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“ T o what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?” Cordelia asked as the tension settled in between them. The terrier whined as he ran around the Duke, seeking shelter and comfort behind Cordelia’s feet. “I hope your private estate hasn’t bored you too much over these past few years.”

The Duke’s brow rose, a quiet scoff leaving his lips. “Well, I needed to see for myself.”

“See what, Your Grace?”

“Whether or not you were still living.”

Cordelia pressed her lips together. He had returned for the same reasons Irene had insisted on visiting. Wherever he had been the past two years, he still heard the rumors and whispers of the ton . She gave him a smile, though there wasn’t the slightest bit of genuine happiness behind it.

“I pray you haven’t been too disappointed,” she cooed.

The Duke stared down at her. “We will discuss my disappointments at a later time.”

“Oh,” she murmured, “I insist you inform me of them now. I would not dare want you to be displeased with your dutiful wife.”

“Does it please you to aggravate me?”

Cordelia swallowed. Though she teased, he never once cracked a smile.

Not that she really expected him to, but she thought her sarcasm could’ve cleared the air at least a little.

There was a tangible heaviness surrounding them, one that threatened to suffocate Cordelia if she wasn’t careful.

To her, he only looked full of rage. His brow furrowed deeply, the sharp lines of his displeasure striking around his eyes angrily.

A sneer remained permanent across his lips, the corner of his mouth twitching deeper into a frown.

The longer he stared, the more Cordelia felt the need to shrink backwards. If he wished to intimidate her without saying a word, he was nearing success.

“Of course it does not please me,” Cordelia finally replied. “Did it please you to leave your new wife alone in a new home for two years?” She held her hands behind her back and gave him a shrug. “For all I knew, you had perished yourself. I had no way of knowing.”

The Duke looked over her head. “I see the idea didn’t bother you too much.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He curved around her, nearing the wooden fence that lined the flourishing garden. “I do not recall leaving my gardens in such a state,” he said.

“Does it displease you?”

“I do not care for it.”

Cordelia frowned, her eyes narrowing on the back of his head. When he wasn’t facing her, she felt as though she had all the power in the world. She managed to accomplish plenty of things while he was off sulking elsewhere, not that he took care to notice it.

“Tell me, Your Grace,” she continued, “Do you want to see it barren? When I first arrived, the gardens were decaying and empty, barely a blossoming bud in sight. It was an unpleasant display.”

The Duke turned back to her, walking by and circling around. His eyes squinted on the ground, where her canvas laid beside her feet. “You are an artist,” he said. “Is that right?”

Cordelia swallowed, a different sort of feeling creeping into her chest. He stood behind her, then, reaching down to retrieve the canvas.

He held it up to the light, investigating the half-drawn flowers and geese in the distance.

His expression remained sour all the same, his nostrils flaring as though he smelt something off about it.

She frowned, twisting her hands nervously behind her back.

“It is a hobby,” she said.

“For when you aren’t drowning my fortune,” he mused, “You paint.”

Cordelia frowned. Not that he outrightly called her work unpleasant, but he did not compliment it all the same.

She reached, taking the canvas out of his hand with a light tug.

Her eyes lingered over his hands, the same white scars she’d noticed on their wedding day still brightly standing out against his skin.

She stared for a moment too long and he jerked away, twisting his hands in a way that shielded them from her sight.

“I do not remember being told of any restraints I was supposed to have,” Cordelia said, ignoring the way her heartbeat pattered strongly against her chest. “No, I cannot recall even there being a goodbye.”

The Duke looked over his shoulder at her. “Whatever reasons I had for leaving were my reasons alone. They do not require your input.”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I am only your wife.”

His eyes clung to her. “Do you suppose a wife is meant to wipe clean the original interior of my home, rearranging it to something more of her standards?” Though his words were heavy with disdain, he never once raised his voice, never once gave off the impression that he was displeased with the work she had done.

“Tell me, Your Grace, do the changes not fit your own standards?”

“I barely recognize it.”

The shortness of his tone said it all. There was no pride in everything she had done, despite it being a momentous number of changes. A part of her, one that she wished to bury and hide, shrunk at the idea of it all being pointless, despite finding her own pleasure in all the changes.

Cordelia’s hands tightened into fists. Perhaps he thought he had a right to be perturbed.

If he was a more present figure in the estate, she would have agreed with him.

If he lived alongside her, there would never have been a need to go behind his back and do the things she wished to do.

But, alas, the Duke had never once lived with her.

She doubted he’d even spent a night there.

It was very possible that he’d left the moment he left her chambers that night those years ago.

Cordelia crossed her arms, her stubbornness being her strongest tool at the moment. “You have my sincerest apologies, Your Grace,” she said, though there wasn’t a drop of concern in her voice. “I had no idea that you considered this to be your home.”

The Duke became rigid and tense. “You do wish to rile me, don’t you?” he hissed. “That is what this all has been. Let me tell you now, Your Grace, that I am more than riled.”

His words threatened to force her to shrink backwards.

She tried to look away, but the Duke pressed on, taking thunderous steps closer to her.

Above them, where there was once not a thing in the sky, darkness brewed.

Clouds inched closer to the sun, heavy with rain and thunderstorms. As the sunlight became more and more muted, the Duke loomed dangerously over her.

“You have made it your mission to not only bleed me dry of funds,” the Duke continued, his voice low and growly now that he was only a foot away from her, “But to tarnish my very name as well.”

“Your name?” she repeated. “I have not done such a thing! I haven’t even left the estate to?—”

“ That is my point exactly,” he interjected. “Have you or have you not heard the rumors that surround our marriage?”

Cordelia pressed her lips together as Irene’s words echoed in the back of her mind. “It has only recently come to my attention,” she replied. “Though I cannot see the importance behind it. They are only rumors, after all, and from the ton , no less. Little can be taken seriously from them.”

“Are you that careless?”

Her lips parted in surprise, and though she wished to retort with something confident, all she could produce with a short exhale. Her pride felt stunted.

The Duke continued. “While you might think you have used your time in solitude for good, you have only made sure that the reputation my family has prospered on is nothing more than a folly.”

“What happens to your reputation outside of these walls does not concern me!”

“My reputation is your reputation,” he said.

She looked away. “I daresay I cannot agree.”

“Believe me,” the Duke muttered, “You need not say it.”

Cordelia shot her gaze back to him. The moment she met his stare, she was whisked away to a moment two years ago, when they’d stood beside each other in the small, quiet church.

Even in his intimidation, Cordelia found herself undeniably drawn into his aura, eager to know what it was that made him so reclusive.

He’d left her without a word, without the mere kindness of an explanation.

But now that he was back before her, Cordelia was desperate to know his truth and know it well.

For a moment she caught herself softening to him. Perhaps she did overstep. Perhaps the rumors the ton so easily tossed about were from her own carelessness.

“Listen to me,” he suddenly said, “And listen well.”

Almost instantly, as he lashed back out at her, Cordelia forgot what she was softening herself towards.

“You have left me no choice,” he said. “I will be taking my rightful place in the estate for the rest of this Season.”

Cordelia’s eyes went wide. “You?—”

“I am not finished.”

Her mouth clamped shut, too surprised to let her stubbornness roam freely.

“Once I have cleaned up the mess you have made, I will return to my private estate.”

The anger burst back through Cordelia. Her hands clenched into fists once more as she held his stare, unable to stop the heat from rising to her face as her rage became stronger.

“My actions are not to blame for this,” she seethed.

“A simple redecoration or flourishing garden has nothing to do with the ton's watchful eye! It is you, Your Grace, who has?—”

“You will attend the Season,” he raised his voice to talk over her own, “By my side, as the married couple the ton expects to see.”

“And if I refuse?” she blurted, not even pausing for a moment to think.

The Duke inched even closer, leaning down till his breath managed to fan over her face. His musky cologne filled the air between them. He remained there, his eyes scanning every bit of her, as if he wished to see her back down.

Cordelia held her ground, though the intimidation crept into her skin and forced her to gulp loudly.

The Duke smirked without the slightest bit of humor. “I doubt you will,” he murmured.

Before Cordelia could even gather up a response, the Duke spun on his heel and marched back towards the back doors of the estate. As he took the steps two at a time, he paused at the entryway, the shadow of Hunters lingering within the threshold. The Duke took a look over his shoulder at her.

“I suggest you prepare yourself,” he called out, “ Wife. ”

The Duke slipped into the estate, the door shutting behind him.

Cordelia staggered backwards, her legs hitting the lounging chair and forcing her to fall into it.

The moment she landed on the seat, there was a loud cracking sound.

She winced, reaching beneath her to pull out the fractured and bent canvas she had been working on before he arrived.

Silas leapt onto her lap, curling into a small ball against her stomach.

Cordelia ran her hand over his face, hoping the motion could sooth her racing heart.

A few droplets of rain splattered against the broken canvas.

She raised her head, letting the cold drops hit her cheeks and streak down to her chin.

A cool and chilling breeze blew in from the nearby lake, swiping by Cordelia’s loose hair.

She glanced towards the estate, imagining all the things the Duke would complain about that she had changed over the past few years.

But, nevertheless, the Duke could complain as much as he pleased. Cordelia was quite proud of her work and had no intention of succumbing to his disrespect.

“Come along, Silas,” she murmured, patting the small dog on the rear end to get him off her lap. The terrier jumped off, immediately skidding towards the door as the afternoon shower began to fall a bit heavier.

She smirked as she took her time back towards the estate. All the things the Duke would complain about suddenly felt more amusing than she’d expected them to be.

“He can tell me to prepare all he wants,” Cordelia mused. “As long as he is ready to prepare for me. ”