Page 10 of His Stolen Duchess (Stolen by the Duke #7)

Chapter Eight

I t had been two days since they had dined together, and Lysander couldn’t stop thinking about his wife.

They had spent most of the meal arguing and at each other’s throats, but all he could think about from the dinner was the moment when they had nearly kissed.

Heavens, I’ve never been so rattled by a woman before. What is coming over me?

The Duke stopped in his tracks when he heard Georgina’s voice around the corner.

He didn’t care if she saw him, but she was speaking with the housekeeper, and he wanted to hear what she had to say. She wouldn’t complain about him, of course, not to his staff, but she might give some indication of her present level of happiness in the manor.

He didn’t need to make her happy, but he didn’t want her miserable in the manor either.

“The long curtains were a good idea, Your Grace,” Mrs. Kettleworth said. “We have been using draft excluders at the bottoms of the doors, but they look awful, and we need to remove them each morning. The curtains keep the drafts out and can simply be pulled aside.”

“I’m glad,” Georgina replied.

“We have not yet tried to place mirrors near the wall sconces to boost candlelight, but I shall instruct the footmen to go to the village and purchase mirrors to try it out.”

“We did something similar in my uncle’s townhouse,” Georgina explained. “It worked very well, and I know it shall work well here, too.”

“I don’t know where you get these ideas from, but they are extremely clever, no doubt. And it is rare to listen to a duchess speak on such things and not want the entire world to know that she is the one to be credited.”

“Ah, there is no need for that,” Georgina said. “As long as it improves the conditions here, that is all that matters.”

Lysander wore a smirk as he listened. He’d expected Georgina to take control of some aspects of the manor, but only to keep them going, not to improve them. From the sounds of it, she was already making a substantial impact.

“And of the issue with the back gardens?” Mrs. Kettleworth asked.

“Yes, I shall get to that on time. I just, um, well, there are so many things to take care of, aren’t there?”

The way she stuttered and faltered interested Lysander, and he felt the urge to know more. He stopped his eavesdropping and rounded the corner to announce his presence.

“What is the matter in the back gardens?” he asked.

“Oh, Your Grace. It is nothing that needs to concern you. I’m sure your plate is quite full at the moment,” Georgina waved a hand nonchalantly through the air.

Lysander studied her. She was pale as if she’d just seen a ghost. The Duchess moved her weight from one foot to the other, unable to stand still, her hands fidgeting together at her midriff.

“It will be taken care of,” Georgina assured him, though her tone betrayed her uncertainty.

“Come,” Lysander said. “I have some time. I want you to show me the problem.”

“It’s quite all right,” Georgina assured him. “I will surely get to it, Your Grace. You need not worry about me.”

“I’m worried about problems on my estate.” Lysander pushed his shoulders back. “I insist that you accompany me to the gardens and tell me exactly what the problem is. Are you refusing my request?”

“Um, no.” Georgina swallowed uncomfortably and refused to meet his eye.

Lysander frowned. She looked nothing like the capable, confident woman he’d seen and heard minutes earlier.

He gestured for her to lead the way, and she did so without further complaint. He followed her toward the rear of the house and then out into the freshness of the day.

The sound of stamping hooves came from their right as the stable hands tended to some of the horses. Birdsong rose from the left atop one of the lower walls. They walked together in silence, between the competing noises, and toward the cluster of silver birch trees.

The gurgling stream became audible once they were in the trees, but the longer they walked, the slower Georgina’s footsteps became.

It was curious to Lysander that she didn’t speak. There was no mention of their earlier conversation, no attempt at small talk, nor any attempt to antagonize. She wore her silence like a melancholy cloak.

Something is very wrong.

Lysander had heard it in her voice, had seen it written on her face, and now it was in the way she held herself as she trudged along. Lysander thought she looked like she’d seen a ghost back at the manor. Now she looked as though there were ghosts all around her that only she could see.

They emerged from the trees and onto the lake’s grass embankment. That is to say, Lysander emerged, but Georgina stopped at the tree line. He looked back at her, trying to work out what the matter might be.

“Um, so over there.” Georgina pointed to the stone gazebo that had been erected at the lake long before he had been born.

“I’ve been told that the base is cracking, and it should be inspected.

The groundskeeper has informed me that it might be repairable, but I was asked to take a look to determine whether it would be more prudent to replace it entirely. ”

“What else do you need to do out here?” Lysander asked.

“That is all.”

He frowned at his wife. “There is not a lot to be done. You need only survey the damage and figure out the next steps.”

“Well, why don’t you do it while you are here if that is it?”

Her familiar argumentative nature came back, but it felt different. It didn’t sound like she was arguing to antagonize him. There was something else.

“You only have to take a look?” he asked. “Am I missing something? You don’t want to complete a task that shall take you less than a minute now that you are here?”

Georgina held herself as tense as if a ghostly apparition had laid its hands on her. Her eyes darted around, taking everything in.

“Well, why don’t you do it if it’ll only take you a minute? I don’t tell you how to do your job, do I? I would appreciate it if you would not tell me how to do mine. I never asked you to come out here. I was doing perfectly fine on my own, if you must know.”

Lysander had no intention of arguing with her when bigger problems were lurking somewhere nearby. “I know you were doing fine. I overheard you talking with Mrs. Kettleworth, and you have implemented some clever solutions to our problems, and I have no doubt you’ll solve this current problem, too.”

“Is that what you do with your time?” Georgina asked. “You lurk around corners listening to what I have to say to the staff? Are you hoping to hear my deepest, darkest secrets?”

From the moment Georgina opened her mouth, Lysander regretted attempting humor.

“You don’t need to try to fix me,” she snapped, her words sharp enough to cut.

But beneath her defiance, he heard something else—something raw, almost brittle. A small fracture in her carefully composed countenance. He wasn’t sure why, but that note in her voice struck him more deeply than it should have.

“I have no wish to fix you, Duchess,” he said, his tone low and steady. “I only wish to understand—and perhaps help you find a solution.”

Her hands twisted together restlessly as she stood at the tree line, her gaze flicking between him and the lake beyond. There was a rigidity to her posture, the kind bred not merely from discomfort but from something deeper. Something closer to fear.

Then it clicked.

“You’re afraid of the water, aren’t you?”

She scoffed at once, but the sound rang hollow. “Well, that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it because of Hyde Park?” he pressed, keeping his voice calm and non-threatening.

Georgina’s lips pressed together. Her teeth caught her lower lip for the briefest moment. Then—barely perceptible—a nod.

Lysander’s chest tightened. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the sudden flicker of protectiveness. He certainly hadn’t invited it. Still, he approached the topic carefully, uncertain how to navigate something so fragile.

“That was… a difficult experience,” he acknowledged, watching her closely. “But you know these grounds now. You aren’t going to fall in.”

“It’s not….” She broke off, her words tangling as she looked away, visibly frustrated with herself. “It’s not that simple.”

He studied her face for a long moment. The tightly drawn brows. The fine tremor in her jaw. Suddenly, it wasn’t difficult to see what she wouldn’t say aloud.

“You don’t know how to swim,” he said quietly.

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide, horrified. “You don’t need to say it so loudly,” she muttered, looking around as though the trees themselves might start gossiping.

His mouth tugged slightly, despite himself. “I see. So, this is why you’ve avoided the lake entirely since you arrived. It now makes complete sense.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she bit out, crossing her arms defensively.

He could have pressed further, but something in her face—some flicker of humiliation—gave him pause.

He understood all too well what it was to keep certain fears hidden, buried beneath the armor one wore every day.

There were things from the war he never spoke of.

Things that still woke him at night, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like he’d run ten miles uphill.

Perhaps her fears deserve the same degree of respect.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said instead, with a touch of dryness. “You stay here, and I’ll check the gazebo. No sense in both of us wading through uneven ground.”

“I can do it,” she said stiffly.

“Well, I’m doing it anyway,” he replied, already striding toward the stone structure.

He glanced back once, just to be certain she wasn’t following. She wasn’t. She stayed by the tree line, stiff and watchful, as though rooted in place.

The gazebo was, as he suspected, in poor shape. Cracks lined the base, and ivy crept along the walls. It would need to be torn down and rebuilt before it became dangerous.

When he turned to look back, his steps faltered.

Georgina had edged out from the trees.

Arms tightly crossed, she stood just a few feet from the grass bordering the water’s edge, her jaw set, her gaze locked on the lake as though daring it to move first. She wasn’t trembling, but he could see her defiance battling with the apprehension that rippled through her frame.

Something about her stubborn posture sparked an odd flicker of admiration in him.

She’s afraid—but she won’t let it conquer her.

Lysander slowly and deliberately made his way back, then came to a stop beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, keeping his tone low, almost gentle. “You’re not going to fall in.”

“I know,” she muttered, her voice roughened by something she likely wouldn’t name aloud.

Still, after a beat, she glanced up at him and said, softly, “Thank you.”

The words surprised him more than they ought to have. He gave a short nod in reply, unsure what to make of the odd tightness in his chest.

“It’s not uncommon,” he said, attempting to ease the moment’s weight. “Most women never learn to swim.”

That, however, was the wrong thing to say.

She recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it means,” he replied, though carefully, refusing to rise to her bait. “Many women in society never learn such skills. Men often do—especially those sent to war. It isn’t meant as an insult. It’s merely a fact.”

She glared at him, heat flaring in her eyes. “So now I’m simply lacking vital skills?”

He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re arguing because you’re uncomfortable.”

“And you’re acting like some magnanimous savior,” she shot back. “Is this your way of collecting debts?”

“I will be your savior,” he said, his words clipped but calm.

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“What happens the next time you’re near water?” he asked, his voice steady but cool. “Do you plan to run forever?”

“I don’t plan to be near it again,” she replied curtly. “No more weddings to escape from. I’ll be perfectly safe, far from all lakes.”

He wasn’t amused. “No, Duchess. I’m going to teach you to swim.”

She stared at him as though he’d grown a second head.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re going to teach me to swim?”

“I’m an excellent swimmer,” he said simply. “And I won’t allow harm to come to you during the lessons.”

She looked back at the lake, visibly torn between offense and fear. “I… we both have other duties. I won’t waste your time.”

“It isn’t a waste,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife. I won’t have you living in fear of something so easily conquered.”

Her lips parted, searching for another excuse.

“No more arguing,” he added, before she could speak. “I’ll teach you. It’s settled.”

“Fine,” she muttered, clearly reluctant. “Perhaps in a few weeks, once I’ve settled?—”

“Tomorrow morning,” he cut in.

Georgina whipped her head around and stared at him. “ Tomorrow? ”

“Yes,” he said, already turning back to the trees. “We start at dawn.”

Before she could gather a protest, he was already striding away, leaving her standing there in stunned silence, her gaze bouncing between him and the lake that had ruled her fears.

Lysander didn’t glance back, but a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he disappeared into the trees.

Teaching her to swim might be the best decision he ever made, or it could be the worst.

Only time would tell.