Page 18 of A Tale of Two Dukes

No doubt it was healthy and natural that his last duchess should not be entirely forgotten.

They’d been married for fifteen years or so and loved each other deeply, so that her sudden death had been a terrible blow, and one from which Edward had obviously not yet recovered.

But Richard thought that the vast portrait of the young Elizabeth by Thomas Gainsborough might tactfully have been removed from the dining room to some more obscure location, so that her replacement did not have the dead woman, more than life-size, looming pensive and misty-eyed over her shoulder every time she sat down to eat her dinner.

Edward’s gaze sometimes wandered to the enormous canvas during conversation; Richard had noticed it more than once since he had arrived, and he did not think that Viola, who appeared to be sufficiently quick in perception, could have failed to observe it either.

The Duke also spoke of the lost Elizabeth quite frequently in front of his new wife, and Richard had never come so close as to becoming irritated by his cousin as when ‘Elizabeth used to say…’ had been mentioned more often than seemed necessary or considerate.

The man had a history and his new wife knew it, but there was such a thing as tact.

He neglected his bride, too, and this was a surprise, given why he’d married her.

Richard had no means of knowing how often Edward visited her at night – God knows he had no desire at all to be made party to such uncomfortably intimate knowledge – but in the daytime, he seemed preoccupied with the cares of his estate, much more than he’d ever been on previous occasions when he’d visited.

It was clear that the Duchess was struggling to fill the long hours of her day, with very little help from her husband, and Richard had not been at Winterflood long when he began to suspect that he had been invited at least partly to entertain her.

He was happy to do it, if that was his responsibility as the only guest, but it seemed odd.

They went out on horseback together every day, with Edward’s entire approval and encouragement.

Viola had been taught to ride in her youth, she told him, but she’d always lived in Town and did not have the easy familiarity with horses that a countrywoman would have developed in childhood.

She was only now discovering that she loved them and had a natural feel for them; Richard wondered a little that his cousin had not thought to spend time with her in this, his own favourite pursuit.

It could have been something they shared, something that helped build a much-needed bond between them, but instead Richard found himself showing Viola around the furthest reaches of the vast estate that was now her home.

One icy morning, they were heading back towards the house after their ride and paused to look down on it from a rise that offered the best view of the great pile.

They had not gone fast or hard; the horses were not chilled, and though they shifted a little, they seemed content enough to stand for a while at their riders’ command, nuzzling each other affectionately and blowing out great clouds of steaming breath.

A couple of Edward’s spaniels had accompanied them, but they were off snuffling about in the dead leaves under the trees.

The mansion was impressive, even intimidating – the vast frontage and the reflecting pond that ran towards it, the huge Renaissance fountain frozen in the centre, mantled in long icicles, and the stables and other outbuildings stretching back like a village in themselves.

Smoke rose straight up from many chimneys into the still air, the only movement in the wintry scene.

His companion made a sudden sound that seemed like distress, and he turned to look at her in concern.

She was dressed in a habit of rich, deep-blue velvet, with a jaunty little cap set on her lustrous, dark curls, trimmed with a matching feather.

Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and the exercise, and she made an enchanting picture, he could not help but think.

He also thought that there were tears in her eyes, and though he felt awkward to see such unconcealed emotion, he could not do anything but ask, ‘What’s the matter, your grace? I hope you are not unwell.’

She smiled at him, but it was a poor effort. ‘I am quite well, thank you, sir. It’s just that it takes me by surprise sometimes, the size of it.’ She waved her gloved hand at one of the finest and largest baroque mansions in England. ‘The responsibility.’

He did not know what to say to that, and she seemed to interpret his silence as disapproval.

‘I know I am very lucky; I am always sensible of my good fortune. Edward could have married anyone.’ It sounded very much as though she was trying to persuade herself rather than him.

With a slightly different emphasis, she might easily have said, Edward could have married anyone. Why did he have to choose me?

And then she turned her large, dark eyes on him, and said devastatingly, ‘Do you think your cousin is happy? With me, I mean.’

‘I am sure he must be,’ was all he could manage, and even that was an untruth.

‘That’s no answer, Mr Armstrong, when obviously, he isn’t.

Forgive my frankness, but you seem very close to Edward, and I have no one else to ask.

He has friends his own age, I know, like Lord Marchett, but I do not know if he would talk openly with them.

I am sure many of them must disapprove of his marriage to me, the disparity in rank as well as age, which might check his confidences.

You are family, though, and he always speaks of you with such affection, I thought he might have confided in you. ’

Richard was glad that he was able to say with perfect truth that his cousin had not said one word in private to him that might not have been uttered to the Duchess’s face.

He hadn’t spoken of affection either – in fact, he hadn’t spoken of her at all, not a word – but there was no need to say that.

He could be tactful even if his cousin apparently could not.

‘What do you fear?’ he asked her bluntly. He’d rather not be having this conversation, but he was committed now.

She did not answer him directly. ‘I know he loved his late wife, and I cannot wonder that he still misses her.’

‘He certainly makes that plain enough. I can understand why it is hard for you.’

‘It should not be,’ she said resolutely, shaking her head, and his heart ached for her.

‘He was the soul of frankness when he offered for my hand. He told me of his enduring grief, and made no pretence of love. I pitied him, and appreciated his gentleness and directness, and, of course, the great honour that he did me.’

Good God , the poor girl, he thought. What a sad proposal it must have been. Especially if she had cherished hopes of romance, and what girl of seventeen does not?

‘Of course I accepted him. I know my duty to my family – my mother did not have to urge me in the slightest. I was quite content. But perhaps I did not fully realise…’ She broke off.

‘Oh, forget I spoke, please, Mr Armstrong. It was very wrong in me. I should not spill all my pathetic little secrets to you just because you are another young person in the house and seem sympathetic. It is just that I am not used to being so alone – I have always had my sisters about me, and we have such a busy, lively household at home, it is no wonder that my new life seems quiet to me sometimes. It is merely a matter of accustoming myself to it. This is my home now, and I am very lucky,’ she repeated, and the phrase sounded even less convincing even than it had before.

‘I shall be well served indeed if you go to my husband and tell him that I have been complaining without cause, like some spoiled brat.’ She did not ask him not to; she seemed resigned to the fact that he easily might.

He wasn’t even sure she cared much. She really is deeply unhappy , he thought with sudden heat.

Quite blue-devilled. Damn Edward for an inconsiderate old fool .

‘I promise I would not do that,’ he said, aware that his voice was a little unsteady, so great was his pity for her, and his regret.

‘Of course I will respect your confidence. I can see that you are far from content, and though it is none of my affair, I can also see that you have cause. But my cousin is the best of good fellows, and I am sure that, as you said, it is just a matter of learning to live with each other, which will take time. It cannot be easy for him, after so long…’ It was entirely inadequate comfort, he knew even as he said it.

What did he know of married life, orphan vagabond that he was, and these serious and irrevocable matters that this girl not yet twenty was struggling with so earnestly?

But he had to say something to console her.

‘I am prepared to learn, to adapt,’ she answered with suppressed passion, ‘but I wonder, is he?’

He was not obliged to find some reply to that, for with a sudden burst of movement, she was urging her horse on, and the dappled grey gelding, eager for his warm stable, responded with alacrity and carried her off down the slope at increasing speed, the dogs darting out to follow them, ears flying.

Richard sat for a moment, watching her blue habit stream behind her across the beast’s flanks, and then his own mount’s restlessness became apparent and he hastened after her.