Page 42 of His Illegitimate Duchess

Her husband quickly (and correctly) deduced that she feared that London gossip had reached Norfolk and that she worried about her reputation among their tenants.

His insides were assaulted by an unpleasant sensation that he convinced himself was caused by Mrs. Clark’s breakfast choices. He decided he’d have to warn her to stick to lighter fare in the future, seeing as they were almost at the height of summer.

“We’re going to the local dressmaker, and then we’ll drive to Brandon’s house to call on him.”

“Why do we need the dressmaker?”

“My wife needs a riding habit,” he announced.

*

“And this is my wife, Mrs. Alice Brandon,” Mr. Brandon announced with both pride and affection clearly visible on his face.

“It is wonderful to meet you, Your Grace,” the young Mrs. Brandon curtsied to Lizzie, who seemed startled by the gesture but quickly recovered.

Talbot wanted to smile because he still remembered Elizabeth’s first, awkward curtsy to him.

He noticed that, since they got married, she had reverted to what he assumed was her natural state, marked by a more relaxed demeanour, and only rarely reached for her ballroom behaviour.

After only a few days away from London, his wife seemed to have forgotten all about the Ton .

“Likewise. You have a lovely home,” Lizzie said sincerely.

“Did you get a chance to tour the estate?” Mr Brandon asked her as they sat down.

“Yes, parts of it,” Lizzie told him excitedly, “His Grace took me for a drive, and answered all of my questions most patiently. I was quite impressed by all that he has managed to build here, especially considering that he inherited the title so young.”

Talbot felt his chest swelling with masculine pride at his wife’s praise, while Brandon grinned at him warmly and knowingly. His friend was so relaxed and so quick to smile. Talbot didn’t exactly envy him, but he did wonder what that felt like.

“I simply did what I had to do,” he said, projecting coolness he didn’t feel.

Lizzie nodded soberly, and it was the first time that he consciously recognised his wife as a kindred spirit. Had she not done the same thing, and done it well? Talbot wanted to squeeze her hand as he frowned at his own slowness.

“If you are interested, the church ladies and I meet once a month to organise auctions and balls and similar events to benefit the poor, and you are welcome to join us,” Mrs. Brandon said eagerly, and he could see his wife’s face light up with a similar emotion.

“I would be delighted!” she exclaimed, before shooting him a concerned look.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and her shoulders relaxed.

She looks so lost sometimes, he thought.

Talbot was almost drunk on the heady power of being the one to teach her things, show her how his world (and her own body) worked, to lead her as a man and as her husband. Despite his selfish nature, he’d never felt this degree of possessiveness over anyone or anything in his life.

When they headed back to the manor half an hour later, his Duchess was uncharacteristically subdued. She didn’t exclaim or point at things or ask one question after another like she had on the drive here.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked.

“I’ve just been lost in thought.”

“What have you been thinking about so intently?” He replied in what he hoped was a light, teasing tone.

“I was thinking about the Brandons.”

“Did you not find them agreeable?”

“No! Nothing like that,” she reassured him quickly, and he exhaled in relief.

Edward was, perhaps, his closest friend. He hated the idea of Elizabeth thinking poorly of him, or vice versa (which was impossible, he felt).

Not that I need anyone’s approval or support , Talbot thought, remembering who he was.

“They are so… alike . In looks, in speech, in manners, in the way they gesticulate. I’ve never seen a couple so well-matched.”

“And that causes you to worry?” Talbot frowned and Elizabeth frowned back.

“What makes you think I worry?”

“Your face,” he waved his free hand while he kept the other one on the reins. “You looked... preoccupied.”

Elizabeth turned away so he could no longer see her eyes. She didn’t respond immediately, but he could be patient. For a while, at least. Finally, she sighed.

“I wonder how mismatched you and I must seem to people. You with your regal, perfect manners, and me -” Her voice broke, so she stopped.

Talbot straightened in his seat.

“Are you insulting my wife?” he asked angrily.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth turn and stare at him incredulously as he kept his eyes on the horses.

“Are you?” he repeated.

“Talbot, it must be clear to you and everyone else -,” she started, but he shook his head.

“If there is something left to be desired in your comportment, I shall be the first to tell you. As I did tell you when I warned you about being too familiar with your maid. You will do well to remember that when you interact with the servants.”

It hurt his heart to see her hang her head in shame, but it was for her own good. He himself was forced to learn that particular lesson at a young age, and she needed to as well, as would their future children.

The thought of one day having a child with Elizabeth hit him in the stomach more strongly than any pugilist from his club had ever managed to. The apprehension and joy and, surprisingly, erotic thrill of the idea took his breath away.

“It’s just that I grew up with Mary, and it feels odd to start being formal now,” Elizabeth interrupted his epiphany.

“And I grew up with Stevenson, and yet look at us now,” he retorted.

“Did you really?” Her eyes widened, and he wanted to kiss her eyelids, but only nodded instead.

“Right here in Norwich.”

“My mind still cannot piece together all these parts of you,” she said pensively. “It’s like you’re many different people in one body.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I hope I’m not,” she shrugged. “I hope I’m the same woman in Norwich as I was in London. But of course, there are areas of a man’s life I know nothing about, so in a way, you will always remain a mystery.”

“What areas would those be, wife?” he teased, and she smiled at him.

“Gentlemen’s clubs, gaming hells, bawdy houses,” she listed, growing more serious with each word.

The air between them suddenly grew heavy and tense.

“No matter how it may have seemed to you at times, I do care about honour,” Talbot said and stopped the horses. He turned to his wife and said, surprising himself, “I shall keep my vows to you, you know.”

Elizabeth ran her tongue over her teeth before looking up at him.

“Truly?”

“I promised something when we got married, didn’t I?”

She nodded shyly.

“An honourable man keeps his promises,” he concluded and urged the horses to start walking again.

His wife moved closer to him on the bench, and he felt like the tallest man in England.

“Do you miss the city?” he asked her.

“No.” She shook her head firmly.

“I thought you might, seeing as you’ve only ever lived there.”

“Well,” she shrugged ( sadly, for some reason , he thought), “things change.”

Talbot’s imaginary height deflated at the thought that he had ruined life in London for his wife.

“I don’t think we have to go back yet, but that might change any minute. We are debating a very important bill in Parliament,” he said, trying to impress his wife again.

“Oh?” she perked up and, against his manners and better judgement, he told her about it.

“And the King is now trying to dissolve his marriage to Queen Caroline?” she asked incredulously when he was done explaining.

“And deprive her of the title of Queen consort, yes. He even postponed the coronation because of it.”

“What do you think the decision will be? Do you think she did it?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m inclined to vote against the bill. There simply isn’t enough proof of the alleged adultery yet.”

“I hope it isn’t true. I’ve always liked her,” Lizzie said and then both were silent for a while.

“Well, I hope you won’t be called back to London yet because this place is breathtaking,” Elizabeth concluded as they arrived back at the house.

*

After dinner, they retired to the library, which, to Elizabeth, felt like the most lived-in part of the manor. Numerous paintings adorned the walls, and Talbot told her that he liked purchasing them.

To look at them, he said matter-of-factly when she’d asked why .

Elizabeth struggled with the concept and felt it was a waste of money, but it was his money to waste, so she said nothing further.

She slowly walked along the walls of the room, peering into every single painting as if one of them would reveal to her the secret of why her husband liked looking at them, when she came across one that halted her steps.

It was a painting of a woman holding a small child. The woman in the painting gazed at the babe with such reverence, awe, and love that it made Elizabeth’s throat tighten for some reason.

“Is this your mother?” she asked Talbot.

“No,” he seemed surprised that she would think that.

“Is it by a famous artist?”

“I have no idea. I bought it at a gallery in Bath.”

Elizabeth was no closer to comprehending why this painting was so prominently displayed.

“My mother is on the Continent,” he added, as if he were justifying himself to her. “In Italy, last I heard.”

“Did she not wish to stay here after your father died?”

“Something like that, yes. He died in the war, in Spain.”

“That must have been so difficult for you both.”

Talbot stared at the painting. It seemed to Lizzie that he couldn’t even hear her responses.

“When Wellesley was called back, my father stayed with Sir John Moore, and ultimately they both perished in the same battle.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lizzie said. “You were only eighteen then?”

“Not even eighteen yet,” he finally looked at her. “I had to leave Eton in the middle of the term and come back here to fulfil my duty to my title and my estate.”

“Did you like being at Eton? How long were you there for?” Lizzie asked as she settled into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs.