Page 10 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 10

Charity

“H e seems rather dreamy,” Eleanor said as they made another turn around the garden. Charity had just managed to evade her mother's interrogations, and the older woman was now with Millie, walking a few paces behind them. At last, she had time to speak with her sister.

She had planned to tell Eleanor the full truth, but her younger sister was so captivated by the perceived romance of it all that Charity did not have it in her to correct her.

“A secret whirlwind courtship! I should wish for something like that for myself as well,” she said with a sigh. The wind caught a strand of her hair and blew it into her face. Charity quickly removed it, tucking it behind her sister's ear. “And a duke at that! Oh, but I should be so upset with you for not telling me. We tell each other everything!”

Charity gulped. She ought to tell Eleanor everything, of course, but she could not bring herself to do so. It would be too humiliating. And frankly, she worried about crushing her sister's spirit even more by revealing that there was no romance, no happy ending. Eleanor had taken their father's death badly—worse than Charity, even—and she did not want to rob her of this perceived happiness.

“My sister the duchess!” she exclaimed, seemingly having forgotten the mild rebuke she'd just issued. “Tell me, is he kind? And romantic?”

Charity said nothing for a moment as she looked through the window at the man who was now her husband. She knew nothing of him, only what Millie had told her. And while that was mostly positive, she had no firsthand knowledge of what Eammon was like.

Except, she did.

“He is kind enough to let me bring Ambrose to his estate so that I may see him every day,” she said.

“Oh, that is wonderful! Mama always disliked him, so I was worried for him at Millie's family's home in case they had him sent away.”

Charity ground her teeth. It was true; her mother saw no use in Ambrose. He wasn't a horse one could ride, after all, and since Charity kept him as a pet, he could not be used in the fields either.

“Evidently, Her Grace, the dowager, also has a Shetland pony.”

“She does? Oh, it must be serendipity!” Eleanor said and then paused. Charity looked up and saw that Eammon and his mother had stepped into the garden.

“It is time we go home,” Eammon said. “I know it is customary to go on a honeymoon now, but I believe it will be understood if we do not.”

“Of course,” Charity said and kept her eyes down, though she was aware of the way his blue eyes bore into her, as if he sought to read her thoughts.

“Charity, my dear,” the dowager duchess said, “I do wish to tell you how delighted I am to call you my daughter-in-law. I hope soon you will return, and we can all dine together so you may meet Eammon's family. We are a large one.”

“So I have heard,” she said, wondering what it might be like to be a member of a large family. Outside of Millie and her two brothers, she did not have close relations. Her father's family had consisted only of him and his parents, who were each the only children in their families to live into adulthood.

“And perhaps you may visit us at Hayward. I hear you keep a Shetland pony there,” she said, and to her relief, the dowager duchess smiled broadly.

“What a lovely idea! I adore Hector, and he will be delighted to have a companion in your Ambrose.”

She knew her horse’s name. How? She glanced at Eammon, who smiled at her, his eyes sparkling. He had remembered her horse's name and told his mother about it.

She wasn't certain what this meant, but at least he had been good enough to actually listen to her. Lord Markham would likely not remember the name of her sister, let alone her horse.

“Ambrose? That useless mare?” her mother said as she joined them. “Oh, Your Grace, you need not trouble yourself with it. It cannot be ridden or used for anything at all; it would only take up resources.”

Charity's anger boiled at once. She knew her mother did not care for Ambrose, but to say such things in front of her new husband! What if he changed his mind?

To her relief, she saw the dowager's visage darken, making it clear she did not agree with Lady Pembroke at all. However, she cast a worried glance up at her husband, concerned he might see her mother's point.

“If Ambrose makes my new wife happy, then he shall be at our stable, Lady Pembroke. Indeed, my mother has found much joy in her Shetland pony, though he is not much use either, other than for personal enjoyment and enrichment. Which, one might say, are very good uses. Would you not agree, Mother?”

He turned to the dowager, whose scowl lifted somewhat as she nodded.

“Indeed. I find Shetland ponies bring much comfort. There is nothing better than watching their sturdy forms frolicking in the meadow. It is a passion I share with your daughter,” she concluded.

Charity could not help herself; she smirked at her mother, who had reddened like a tomato at this joint assault from Charity's new family.

“You see, Mother,” she said. “Ambrose serves many purposes, and I believe he will make a wonderful companion for Hector.”

“I dare say that is so,” Eammon agreed. “They do better in pairs. As such, you are doing us a favor, Lady Charity.”

She noted he used her former title, but she did not mind it. She had a difficult time remembering that she was no longer Lady Charity either.

“I meant, Her Grace is doing us a favor,” he corrected himself without taking his eyes off her.

Charity sat in the carriage as it jolted back and forth, taking her away from the home of her new mother-in-law. To her surprise, Eammon sat beside her when they got into the carriage rather than opposite her. She blinked and looked at him, unsure of what to say. Her feelings were in turmoil. On one hand, she was still intensely upset at being forced and tricked into this marriage, overwhelmed by guilt for not having told her sister the truth, and yet oddly pleased by the way the conversation had gone between herself, her mother, and Eammon’s mother. It wasn’t that she had wanted her mother to be put in her place, but she could not deny that there was something validating about having somebody on her side.

Eammon banged his walking stick against the roof of the carriage, and it sprang into motion. The vehicle jolted with such force that she was pushed backward, letting out a small yelp. He looked at her and smiled. “You ought to hold on. Jacques, our coachman, is somewhat of a rascal. I think sometimes he mistakes this carriage for a curricle or a pantheon—a racing vehicle.” A burst of laughter followed the statement.

What was there to laugh about? They were going to a place that was not her home but would be her prison. And here he was laughing.

“You will like the estate,” he said. “It is grand. Not that I can take all the credit for it. My father and my grandfather before him built it up into what it is today. I assure you it is very comfortable. As I said, your things will be there by now. And whatever you need, you shall buy. There will be a generous allowance.”

“An allowance?” She parroted the words and pictured herself having to ask him for her weekly pin money, the way she had her father.

“Of course. To purchase whatever it is that you ladies want: gowns, bonnets, ribbons.” He waved a hand as if to dismiss these things as frivolous foolery.

“They will all be brought over. I have already arranged it. And you will have a maid—Jean?”

“Jean is coming?” she asked, surprised, for she had expected him to assign her a maid at random. She did not take him for the considerate type, though given his actions regarding Ambrose and now this, perhaps she had to reconsider.

“Of course, I thought you would be more comfortable having a maid of your own. I believe she used to be your maid back at Pembroke.”

“Yes,” she said. “My mother removed her when she thought I was unwilling to wed.”

“I see. Mothers can be like that,” he said with a chuckle.

There it was again—that chuckle. Why was he laughing? Why did he think any of this was funny?

She glared at him, and that stopped his smile. He cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders back as he sat straight, crossing one leg over the other.

“You will, of course, let me know if there is anything you require. Once you are settled in, that is.”

Require…? But I require my freedom…

“Now that you have made me your wife,” she said, surprising herself, but she had not meant to say anything out loud. “Will you tell me why you insisted on this marriage? If your estate is so grand, it certainly cannot be my wealth, for my father was only a viscount.”

She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and she wondered if there was something she had been missing. Was he after her inheritance? Perhaps his estate was in trouble?

“I am well aware of who your father was. He and my father were close. And I assure you, I only sought this match for your protection.”

“Protection…?” He kept saying this. Could it be that her hunch was right and he was not doing as well financially as everybody thought and needed her dowry or her connections? What connections did she have?

“Protection against who? I cannot believe that you are so benevolent a man that you would step in to stop my first marriage to Markham only out of the goodness of your heart.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, Markham…You ought to be grateful to me for saving you from having to marry that brute. I know him well and I did you a favor. But no, I did not seek you to protect you only from him, but from other men like him. You are…” He shook his head. “I need not justify my actions to you. Know that you are safe, and you shall want for nothing.”

“Nothing but my freedom,” she replied this time, saying the words out loud. He flinched, then opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. After another beat passed, he took a deep breath, and it seemed he was about to issue what she assumed would be a stern rebuke when suddenly the carriage flew around the corner at increased speed, and she found herself flung left against the closed door and then, due to the momentum, bounced backward into his lap. For a moment, she remained in her rather awkward sideways position, her shoulder pressed against his lap and her head precariously hanging in mid-air, when she felt his hands on her shoulder.

“Goodness, I told you Jacques can be quite the reckless driver. You must be more careful.” As he spoke, his breath brushed past her cheek, and she caught a whiff of his scent. It smelled of equal parts brandy, strawberry from the cake they had eaten at the wedding breakfast, and mint, as though he had been chewing on a comfort. Oddly enough, it was a most pleasant scent that momentarily put her at ease. She realized what it was—the peppermint her own father always adored and kept near. She had always associated that scent with home.

His strong hands wrapped around her shoulders to help her sit up. Once she was upright, she found herself utterly flustered, for between the scent and the precarious position she had ended up in on his lap, and the touch of his strong hands around her shoulders made her head began to spin. Who was this man, and why was he making it so difficult to hold onto her rage?

As if he had read her mind, he smiled once more. “We are passing the stable yard now. That is where Ambrose will be staying. Beyond that, we shall see Hayward—your home.”

She turned away from him and focused on the outside when the grand residence came into view. There it was—three stories tall and as imposing as Stafford House. It truly was magnificent. Likewise, the gardens were meticulously kept, and gravel walkways led down to a lake on one side and to what might be a statue garden on the other, with another leading back to where she assumed the wash house was located. The estate was much larger than Pembroke and even larger than Millie’s parents' home.

She took a deep breath as she realized this house was the kind of place she had always envisioned herself living. The garden was of the sort where she had pictured presiding over tea parties, and the tidy paths were like the ones she had thought one day she might run along with her children toward the lake, where they might feed the?—

However, the man sitting beside her was not the man she had envisioned as her husband, and this life she was about to embark on was not the one she had dreamed of.