Page 43 of His Illegitimate Duchess

Talbot sat down as well, in the one across from hers.

“I was sent there when I was thirteen. I loved it. It was during that time that I became me . Eton and the people there shaped me into the man I am now.”

Elizabeth understood only too well how certain people and events had the power to mould you and to alter you irrevocably, so she nodded.

“Were they terribly strict with all you boys?”

“Sometimes. And sometimes, I was grateful for it. It prepared us for life. Our days were very regimented, and discipline reigned supreme. We only went home for a few weeks each year, so Eton was our de facto home during those formative years.”

Elizabeth thought about his words for a few moments.

“People always say that family has the biggest influence in shaping a child into the adult they become.”

“For most people, that may be true. For me,” Talbot stood up and walked over to one of the big windows, “it was school, my friends, and London society . I still remember the first time I saw Beau Brummel – he was the most impressive man that I’d ever seen.

I soon began emulating him in the way I dressed, and I even began bathing daily and cleaning my teeth.

His example also taught me not to gamble,” he grinned at his wife, who’d only vaguely recognised the notorious dandy’s name.

“I still say that bathing daily is an unnecessary indulgence – heating all that water, having someone drag it up the stairs,” she huffed.

“It’s their job,” he retorted, and Lizzie bit her tongue.

“Who were your closest friends at school?” she went back to their earlier topic of conversation.

“My core group consisted of Brandon, Pratt, Stone, and Hawkins,” he said, and then it was his turn to change the topic. “I wanted to show you this,” he gestured towards a book displayed in a glass case between two windows.

Elizabeth stood up and joined him as he removed the glass and opened the book.

“This is the Talbot family prayer book, and here, in the back, you can see records of all the births and marriages going back generations,” he said as he turned the pages reverently.

Elizabeth gazed at the yellowed pages filled with lines of different penmanship and marvelled at the sense of continuity and belonging someone like Colin had to be feeling whenever he looked at it.

“Nicholas has one of these in Ashbury,” she said quietly, “and it contains, in my father’s hand, the records of his and Charlotte’s births.”

She went back to her armchair and started biting the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from crying. Her husband remained by the window.

She soon heard him moving about the room, and he then sat at one of the desks. He then brought the book over to her to show her an entry.

June 24, 1820, the marriage of Colin Talbot, the 8th Duke of Norwich and Lady Elizabeth Hawkins

Even through her tear-filled gaze, she managed to find his hand and grab hold of it, using it to steady herself during the emotional turmoil that overcame her.

Her name was officially a part of something bigger, part of a family. Colin knelt down next to her and gently wiped the tears from her face.

“Shall I find us a book to read?”

She nodded.

“Is there any particular kind of reading you’re in the mood for this evening?”

She shook her head.

“Very well.”

He wandered among the shelves until he found what he was looking for. After he settled into his carved mahogany armchair, he held up the book to show her the cover. " The Swiss Family Robinson ," he said and started reading.

Lizzie promptly forgot all her woes as she got lost in the adventures of the stranded family narrated to her in her husband’s clear and strong voice.

Two hours later, when she finished brushing her hair, she didn’t wait for him to come to her; instead, she knocked first.

*

“What did you do today?” Duke Talbot asked his wife as they took their after-dinner tea in the library two weeks later.

“I was in -,” she started, but stopped herself, then tried again, “I was writing to Mayfair.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What else did you do?”

“I was in bed.”

“Writing letters in bed?” Her husband frowned, most likely imagining the ink everywhere.

“No! I was writing, then I was in bed.”

“Are you not feeling well?” he leaned forward, as if ready to fight the imaginary malaise.

“It’s just… woman troubles.”

He frowned.

“My courses,” she said in a whisper, although they were alone in the library.

Her husband looked even more alarmed.

“Should you be walking around? Don’t you need to be resting?”

“I’m not an invalid,” Lizzie laughed, “I felt a bit tired today, so I rested, but I’m perfectly fine otherwise. This happens every month, you know,” she teased him and could see by the set of his mouth that he didn’t appreciate it.

“I don’t like it,” he said in a petulant tone. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“I do, I promise,” she said more gently and took his hand without thinking.

He looked down at their hands and it seemed to her he was admiring the sight. He raised her hand and pressed it to his mouth. An inexplicable rush of shyness and delight flooded her entire body.

“Lady Burnham is arriving tomorrow,” she announced excitedly to draw attention away from how flustered she was.

“I imagine you must be very excited.”

“I am,” she nodded, “you shall like her very much, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really liked that many women in my life.”

“Hm,” his wife considered his words. “Have you spent time with many of them?”

“I must admit, beyond the superficial social calls and conventional interactions at balls and similar events, not much deep conversation has taken place between me and the gentler sex.”

Lizzie’s face suddenly grew cold and distant, and he realised with a pang of regret that his playful words must have reminded his jealous wife of his bachelor ways.

“There is only one woman I like,” he murmured in her ear before placing a hot, wet kiss on her neck.

“Colin, we can’t,” she moaned as she closed her eyes.

“Shh, I know,” he ran his nose up her neck and into her hair. “Don’t worry.”

He leaned back and enjoyed how affected she was by his touch.

“Tell me about your friend,” he urged, trying to distract himself from how tight his breeches had become.

*

When he joined his wife and Lady Burnham for tea the next day, Elizabeth turned to her friend and said, “Lady Emilia Burnham, this is my husband, Duke Colin Talbot.”

Colin told himself there was a note of pride in her voice, which brought him great happiness.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Burnham. I hope you’ve travelled well,” Talbot said and gave her one of his deeper bows, the ones he reserved for important people.

“I have, thank you. It is wonderful to meet you.”

“I’ve heard a lot about your late husband from my father’s letters during the war. He was a great man.”

“Thank you, he was,” the older woman said, and the pride in her voice was unmistakable. “Please, allow me to thank you for your hospitality. You have a fine estate here.”

“Any friend of my wife’s is welcome in our home,” Talbot said, and Lady Burnham nodded approvingly. “Have you travelled these parts in the past?”

“I was actually born near Sandringham, I’m a Spencer.”

“Truly? Then you are practically a local,” Talbot smiled, then frowned. “Wait, you’re Sir John’s sister?”

“I am,” Lady Burnham smiled widely.

“I cannot believe I haven’t put it together earlier. I’ve heard so much about you from your brother over the years.”

“I assume you haven’t made the connexion because my brother never refers to me by my name,” she said.

“What does he call you?” Elizabeth asked, looking thrilled by their exchange.

“ My vexing sister , most likely,” Lady Burnham smiled. “He wants me to live with him and his family, he’s wanted it for years. He’s worried about me being alone,” she added more quietly.

“Close. He calls you, my vexing little sister, ” Talbot said, grinning, and Lady Burnham shook her head with a smile.

Elizabeth thought of her own big brother, who most likely only referred to Charlotte in such affectionate terms and only ever worried about her, and it was suddenly hard for her to breathe.

Just then, a knock was heard, and a maid entered.

“I’m sorry to disturb, but Mrs. Clark has a question for Her Grace about the dinner menu.”

“Thank you, Hannah. I’ll be right down. Please excuse me,” Lizzie said to Talbot and Lady Burnham as she followed the maid out.

“Her Grace tells me your late father fought alongside the Duke of Wellington?” Lady Burnham said, and Talbot was surprised his wife had remembered that detail.

“Yes. He perished in Spain, during the Battle of Corunna.”

“I know your loss all too well and I’m sorry that you had to experience it so young,” she said gravely.

“He was a deeply flawed man, but he was still my father,” Talbot found himself saying to this stranger.

“We don’t care about people because they’re perfect,” Lady Burnham said gently, and they sat silently for a while, their shared grief sitting between them like a third friend.

That night, when Elizabeth entered his bedroom, the first thing she said was, “Why do you need three candles burning in here?”

“That is for me to worry about,” Talbot smiled, enjoying needling her as she sat down and started removing the pins from her hair. “How are you? With your…” he waved his hand up and down her body to avoid mentioning her courses.

Elizabeth lowered her eyes briefly. “Much better, thank you.”

“Did you have a nice day with your friend?”

Her smile was an answer in itself. “Yes. She’s already helping me so much just by being here.” She then seemed to remember something. “Oh! Do you know what I’ve decided? Instead of bothering with my hair every morning, I shall start wearing a cap!”

Colin raised an eyebrow at her. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” she whirled around to see him better. “Why not?”

“Because you are not my elderly aunt,” he replied.

“But my hair is so heavy, my scalp hurts every night.”

“I can massage your scalp whenever you need it. Or just wear your hair loose at home.”

“No,” she frowned, “even I know that is not done.”

Colin shrugged. “No caps.”

Lizzie shook her head and returned to the pins with a sigh.