Page 13 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)
T heresa relished the idea of an entire day to herself. Juliette and the Dowager Duchess had other duties to tend to and could not babysit her for the day, as much as she would have enjoyed their company.
One day, she too would have responsibilities in this new life of hers. For now, she contented herself with exploring the manor and the grounds.
After breakfast, Juliette walked her to the back door that led to the gardens, promising her that she would enjoy a walk among the flowers.
“You can follow the path around the garden, through the hedges. When you reach the stables, you’ll be at the edge of the estate,” Juliette told her, pointing to the stone path that wound through the garden.
The path was lined with brightly colored flowers in various stages of bloom. The air smelled sweet out here, nothing like the stench of the city, where horse-drawn carriages often dropped manure, and sewage drained into the streets. The garden was a tranquil respite from the hustle and bustle.
The stables …
What she wouldn’t give to be with her beloved Pippen now. For once, she had no constraints on her time. She could ride from sunup to sundown, but they would have to ride through the city streets. There were not many forests to get lost in for a day or two.
She started down the garden path but then hurried the rest of the way to the stables.
“What a pretty boy,” she breathed, petting the velvety nose of the horse she had seen Aaron ride home from their wedding.
“You have an interest in horses, Your Grace?”
She started at the voice that sounded behind her. She turned around to find a young boy covered in hay, with a dirt smudge on his cheek.
“I love riding,” she said wistfully. “I don’t suppose I’m permitted to ride?”
The boy looked uncomfortable at the idea of telling her what she could and could not do. She was a duchess, after all. She still wasn’t used to being the one who set the rules.
But she was thinking of the rules of the convent and what Juliette had told her about staying out after sunset. It would not be safe for her to ride through the streets alone. But perhaps she could just ride around the grounds?
“His Grace rides out frequently. Perhaps you could accompany him,” the boy finally suggested.
Theresa doubted that her husband was the kind of man who would buck convention and let his wife out of the carriage. What would it say about her if she were to sit astride a horse like a man, not in a finer carriage, living a life of leisure?
Still, she could not pull herself away from the horses.
She peeked into each stall to see what it contained.
The boy eagerly introduced her to each horse.
She spent time with each one, judging their temperament and letting them nuzzle at the palm of her hand.
The stable hand produced a handful of sugar cubes, which she generously doled out to her favorites.
Their gentle breath on her skin reminded her of home. A home that she could no longer claim. A home that she would never return to now that she had embraced this life in the ton .
She thought of Pippen and her rides on the ample land owned by the convent, as well as the days she rode too far into London. Those were the days when she received the discipline that Mother Superior was so keen on handing out.
Wincing, she thought of the scars that crisscrossed her back.
“You would never hurt me, would you?” She whispered to the horse on the edge of the stable. He softly nickered and blew a warm breath on her cheek before nosing her hand for a sugar cube.
She decided that she would ride this horse, Oliver, the next time her husband went out on a ride and deigned to invite her. He was a buckskin gelding, short and stout, which would make it easier for her to mount him. She did not desire the huge horses the Duke preferred.
“I should return to the house,” she said when they reached the end of the aisle.
“I would gladly assist you if you need anything,” the boy offered.
She thanked him, picked up her skirts, and retreated down the stone path to explore the endless halls of the house. She spotted the stairs that led up to the tower where the Duke shut himself off from the world. She thought briefly about marching up and demanding answers.
Remembering the warning from breakfast, she took the path that led in the opposite direction. Anything to tamp down the growing temptation to see exactly what her husband was up to.
This had been the first day she explored Blackwell Manor, and already she was running out of things to see and do. Her husband seemed to find many things to occupy his time in that tower. Was it so wrong for her to want to discover more about him?
To peel back the layers of who he was to the soft underbelly she felt certain existed in his person?
Still, she did not know him at all and could not say what proclivities he may have that she did not want to know about. Theresa reflected on the lessons she had learned with Sister Edith and Sister Margaret about the sins of the flesh.
Perhaps it would be better if she did not know her husband’s sins.
But he could not be all bad. Of that, she was certain.
She had no idea where she was going, but she knew it was opposite the direction of her husband’s tower. Practicing her willpower to stay away, she wandered into the manor with no real destination in mind.
Servants passed her in the hall, each giving her a guarded smile. She smiled back at them, stopping to ask their names, what they did, and where she might find them on any given day.
They seemed put off by her enthusiasm and curiosity, but she could tell she had won over most of them.
She uncovered several sitting rooms, not knowing the purpose of each one or why one manor would need so many sitting rooms. In each one, she sat on the sofa or chair inside and surveyed the art on the walls, trinkets on the shelves, and the heirlooms.
But she eventually made her way to the kitchens.
She stood in the doorway, watching maids bustle from the stovetop to the counters. Knives flashed as they chopped vegetables and leafy greens in preparation for the afternoon meal.
“You must be the new Duchess.”
Someone finally noticed her standing there.
Theresa blushed at the recognition, her new title still foreign to her ears. Instead of responding, she simply nodded.
“Is there something I can help you with?” She asked, wanting to at least feel useful.
The kitchen maids looked at her with wide eyes and shook their heads vehemently.
“Kitchen work is not for a lady of your station,” the cook said, her brow creased in confusion. “But there is something you can do for me, Your Grace. You can taste the dessert I plan to serve tonight.”
She plated a pastry topped with sweet red berries and passed her the plate.
The dough was light and fluffy, dusted with powdered sugar. Theresa’s eyes went wide at the idea of dessert so soon after breakfast.
Dessert was almost unheard of at the convent. Not on birthdays, but maybe on Christmas and Easter. It was a sinful indulgence that would lead them down a slippery slope where they would crave the things of the flesh.
Yet here she was, being asked to try something sweet.
She took one hesitant bite and closed her eyes as the sugar melted on her tongue. The berries’ slight tartness balanced the sweetness of the cream, the fluffiness of the pastry itself. She wolfed it down in a way that she realized was probably not ladylike.
The cook laughed at her reaction. “I assume it is to your liking?”
“It might be the best thing I have ever tasted,” Theresa admitted. “I would look forward to eating this again after supper.”
The cook’s face lit up at the compliment, and she took the plate from her. The only remnant of the dessert was the dusted sugar.
If Theresa had thought she could get away with it, she would have licked the plate clean, not leaving a speck behind.
“I should let you get back to your work,” she said.
“Your Grace is always welcome in the kitchens, though it would not do for you to spend so much time here. If you are so inclined, though, I can always use a taste tester,” she said.
Theresa thanked her and cast one last glance back at the pastries that remained on the cook’s tray before leaving. She was headed back to her suite, where she hoped to run into the maid who had been assigned to help her with her dressing.
She had worn this dress long enough today; the buttons were digging into her back. Her new wardrobe did not fit her perfectly. Some dresses were a bit too large, and others were too tight. She tended to favor tight over large, as the large ones might gape and violate her modesty.
“You’ve returned to your chambers early, Your Grace,” the maid said, surprised when she turned around.
She had been changing the bed linens when Theresa walked in unannounced.
“What is your name?”
“Emma, Your Grace.” The maid bobbed a brief curtsy. “Can I help you with something?”
“You can help me get out of this awful dress.”
Theresa turned around and lifted her hair from the nape of her neck to expose the thin line of buttons down her spine. Emma obliged her, opening the buttons with skilled fingers.
Theresa wondered if she would ever be able to do the same. The nuns’ dresses were so simple, so plain. Nothing like the intricate gowns the ladies of the ton wore.
“You are here to help me, are you not?” She asked, a sly smile on her lips.
“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you need.”
“Could you please bring me some pastries from the kitchens after my nap?” Her face lit up at the prospect of tasting more of the sweets she had been so long deprived of. “The cook will know what I like.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” Emma said with a curtsy.
She finished stripping the bed and replaced the linens as Theresa stepped into a nightgown.