swearing he would never do.
It was the hair he remembered the most, raven-black and shiny. She hadn’t curled it this morning. Instead, she had simply bound her hair back in a single plait that trailed down her waist. A little childish and yet it only refined her oval face and stormy gray eyes that were obviously determined not to pay him any mind. She was taller than most women and while her body featured a womanly softness, he was all too aware now of her sharp edges.
Have they always been there? I don’t remember them from when we met.
The time passed by slowly as their carriage suffered through the morning chaos of London before they reached the edge of the city. With the curtains open, it was another easy distraction for Genevieve, and she took every advantage, looking everywhere except at him.
Blast it, why did I agree to staying in the carriage? I should have brought my horse along all the same. I don’t know if my old horse Knightly is still in condition for my morning rides.
As for Julian, his mood had yet to improve. It was irritating the way she wouldn’t so much as offer him a glance. A smile. There was nothing. Blaming it on his lack of sleep, he decided it was time they talked. Even if it was only for a minute.
“You’re wearing a bonnet inside the carriage,” he said, having deliberately ignored it for as long as he could. Perhaps he could learn why she would dare wear something so dreary. “Did you do something to your hair?”
“My hair is just fine, thank you,” she responded in a stiff tone. Without looking at him once. She hadn’t even missed a motion in her knitting. He couldn’t tell what it was, but her hands moved swiftly and neatly.
He tilted his head while settling his hands over his stomach. “It’s not exactly a complimentary sort of bonnet.”
Inside, Julian preened when Genevieve slowly lifted her head to stare at him. He hadn’t even had to try that hard. But he made certain to appear as comfortable as possible, absolutely unbothered and certainly not needy. If he was anything, he was lazy. Never lonely.
“I didn’t know you were the sort to care about a lady’s bonnet,” she said in a flat tone.
“Not in particular. But even away from home, I can stay atop the latest fashions,” he said and nodded toward his personal finery. It would be covered in dust, surely, by the time they reached his southern estate, but a gentleman always needed to look his best. “I dress as a duke should.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then you’re saying I don’t dress as a duchess should?”
“Well, you are my wife…”
“Hardly.” The tiniest most darling snort he’d ever heard escaped Genevieve, and it took all his strength not to smile at the sound. She sounded awfully put out. “It is only in name. You don’t knowwhat I’ve worn for the past year; this is the third day in which we’ve had a chance to converse.”
I think ‘only in name’ still matters, especially when we have a certificate to prove it.
Hetsked. “Perhaps I might have changed that if I’d known what sort of bonnets you typically wear.”
“It’s a reasonable and respectable bonnet, whereas your traveling garb is hardly reasonable. Especially when you slouch like that, which is hardly befitting a duke,” she added snidely.
