Page 16 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Sixteen

“ T hank you for your understanding, Your Grace,” one of the farmers told Henry, nodding his thanks. “I do hope we might see you and the Duchess at one of the village fairs soon.”

“I am sure the Duchess is very eager to meet everybody.” He gave a withering smile as he got back up on his horse. “If you have any other trouble with the looting then write to me. I shall attend immediately.”

“I will, Your Grace.” The older man bowed to him.

Henry nodded once more at him before setting off.

Somebody in the neighboring village had been stealing livestock from farmers, a small matter that Henry was already tending to. It was an issue he did not need, for the farmers needed their livestock to produce an income, but he was accommodating for the problem.

But the village fair would be… frustrating yet necessary.

He had to show face.

And the Duchess indeed will be eager. Very… overeager , he thought.

Shaking his head, he rode hard back to the manor. Business was done for the day, and he was ready to sit down with a large glass of wine and pointedly forget the woman who was plaguing his thoughts night and day.

He wanted her in the next room; he wanted his hands on her. He wanted her as far from him as possible; he wanted her pinned beneath him in his bed sheets.

He craved . He wanted. He hungered for her even as his own ire rolled alongside it.

Henry forced his mind to go blank and rode harder.

Once he had a glass of wine in his hand, seated in his study, he looked around, considering it. He did indeed miss his study at Turner Hall. He realized he should find Veronica and apologize, but he could not bring himself to. Instead, he sipped at his wine and closed his eyes.

It was only then that a knock at his door broke his peaceful solitude.

“Leave me,” he called, thinking it was staff or Veronica. He could not deal with her in that moment.

“I shall not.” Thomas strode in, uninvited, carrying a small trunk that always contained one file or other. “We did agree to this meeting, did we not? If I recall correctly, you said to do it here because I pestered you too much at the Hoof’s Inn. You did not like my penchant for more beer.”

Thomas put the trunk down on Henry’s desk. Henry gave him a silent raise of his brow.

Thomas held up his hands in surrender and removed the trunk, setting it on the floor instead. “Will you share your wine with me?”

“No.”

“Very well. I shall be back shortly after I get my own. Mrs. Nelson is fond of me; she shall ensure more wine is sent?—”

“Just sit down,” Henry groaned, taking a glass that from the cabinet at the side of the desk.

He shuddered at the hideous green color of the cabinet before pouring wine into the glass and setting it down firmly before his friend. “There.”

“I knew you were agreeable to some things.” Thomas grinned. “How did you get worse after being married, Henry? Are men not supposed to mellow after they are shackled to a woman of the ton ?”

“You jest, surely,” Henry muttered dryly.

“Of course, I do,” he laughed. “They are saddled with dowries to eventually fund?—”

“Stop talking.” He winced.

“Ah. The great grumpy Duke can barely acknowledge he has a wife, let alone the thought of continuing his line?—”

“Shawcross,” he warned.

“The wine is excellent ,” Thomas said, ignoring him entirely. “Compliments to your butler for acquiring.”

His friend gave him a quizzical look. “Because surely you did not pick such a wine.”

“Of course, I did,” Henry said, mildly affronted. “I met with the vineyard owner himself in Europe.”

Thomas pulled a face, rolling his eyes. But he did not stop grinning, as if he was pleased by Henry’s irked attitude. “Very well, where is your wife? I only agreed to meet at the manor, so I could meet her. Word in Dalton Square is that she is both ruinous and beautiful.”

“Do not speak of her like that.”

“Does it offend you? You seemed not to care for her the last time we met. If you do care, then surely your friend must meet your wife?”

“You are annoying, Shawcross. You are here to talk business with me.”

“We must always talk business. If you wish for only that, then contact my father—except you will not, will you? Because you know I am of more help with the situation about your business partner.” Thomas stood up, swirling the wine in his glass and drinking deeply. “Now, I shall greet the Duchess. It is only polite, is it not?”

Before Henry could stop him, Thomas walked out of the study and towards the drawing room, speaking with a footman out of earshot.

Henry stalked ahead, surprising Veronica, who was finishing off the touches to another vase full of flowers.

She spun around in surprise.

“Your Grace,” she said, and then her eyes fell over his shoulder. “We have a guest?”

Her brows furrowed, no doubt thinking that Henry despised company. She would be right.

“Duchess,” he sighed, “Might I introduce Mr. Thomas Shawcross, my… acquaintance.”

“He humbles me,” Thomas snorted. “I am his friend. His only one, I might add. Your Grace, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have been badgering Westley for some time.”

Henry cut a glare to Thomas. But his friend only bowed deeply to Veronica, taking her hand, which she gave with a surprised smile, before kissing it.

“The honor is mine, Mr. Shawcross,” she said. “It is not often His Grace has guests.”

“Ah, I am here on business officially, but yes, I am a guest.”

“Then let me call for some refreshments,” Veronica suggested, and Henry was about to intervene, irked by how well they got along, when Thomas made himself comfortable on the settee.

“That would be lovely, thank you, Your Grace. Now, do tell me, is the Duke as grouchy as he is to me when you are around?”

“The Duchess will do well to remember that I am her husband before answering that,” Henry warned, giving Veronica a sharp look.

Part of him wished he could tease as well as Thomas did, but he did not have it in him. His teasing was commanding, a sultry kind, not a joyous humorous type.

“Yes, I shall do well to remember that,” Veronica said slowly, and he saw the sly look she gave him. “But he is indeed, Mr. Shawcross.”

“I knew it.” Thomas flashed him a grin. “Henry, you must lighten up. Here, share some wine with me.”

A butler served them wine while one of the maids brought in a tray of cakes.

Macarons were Veronica’s favorite, Henry had subtly learned, and she picked up a pale pink one and ate it daintily.

Together, she and Thomas sat opposite each other. Henry sat next to Thomas.

Veronica gave him a look of light disappointment which he ignored.

“I do believe business should be conducted in my study, Thomas,” Henry warned, for he did not want Veronica to hear why, exactly, Thomas was there.

Thomas did not take Robert’s disappearance seriously enough, and Veronica did not take kindly to jokes, least of all about her brother.

“It is a good thing I am not yet ready to discuss that, then,” Thomas said airily.

He gave Veronica a softer smile a moment before he drank deeply from his wine glass.

He sighed graciously, looking around. “Your Grace, the manor looks delightful. It is much nicer than when the late Duke owned it. You have done admirable work.”

“Thank you,” she answered with a blush. “It is nice to have my efforts appreciated.”

Henry looked away from them, clenching his jaw.

“I have been discussing plans with the Duke,” she said. “Just this morning, we concluded that changing the study here in Westley Manor to match His Grace’s in London will be a fine idea.”

“I could not agree more,” Thomas praised. “It is nice to see that things have mellowed out between you both.”

Henry turned his glower onto his friend.

“The last I heard, Henry was not very forthcoming with information about you as his wife, Duchess. And the fact that he has not ordered me out of the manor already is quite a feat and turning point indeed. But I have been telling him that a wife is exactly what he needs in order to mellow out.”

“Well, that is hopeful,” she commented, glancing at Henry which he pretended not to notice. “Although I do not blame him for not being forthcoming.”

Both Henry and Thomas blinked at that, surprised.

“We do not have much to tell, do we?” Veronica asked him pointedly. “We have not ventured into society since we wedded, nor do we have…” She swallowed. “… children to report on. We have not traveled. And anything that is notable about me has surely been in the gossip sheets, so there is not a great deal to say.”

Henry paused. Was that truly what she thought? That he did not speak of her because he had nothing to speak about? That wounded him somewhat.

He ignored the children comment, though, for that was twice in the space of half an hour he had heard such hints about him having children. And that was entirely too much.

Especially when his wife had not chosen him but had been forced to accept his proposal.

“I am sure you both will have endless adventures in the years to come,” Thomas assured her. “The Duke is fond of travel.”

“I am sure,” Veronica agreed. “I look forward to where our travels may take us.”

“Speaking of travel.” Thomas cleared his throat, and Henry knew he had to jump in before Thomas said something that Henry would have to clean up with Veronica after Thomas’s departure.

“Yes,” he said, “speaking of, I hear that France is lovely in the autumn season.”

“Oh, Henry, I do not care for France! But they do have very nice satchels. And speaking of?—”

“Perhaps not right here, Thomas,” Henry said, flashing him a warning glare.

“What is it?” Veronica asked, interested.

“We agreed to keep our business and affairs separate, did we not?” Henry asked her tightly.

“Yes, until you decided that you could ask me everything about what I was doing, but I was not allowed to ask anything of your dealings. It is feeling awfully one-sided, Your Grace.”

“As I was saying, the French make rather lovely satchels of the best quality, and I found such a satchel belonging to our missing Earl of Grantham and?—”

Veronica, who had been listening intently, turned to Henry. “You… you are investigating my brother’s disappearance?” Her face was pale before anger twisted her features. “Your business that you tell me not to interfere with is about my brother, and you did not think to tell me ?”

Her voice raised, and Henry flinched. He shifted back but angrily wanted to stand his ground. “Duchess?—”

“Do not try to tell me otherwise,” she hissed, “and do not try to keep me out of this!”

She turned to Thomas, who idly munched on a macaron as if he was not affected in the slightest. “What clues do you have of him? Is he alive? Mr. Shawcross, how long, exactly, have you been tracking down my brother? What else do you know?”

Thomas looked alarmed, and Henry only glared at him. “You may answer the Duchess’ questions yourself.”

Thomas cleared his throat, his expression faltering for a moment before he composed himself.

“We do not know a great deal, Your Grace” he told Veronica. “But, yes, I have been searching for him.” His eyes cut to Henry, who only gestured for him to continue. “Forgive me, I did not know you were unaware of the investigation.”

“It appears whenever I ask questions they are ignored,” Veronica told him flatly, her anger clearly aimed at Henry.

He leaned forward, almost dismissively. “Do not get your hopes up, Duchess. The reason I did not tell you is so you do not have any false hope. The man we have found clues of may very well not be your brother. Heaven forbid I told you, and you informed your mother, and then we would have a distraught Mama on our hands were it a false lead.”

Veronica’s anger did not lessen. She only stared at Henry, glowering.

“You could have still mentioned something! False lead or not, it is a relief to know that there are efforts into recovering him. Why must you be such a pessimist?” Her accusation came at him unexpectedly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is true! I understand you do not want to give me false hope, but why must you insist that it might not be my brother?”

“I am a realist,” he told her firmly. “Not a pessimist. Would you rather be happy redecorating the castle or have your stomach in knots every day, waiting for news of our investigation? This has been going on for some time. It can be weeks between any sort of new report. Could you honestly tell me you would not be utterly restless during those weeks?”

“Do not presume to know how I would react.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “For I have spent a year waiting at a window for my brother, but do you know what I also have spent a year doing without him? I have survived. I have endured. I have done everything I could for my mother. So do not come to me, presuming I cannot handle some more waiting, because I have waited and waited, and I am very acquainted with it by now.”

Her voice was low, angrier than he had ever heard it before, and he found himself… intrigued and mildly aroused. He enjoyed this side of her.

He liked obedience, but her fire-hot rebellion and anger was also quite the combination for him to witness.

“Thomas, you are dismissed,” Henry said.

“What?” His friend laughed.

Without looking away from his wife, Henry spoke. “You heard me. I shall correspond with you later.”

Thomas, used to Henry’s ways, only crammed one more macaron into his mouth. “It was lovely to meet you, Duchess.”

Veronica’s gaze flickered to him, and she nodded. “And you, Mr. Shawcross. Have a safe journey home.”

And then he was gone, and Henry and Veronica were left alone, the air thick with tension.

“If you wish for me to not ask about your business, then do not bring it into the house we share,” Veronica said. “Are all your dealings to do with this investigation?”

“I told you not to ask questions,” he reminded her.

“Oh, I shall, Your Grace,” she laughed bitterly. “I shall indeed, especially now I know that you care somewhat about my brother.”

“Care,” he snorted. “I care only for the investment in the business we had together. I care only for the loss of money, not for the loss of your brother’s life.”

His words came out in bitingly hard, matter of fact tone, and Veronica looked as though she had been slapped.

“ That is why I did not wish to tell you,” he told her, shaking his head. “You are emotional and cannot handle potential facts.”

“Potential facts?” she shouted. “Your Grace, you claim so coldly that my brother might be dead. How else do you wish for me to react? A shrug, a monosyllable answer, and get on with my life?” She stood to her feet. “How dare you presume I am weak and cannot handle anything? I know better than to hope for too much about my brother, but I will not sit idly by and let you speak of his life so casually. You may be thinking with your ledgers, but that is my family .”

Before Henry could fire something back, Veronica stormed off, leaving him alone in the drawing room.

He had the strangest urge to throw one of her pretty vases at the wall, if only to see something get destroyed.

Instead, he stormed out too but did not chase her; he went out to the stables, had a horse saddled up, and went for a ride instead.

He could not bear to spend one more moment around her.