Page 54 of Duke of Storme (Braving the Elements #4)

R hys stood with his arms stretched out to the side as his valet dressed him. It was early in the morning, and the chill seeping through the window was invigorating. He always felt better in the colder months, his body needing to move to counter the chill in the air.

“Thank you, Hastings,” he addressed his valet. He moved to the mirror to take a look and nodded approvingly. “Always, you are a master of your craft.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Hastings had a soft quiddity to his voice, and it was unimaginable that he could ever be angry or put out. He was constantly congenial, and his work was second to none.

And, as he always did, he slipped out of the room silently once his work was complete.

The world would be a far better place if people didn’t outstay their welcome.

The air was cold, and the hour was still young. The manor was never busy, but there was something about being awake before most of the staff that was soothing and gave Rhys space to think.

He descended the stairs, intending to take his morning constitutional. He passed the breakfast room and stopped dead. He was unsure if he’d imagined it. His ears perked up as he listened for any sounds.

When there were none, he backed up a few steps and peered inside.

The end of the table was laid out with one plate, one bowl, one mug, and one set of cutlery. A maid stood to one side of the occupied chair, and the housekeeper stood to the other side, fussing over the woman in the chair—the new Duchess.

She looked up from her early-morning meal, caught his eyes, then looked back down at her plate of smoked fish and toast.

The way she politely looked away from him annoyed him more than if she had held his gaze and challenged him. She behaved exactly as he expected her to, but he knew deep down that it was all an act.

She didn’t do it because that was what she wanted to do; she did it because she knew she had to.

You are not rebellious like your sister, are you? A woman I have heard tales about. Yet, in your passiveness, you are not entirely passive either. Doing what is expected of you is a silent rebellion.

Rhys knew he’d been standing at the door for far too long. Still, he was the Duke, and he could do as he pleased. And so he stood there, waiting for a reaction, but none came. His wife continued to eat her breakfast as if he weren’t there.

He had half a mind to step inside and join her.

He would eat later. There were other things to be done. He turned from the breakfast room and strode away. He left the manor, not wanting to wear his heavy jacket on the hill in the winter morning. By quickening his pace, he could keep himself warm.

He walked the trodden path through the birch trees, planting his feet firmly to stop them from slipping on the frosted earth.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the small chapel on the edge of his estate.

He did not enter it, going around the back to the small cemetery where his mother, father, and brother were buried.

He found the three gravestones before others of his ancestors. His brother’s grave was the freshest of the three, having been carved only three years ago. He crouched down before it.

“Life is to be lived.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s what you always said to me. Then, you had to go and die because of your foolishness. Are you pleased with yourself? Do you look down on me, laughing at the misery you caused me?”

Rhys smiled. He rubbed his eyes, then his forehead.

“I am married now. Though I’m sure you know that, being so close to the chapel. They talk about you as if you were a fool for love. What is the opposite of that, for that is what I am? I have taken the next step to secure our family legacy.”

He balled his fists, needing to punch something and finding nothing around except for hard stone and frozen ground.

“Why did you have to do it, Elias? Why did you follow me that morning? If you had let me do what I set out to do, you would still be here. I wish you were still here, Brother. Mother and Father, too. All of you were gone too soon. I love you all.”

He shook his head as he looked at the gravestones, before resting his hand on his brother’s. Then, he turned away from the graves and headed back to the manor.

As Rhys walked back, he could feel the cold in his bones. It darkened him from the inside out, taking hold with an icy grip that felt better than his inner turmoil, especially after a trip to the graves of his family.

He walked past the breakfast room, only to find it empty. Strangely, it annoyed him. He shook his head, looking down the hallway and finding the butler standing near the drawing room.

His servants seemed to understand him. His valet did the exact amount of work needed to satisfy him, slipping away until he was needed again.

His butler had a different skill. He was always around when Rhys needed him.

He rarely had to call for the man; he was always close when Rhys was looking for him, and not around when he was not needed.

The butler looked up the hallway toward him and quickly approached when beckoned. “Your Grace.” He gave a curt nod.

“Earl Grey tea.” Rhys licked his lips. “I will take it in my study.”

“Of course.”

“And I wish to see the Duchess. I will also see her in my study.”

“I shall see it done.”

Rhys let out a short breath through his nose, his insides twisting. He turned away from the butler and strode toward his study. It was only one extra person in his home, but everything felt more cluttered, even though he’d barely seen his wife since the wedding.

He entered his study and strode straight to the window.

He looked out over his estate. The gardens had not been maintained since his mother died, but they did use some of the beds to grow fruits and vegetables each year.

Not much was needed with only himself and the staff to feed, and that wouldn’t change much with one extra person.

The birch trees filled the space between the manor and the chapel, and beyond that were the foothills and a wide river. London was off somewhere to the right, unseen from the manor except for the top of the very tallest tower on the northwest corner.

A creak at the door alerted him that the tea had arrived, and he turned around, expecting to find a maid bearing a tray. His breath caught when he saw Irene standing there, with her hands clasped before her.

“I expected the tea, not you.” The cold hit his back from the window behind.

“I was told to come to your study, Your Grace. Do you wish me to leave?”

“No. I just didn’t expect you to come so quickly.”

“I can follow instructions more slowly next time, if it helps.”

The expression on her face didn’t change, and he searched her features for a crack in her composure. She had to be purposely making the comments to rile him up, and the best way to respond to that was to ignore them.

Of course, if she became too obstinate, he would quickly put her in her place.

“You are here now. Come in,” he ordered.

He moved to the other side of the desk and sat in the large chair, gesturing to one of the two chairs opposite.

Irene chose the one he hadn’t indicated.

He studied her, challenging her to speak first so he might chastise her for how much she frustrated him. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, but it was welcome to have a wife who was pleasant to look at.

Her skin was like the freshly driven snow that had covered the estate only a few months ago, her lips pink like the carnations that would bloom in spring. Her soft blonde hair was like hay under the summer sun, but he might prefer if she wore it down instead of pinned up high.

She would do for what was needed.

She sat down, her gaze fixed on the desk between them, her posture not overly stiff. She didn’t speak.

“I am sure before yesterday, you understood what this marriage was.

We do not know each other, and perhaps we never will.

I wish for you to be as comfortable as possible during your stay here, but we will live in different wings of the manor and will only keep up appearances when required.

Interactions are unnecessary unless we are in public.

“I do not entertain at Nightrow, though there are business meetings and the occasional social call from time to time. You need not attend the meetings unless absolutely necessary, and I expect you to play your part when you do. I find no need for social engagements, but if I’m forced to be somewhere with you, we will show the ton that we are a happy couple.

You may tell Society that we agreed to an arranged marriage, and if you wish to embellish that story with notions of romance, then some minor details will be acceptable. Is this understood?”

He watched her again, trying to decipher what she thought of the arrangement and him behind her mask of impeccability. She had not moved throughout his monologue, nor had her expression changed. The only clue to her thoughts was her eyes.

He stared into them as she continued gazing at his desk. When he looked into people’s eyes, mainly during business meetings, he could often see the layers being removed, revealing what the person truly wanted.

With Irene, it was the opposite. The more he spoke, the more layers she added, hardening herself against him.

That might work in his favor. Women could be emotional, and he had no time for that. The more she hardened herself, the easier her life would be in the manor.

“You may manage the household,” he continued. “I trust you with the minor decisions, but any major decisions must be run by me first.”

Again, he was met with silence.

Rhys prided himself on reading people well, but his wife was a closed book. All he needed was for her to look at him and nod in agreement. She could be in a far worse situation than this.

He was about to clear his throat to indicate that he needed an answer when she finally looked up at him.

Her expression had not changed, her lips soft and pressed together, her brow smooth. She sat straight, her hands in her lap.

Everything about her had not changed from the moment she’d sat down.

Except for her eyes.

It was a subtle shift, a slight gleam in the pale blue.

It reminded him of a day when he was a child and he and his brother had gone to the lake to swim.

They had stood on the bank, the water like a mirror under the blue sky, still and filled with possibility.

The blue of the lake was almost the same hue as her eyes.

Then, the water had been disturbed by his brother leaping in, a great splash erupting upward. As he looked into her eyes, and she looked back at him, he expected her eyes to flash, and he did not like it one bit.

“I see.”

Her words hung between them, and he liked them even less than the look she gave him. They were laced with venom. Two simple words that had more impact than anything she’d done or said since entering his life.

He waited patiently for her to get a hold of herself and realize that she was being rude.

“And is it your intention to inform me of my duties or dictate them to me?” she asked.

Rhys could scarcely believe the words that had come out of her mouth. They were fire; they were defiance; they were uncouth from the lips of a lady.

He sat forward in his chair, trying not to stumble over his words. “I beg your pardon.”

Irene did not move, except for her eyes, which looked like they had a life of their own.

“I married you, Your Grace. I did not sell myself to you. Am I to join your staff, or am I to be your wife?”

The hairs on the back of Rhys’s neck stood up, and his jaw clenched. He glared at her, waiting for her to realize her mistake and apologize for it. But no apology was forthcoming.

“I was informed that you were the model of decorum,” he told her. “A perfectly behaved widow with soft speech and gentle manners.”

“And how many perfectly behaved widows did you consider for the position before settling on me?” Irene folded her arms across her chest.

Something in her eyes flickered. Her resolve wavered, but she didn’t back down.

“Don’t test me,” Rhys warned. “I understand this marriage is not one you wanted, but you entered it of your own volition.”

“Sometimes in life, your choices become limited,” Irene countered.

“Do you argue with everyone you meet?” Rhys’s nostrils flared.

Her eyes told her story—one of defiance, of fear, of wavering intent that she pushed through.

She jutted her chin. “No.”

“You are certainly not what I expected,” Rhys muttered.

Irene shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. “Well, neither are you.”

Still, she didn’t look away from him, holding his gaze the entire time, more so than most men would.

“Now that you know me, you understand what I expect from you,” he growled.

“If I’m to live here, I shan’t vanish into the walls of your manor.” Irene stood up. “You claimed me as your wife, but you have no claim over my life.”

With that, she walked out without being excused.

Rhys stood up and walked after her, the blood in his veins boiling. He had half a mind to grab her by the arm and drag her back to his study, or to demand her return and obedience.

Instead, he stood in the doorway and watched her walk away from him.

Why is nothing in my life ever easy? She is supposed to be a name on a marriage contract, not another problem in the way.

He knew about her sister Cordelia, the rebellious one. He had thought Irene was controlled and passive. She’d proven half of that correct, but he could not describe her as passive.

Still, as long as she behaved herself in public, they would not clash.

Rhys told himself that over and over. But no matter how many times he did, he worried that she would be trouble and that he’d made the worst decision by marrying her in the first place.

Still, there were far worse things in life than being married to a woman who wasn’t a dullard. Perhaps she would be challenging, but that could prove to be fun.