Page 40 of My Disastrous Duchess (The Untamed Ladies #2)

“ A shame about that rain,” Augusta said, trailing beside Margaret. “And you’re quite certain you don’t want to change out of your wet clothes, Your Grace?”

“It was barely a drizzle. Good for the senses,” Margaret replied. “I’ll change for dinner within the hour—assuming the duke will be dining tonight, that is.”

Augusta gave a nervous smile. Since the news about Isadore and Bastian, Margaret had barely seen her husband, who had retreated into himself, ensconced in his study to work, he said, but primarily Margaret thought, to brood .

The corridor was quiet except for the soft fall of Margaret and Augusta’s slippers on the carpet runner.

The afternoon had brought on a fine mist, and their walk had ended sooner than Margaret intended.

Her thoughts—restless things as of late—had been tamed for the moment, and the leftover aches in her body were subsiding with exercise, at Doctor Burnside’s recommendation.

As they passed the schoolroom door, a familiar voice made Margaret pause. She held up a hand to Augusta, who stopped at once, and leaned just enough to peer into the room.

Eliza sat at a small table beside her governess, Miss Winters, who had been called up from London after Eliza had settled in Wiltshire. Her sister’s blonde head was bent over her copybook in an unusual display of concentration. More surprising was the sight of Alexander standing over her shoulder.

“Miss Eliza, you have left out your capital,” he said gently, tapping the page with a finger. “Begin again, and do not press so hard with the pen. You will exhaust yourself and your ink before the lesson is done.”

“I did not mean to forget,” Eliza said with a pout, her small hand tightening on the quill.

He gave a low chuckle. “That I do not doubt. Still, it must be corrected.”

Miss Winters gave him a sidelong glance—admiring him when she thought he couldn’t see. “Your Grace is most gracious to assist.”

“On the contrary,” Alexander replied, “I find Miss Eliza’s instruction to be of great personal interest.”

Margaret’s breath caught at the words. His affection was genuine, striking something tender in her.

Eliza beamed up at Alexander, obviously charmed by his praise.

Before Margaret could consider interrupting, Alexander turned and noticed her standing in the doorway.

Their eyes met quickly before a sweet but private smile played on his mouth.

He stepped back from Eliza’s chair and inclined his head, inviting her into the room.

“Forgive me,” Margaret said. Eliza looked at her immediately, quill hovering in midair. “I had not intended to interrupt what seems to be a very productive lesson.”

“You are not the least bit interrupting, Your Grace,” Miss Winters said, rising at once.

She smoothed her gray dress, then gestured for Eliza to rise too.

“Miss Eliza had just completed her composition when His Grace arrived. We decided to go over a few lines to show him how far you have come—didn’t we, Miss Eliza?

And now I believe tea and cake would be a suitable reward. ”

“Please, will you come with us?” Eliza asked, already halfway to Margaret in a blur of yellow cotton. She turned toward Alexander. “And His Grace too?”

“His Grace, I’m sure, has a long list of duties to attend before the day is done,” Margaret said with a smile. “But I will join you shortly, Liz. Now, remember to thank His Grace for his assistance. Composition is no good if you have no manners...”

Somewhere, Margaret was sure Helena just shivered.

“Thank you,” Eliza said, giving Alexander a long curtsey before Miss Winters all but dragged her away.

Margaret turned to Augusta, who stood dutifully by the door. “That will be all.”

Once she was alone with Alexander, a quiet settled between them. Margaret drifted toward Eliza’s writing desk while Alexander busied himself replacing the quill in its holder. The faint scent of ink lingered in the room, the smell of the rain outside clinging to her clothes.

“You are quite the tutor,” she said.

“I have a weakness for diligent pupils.”

“Diligent? My sister has many good qualities, I will be first to admit, but diligence has never been her strong suit.” Margaret folded her hands before her. “You bring out something special in her. She likes you. Won’t shut up about you, frankly.”

Alexander smiled. “She has been a very brave girl. Being apart from her family is no small thing at her young age. But it was the right decision for her, I think.”

Margaret nodded, her gaze lowering at the thought of her parents. She felt Alexander shift toward her and blushed immediately.

The warmth between them had grown in recent days, despite his absence, though neither of them had openly acknowledged it.

That kiss—still vibrant in her mind—lingered between them.

Her pulse quickened now at his nearness, the calm confidence he wore making her melt. She wanted another kiss—many more.

I doubt I could live a hundred lives and find a husband better than him. The way he is with Eliza, his keen intelligence, his tenderness toward me, his kiss. I felt it like a lightning strike, deep within my soul.

She observed him, wondering if he felt the same about her—something deep and powerful like a sunrise. But by that point, Alexander’s expression had changed. He flicked aimlessly through the pages of Eliza’s composition book.

“You seem troubled,” Margaret murmured

Alexander glanced up at her. “Do I?”

“Yes. And since you seem reluctant to tell me why, I can only guess the cause.”

He gave a rueful smile, then crossed to the window and looked out into the cloudy afternoon. “There has still been no word from them,” he said.

“I know. I have been checking the mail morning, noon, and night, hoping for a note. Carlisle has learned nothing more?”

“Nothing he wishes to share with me. But the less involved Carlisle is in all this, the better.” Alexander paused, staring intently through the panes.

“That we know they are alive and well should comfort me enough to leave things well be. And yet to not know what they intend, to think of a marriage between them, means I cannot rest. Even if I sent a whole platoon up to Gretna Greene, the chances of catching them are slim to none.”

“We cannot say for certain whether they even made the journey. Lady Salisbury suspects that was their destination, but they may well have changed courses since.” Margaret took a few paces toward him. “If they did return married, would that displease you?”

“Under normal circumstances, it would not. Bastian has long wished for a match, and a sister of mine would not find a finer husband than him. But these circumstances are anything but usual.” He looked over his shoulder at her, pain poorly concealed in his eyes.

“Should I tell you the truth? That the more days that pass without word from them, the more shamed I am, the more inclined I am to believe Carlisle that Isadore was lying all along?”

“You cannot be blamed for being suspicious, given how quickly they left.”

A sad but knowing look passed between them. “You too doubt the legitimacy of her claims. I saw the birth announcement with my own eyes. But have I really been so easily duped?”

“No. Perhaps. I do not know. It seems more likely that something else has happened, though I do not know what.” She walked forward and placed a nervous hand on his back. “We should not lose ourselves to despair yet.”

“No...” He turned and took Margaret’s hand in his own. “And there are other matters we may yet resolve happily. Your father and mother are still in Wiltshire. We should visit them, make our intentions clear now that Eliza has settled with us.”

She stared at their fingers laced together.

“Is that what you have been ruminating over these last few days?” she asked.

“That, a bridal tour, many other things I shall not speak of to preserve the sanctuary of this schoolroom...”

Margaret bit her lip. “And what are our intentions?”

She could barely think about her parents’ betrayal while Alexander’s fingers worked her own. He drew her in closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“To ensure a happy, simple life for you and Miss Eliza.”

“It is not too late to retreat, if you have changed your mind,” Alexander said.

They stood before the Wyndham Inn in Salisbury under a waning evening light. The street was quiet, and the murmurs of carriages and faraway conversations carried on the air toward them. She met his eyes confidently, taking the arm he extended as they proceeded into the inn.

“He is my father, and we must talk honestly,” she murmured. “After the negotiations of today, I will never have to see him again.”

Inside, the inn smelled of smoke and polished wood.

They walked into the taproom, where the arrival of the duke drew immediate attention.

The innkeeper escorted them promptly into a private parlor before excitedly asking about the reasons for their visit.

Margaret’s eyes drifted as they spoke, landing on two familiar silhouettes sitting at a small table by the fire in the otherwise empty room: her father, shoulders slumped, as he spoke with her mother beside him.

Margaret quietly signaled her departure to Alexander, crossing to her parents with her reticule clutched tightly against her body.

Her mother noticed her first, mouth hanging open as she shot out of her seat.

Margaret nodded at her father, who was staring past her at her approaching husband.

When she looked back, the innkeeper was gone, the door closed behind him.

“What has caused this sudden visit?” her father asked.

“You know what,” Margaret replied. “I had thought you would be in your rooms, but... Well, this is much better. We have come to speak with you. Both of you.”

Alexander did not bow as he approached, maintaining a formal distance.