Page 34 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

B ailey squinted. “The ground’s too soft, Your Grace. We’ll lose another half the planting if it turns wet again next week.”

Thomas reined in his horse alongside, the two animals stamping their discomfort in the rising mud.

“Aye,” he said, “but it’s better than no crop at all if we get even a fortnight’s sun after this.

” He scanned the horizon, measuring the threat in the darkening spring sky.

“Have ye told the tenants what to do with the worst patches?”

“Already done, Sir. Some will shift to hay. The rest, I’ll have them drain off to the east ditches. But we’ll need new pipes by the end of the year.”

Thomas considered, wiping a sleeve across his brow. “Get the estimate for what it’ll cost, and don’t let Wilcox try and fob off the old stock. I want it done right this time.”

The survey lasted the morning. By the time they returned to the yard, both men were sodden and caked to the knees in gray-brown filth.

Thomas dismounted and ran his hand over the horse’s shivering neck, soothing it while Bailey relayed a few last instructions to the waiting stable hands.

The barn smelled of oats and the honest sweat of animals, and for a brief moment, Thomas wanted nothing more than to linger in its warmth and not go inside.

But the duties of a duke did not leave time for comfort.

He handed off the reins, stripped his gloves, and walked the gravel path back to the castle which rose grim and silent above the muddy lawns.

He walked out, pulled the door shut behind him, and paced the upper hall. He crossed past the nursery, past the gallery where Hester had sometimes lingered to study the paintings, down into the library where he’d last found her, curled in a patch of sunlight, reading to Bella.

He tried to push the thoughts aside as he always did. She had made herself clear: she did not want children. She would not entertain the idea of it. The rule was set at the start—he’d agreed to it, and he would not be the man to break his word, even if every bone in his body strained against it.

But the memory returned, unwanted, of Hester’s hand on Bella’s shoulder, of the affection that passed between them, the way she’d looked at the girl with something like pride. She would have made a magnificent mother. The idea took root and sent a rawness through him.

He sat heavily in the leather chair by the fire though there was no fire, only the darkened coals from the day before. He set his jaw and willed the feeling to pass.

It’s none of yer business what could have been, he told himself. She made her choice, and ye’ll abide by it, same as ye swore.

But the emptiness of the castle did not abate. Every hallway, every room, seemed to echo with the absence of her.

He tried to picture Hester in London, surrounded by her friends, dazzling in a ballroom, or perhaps seated at her mother’s side, offering comfort and wit in equal measure. She would thrive there, among people who understood her.

He would not be selfish.

He rose, restless, and went to his study and poured himself a whisky, went to the window, and watched the clouds move in over the hills. He wished, in that moment, that she would change her mind. That she would forgive him for wanting more. That she would someday allow herself to want it, too.

But he would not beg. And he would not betray her trust.

He downed the whisky in one swallow then turned from the window and set himself to the tasks of the day.

London announced itself not with fanfare but with the familiar scrape of carriage wheels on wet cobblestones, the sharp scent of coal smoke, and the distant clamor of a city already at full stride by mid-morning.

Hester leaned into the window, chin cupped in her hand, watching the city pass by in shades of gray, blue, and red brick.

At the gate of her brother’s townhouse, she paused only long enough to set Bella’s shawl aright, brushing the girl’s stray hair behind one ear with the careful tenderness she would have denied if confronted.

“You will be good for Mrs. Harding?” she asked.

Bella nodded, grave as a magistrate, and slipped inside, guided by the housekeeper’s gentle grip.

Within, the familiar hush of the entryway settled over Hester with an odd finality. She shed her gloves, patted her hair, and directed herself to the library where she knew Leonard would be found at this hour. As she entered, he looked up from his chair with a smile bright enough to make her wince.

“There you are!” he said, rising to cross the room and enveloping her in a hug that was warm, perfumed, and a touch too tight. “I thought your letter said you’d not arrive until Tuesday. What brings you so soon?”

She laughed, letting herself be tugged to the settee beside him. “Is it so terrible that I wished to see my brother at the earliest hour possible?”

“Only if you meant to catch me in my dressing dress,” he replied, but the pleasure in his voice was genuine.

He poured her a cup of tea, the dark liquid sweetened and cooled just as she liked it, and passed it over with an elegant sweep.

“You’re looking very well, Hester. In fact, dare I say it, you look like someone who’s learned to enjoy country life. ”

Hester forced a smile. “I confess the air is better. My lungs are half the size they were in London but twice as functional.”

He laughed and dropped a sugar cube into his own cup. “And the house—how is it? No ghosts?”

She sipped and said, “Only the friendly kind.”

He leaned in, concern masked in nonchalance. “And Lushton? He treats you?—?”

“Well,” Hester finished for him. “Better than I deserve most days.”

“I doubt that very much.” Leonard regarded her over the rim of his cup. “I’ve heard the talk, you know.”

She braced herself. “What talk?”

“That you’ve rescued an orphan. The village boys and their mothers are all aflutter. Apparently, you’ve become quite the topic in the charitable societies.”

She felt a blush rise. “It was only natural to bring her with us.”

“Ah.” Leonard’s smile dimmed, replaced by a brief, unspoken sadness. “And you? How are you adjusting?”

She shrugged. “I suppose I have always been more adaptable than Mother. Which brings me to the question—how is she?”

At this, Leonard’s demeanor brightened. “Remarkable, in fact. I just left her room. She’s been out of doors every day this week, reading novels and fussing at the gardeners.”

“She hasn’t—?” Hester could not finish the sentence.

“No events concerning her. Not since your wedding. I think it calms her, knowing you are… well, knowing you are happy.”

Hester’s cup clattered, nearly slipping from her grasp. She steadied it then stared at her lap. “That’s good,” she said, too quietly.

Leonard, ever the perceptive one, did not press.

He changed the subject to lighter things—the opera, the latest political squabbling, the new French tailor who had opened shop on Bond Street.

But the words crowded around her ears and left her thoughts drifting back to the country, to the cold, blue-lit workroom, to the steady weight of Thomas’ hand when it rested on her back.

When she left her brother’s house, dusk was already creeping along the rooftops.

She walked home with Bella beside her, the child silent but content, gaze fixed on the patchwork of carriages, carts, and beggars that animated the pavements.

They entered the townhouse, Bella off to her own small room without a word and Hester up the stairs to her chamber.

There, she found Anna, Fiona, and Nancy waiting in her sitting room, each with a glass in hand and expressions that ran the gamut from innocent to outright conspiratorial.

“Hester!” cried Anna, springing up to embrace her. “We’ve missed you dreadfully. Fiona insisted we call at once, and as you know, Nancy is never behindhand in such matters.”

Nancy waved her glass with dramatic flair. “In truth, I arrived before either of them. I heard from a reliable source that the Duchess of Lushton was back in Town before you even set foot on your own threshold.”

“Is it possible?” Hester raised her brows. “What network of spies do you command, Nancy?”

“My own,” Nancy said with an arch smile. “But Fiona’s footman was the one who first saw your carriage roll up, and he sent word to her, and she wrote to Anna, and so on.”

Fiona, blushing, said, “It was not quite so—oh, never mind. We are here, and that’s what matters.”

Anna handed Hester a glass, which she accepted, then guided her to the settee with the practiced finesse of a general corralling her troops. “Now, you must tell us everything,” Anna said. “Is it true? Have you adopted a wild country child and made her your own?”

Hester sipped, grateful for the familiar rhythm of her friends’ voices. “Her name is Arabella, and she’s cleverer than any three children I’ve met. She will be a ward of the estate, at least until a more suitable arrangement is found.”

Fiona leaned forward. “A more suitable arrangement?”

“A proper family, perhaps. Someone who could…” She trailed off, uncertain of what she meant to say.

Anna, ever the romantic, said, “She has a family now, Hester. You. The Duke. Why would you look elsewhere?”

Nancy gave a wicked little smile. “Because Hester is too practical for her own good. She’s convinced that she cannot possibly be enough.”

Hester was about to object when Fiona interjected, “And where is the Duke? Did he not come to Town with you?”

A cold drop slid down Hester’s spine. She set her glass on the side table, suddenly aware of the eyes trained on her face. “He… remained in Dorset. There were matters on the estate.”

Anna and Fiona exchanged a glance, but it was Nancy who spoke first. “Are you quite certain you do not want him here?”

Hester blinked. “Pardon?”

Nancy shrugged, as if the question were no more than a trifle. “It’s just that—well, you seem different. Happier, perhaps. But also… I don’t know. As if you miss something and refuse to admit it.”

Hester tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. “You are reading too much into things as usual.”

Nancy’s smile softened, and she reached out to pat Hester’s hand. “We do, sometimes. But only because we care.”

There was a silence, awkward but not unkind, as the friends looked at one another and then back at her.

Finally, Anna broke it. “We are going to King’s Theater tomorrow. There’s a new play, and the Duke of Wellington himself is rumored to be in attendance. You must come with us.”

Hester nodded, grateful for the change in subject. “Of course. I would not miss it.”

Fiona, eyes bright, said, “And bring Arabella. The child deserves a treat.”

Nancy, already restored to good spirits, finished her wine and declared, “Let’s make a night of it. We shall take supper at Boodles then parade to the theatre as if we own the place.”

The conversation rolled on, full of plans and laughter, but Hester found her mind returning, again and again, to Nancy’s question. Did she want Thomas here? Did she want him at all?

She thought of the castle, silent and waiting. She thought of Bella, alone in her new room. She thought of her mother, finally content in her fragile world, and of the lie that kept it afloat.

She did not know the answer.

As her friends rose to leave, Anna pressed her hand. “If you need anything, call on me.”

“I will,” Hester promised.

Fiona hugged her tightly. “Tomorrow, then.”

Nancy lingered, a quirk of mischief in her smile. “You are not alone, you know.”

Hester watched them go, the warmth of their words lingering in the room long after they had vanished down the stairs.

She stood in the silent parlor for a long while, thinking of Thomas, of Lushton Castle, of everything she’d left behind and all that waited ahead. She could not untangle the wants from the musts or the truth from the comfort she had woven around herself.

If you tire of London, you can always return here, he had said.

She wondered if she ever would. Perhaps it was better to remain here, away from Thomas and all the feelings he stirred within her. After all, they were only meant to live together for two months after their marriage.

They had less than a month left now.