Page 18 of Taken by the Icy Duke (Marriage Deals #3)
Chapter Eighteen
A crisp morning sun gilded the rolling hills as the carriage rumbled away from Rivenhall House. Inside, Diana sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze moving between the passing countryside and Gilbert’s composed profile. Some quality time in the country with her family seemed a necessary diversion from the whirlwind pace of mingling with the ton.
Since Josephine’s call days earlier, she had resolved to visit her father and sister. Although part of her still bristled at Josephine’s insinuations, another part realized that she needed this respite, not only to reconnect with her family, but to show Gilbert the simpler world from which she came.
“I trust the drive is comfortable enough?” Gilbert asked quietly, breaking their companionable hush.
“Yes, quite. I do value your company, Gilbert. I am glad you made the time for this journey.” Diana said, summoning a smile.
He lowered his head, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
“I am your husband,” he said simply. “It is only natural I support you in visiting Lord Crayford.” After a moment, he added, “besides, I must see how the repairs I funded are holding up.”
Diana’s heart gave a small stir. Gilbert’s wealth had rescued her father from creditors ensuring that Crayford Manor, while modest, would remain in the family. Yet he never lorded that generosity over her. If anything, he seemed reluctant to remind her father of their unequal means.
When they reached the estate’s gates of rusted iron, bearing the Crayford’s faded crest, Diana felt a catch in her throat. The stone walls and ivy-choked hedges looked more neglected than she recalled. She inhaled, determined not to let sadness mar her expression. Though she had been gone from her childhood home for only a few months, it seemed so strange to her now.
A single servant in a well-worn livery hurried to open the carriage door.
“Your Graces,” he said, bowing so low his cap nearly tumbled from his head. “We are honored by your visit.”
Gilbert gave a polite nod, stepping out first and offering his hand to Diana. She accepted it, carefully descending the carriage step. The house loomed, smaller and more discolored than Rivenhall House, but no less dear to her heart.
She caught Gilbert’s brief glance at a shattered windowpane on an upper floor, swiftly turning his gaze away as though to spare her embarrassment.
Lord Crayford’s butler, a gray-haired man named Glover, ushered them into a parlor that bore signs of better days. Though neatly kept, the wallpaper had peeled in places and the furniture’s cushions were threadbare. A single thread of sunlight peeked in between heavy drapes, illuminating a modest arrangement of wildflowers that Diana guessed Alison must have placed.
“My lord will be with you shortly,” Glover said, bowing again. “Shall I bring some tea?”
“Yes, please,” Diana answered, forcing a gracious calm. “Thank you, Mr. Glover.”
They sat, Gilbert choosing a highbacked chair by the fireplace, as Diana perched on a settee that groaned under her weight. A hush stretched until distant footsteps heralded her father’s approach. Lord Crayford entered, leaning slightly on a cane. His gaze darted between Diana and Gilbert with equal parts of relief and apprehension.
“Diana.” He managed a faint smile in her direction. “And Your Grace, welcome to Crayford Manor. It has been too long.”
Diana rose and embraced her father briefly.
“Papa,” she said softly, searching his lined face. She could see the fatigue in his eyes and his sorrow at the house’s decline. “We are glad to be here.”
Lord Crayford turned to Gilbert. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “I hope your journey was not too great an inconvenience.”
Gilbert stood, offering a polite bow. “None at all, Lord Crayford. The roads were clear. We came to see how the estate fares, and to spend time with your family.”
Diana saw her father’s posture stiffen slightly, as though bracing against old shame. She remembered how fiercely proud he had been before his mounting debts forced him to accept Gilbert’s settlement.
He fears being seen as a charity case.
Her heart ached at the thought.
“How thoughtful,” Lord Crayford murmured, gesturing to the chairs. “Please, sit. I have asked that tea be made ready.”
Lord Crayford cleared his throat, stifling a hiccup. “Diana, I trust Rivenhall House suits you well? You…appear in good spirits.”
“I am content, Papa.” Diana smiled. She hesitated, then reached for his hand. “And you? How is your health?”
“A minor complaint of the leg. Nothing dire,” he shrugged, eyeing the cane at his side. “More to the point, how do you find occasion to embark on a journey here, when so many demands are placed upon your time?”
“We had a respite in our schedule, my lord,” Gilbert stepped in, his voice tactfully mild. “And we were curious about the outcome of certain…improvements funded last quarter.” He let the sentence hang, discreetly referencing the money he had given. “If there is further work to be done, I can speak with my steward.”
A dull flush crept over Lord Crayford’s cheeks. He inhaled as if to protest, but the words died on his tongue. Diana suspected he was loath to appear ungrateful.
“That is generous,” he said at last, almost stiffly. “One of our barns might need additional repairs, and there is some damp in the servant quarters…”
Before anyone could respond, a bright voice echoed from the corridor.
“Diana!”
A moment later, Alison burst in, her cheeks flushed from rushing to greet them. “I saw the carriage and…” She stopped short, noticing Gilbert. “Your Grace,” she added quickly, dropping a curtsy.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. Diana stood, embracing her sister, who wore a faded day dress that had been lovingly mended but still looked worn.
“Alison,” she murmured. “I am so glad to see you.”
“We had so little warning,” Alison whispered, as though conspiratorially. “I have been trying to tidy the place, but…” She cast a wary glance at Lord Crayford, as if to avoid criticizing him openly.
Diana gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “No need. We are here to visit, not to judge housekeeping.”
Gilbert rose as well, bowing politely to Alison, who curtsied again before taking a seat next to Diana. Lord Crayford, clearing his throat once more, attempted a lighter tone even as he hiccupped.
Following tea, Diana quietly suggested they walk the estate grounds and Gilbert agreed. Lord Crayford, anxious to prove the place was still functional, led them outside, his cane tapping the gravel with each step.
They passed wilted flowerbeds and an orchard that had partly fallen into disuse. The manor itself was small compared to Rivenhall House, but Diana recalled it brimming with life in her girlhood. Now the stillness weighed on her, stirring a melancholy that only eased when Gilbert’s hand brushed hers lightly in support.
“Here,” Lord Crayford said, indicating a barn whose roof sagged precariously. “This is where we store grain. The beams have rotted. I tried repairs last summer, but funds…”
Gilbert nodded, stepping closer to assess the damage. “We can reinforce it,” he said practically. “I will write to a carpenter I trust. The cost will not be too great if it is completed without delay.”
Diana’s father visibly swallowed his pride. “Thank you,” he said gruffly, passing a hand over his weathered face. “I know what people say… that you… that you saved us. But I want you to understand, I do not take that lightly, nor do I mean to burden you further.”
Gilbert’s gaze flicked to Diana, then back to Lord Crayford.
“I never minded assisting.” After a pause, his voice gentled. “Diana is your daughter, and now she is my wife. We are kin. I assure you, my lord, I see no burden in helping you maintain what is rightfully Crayford’s.”
Lord Crayford stood quietly for a moment, the wind rustling the orchard’s leafless branches. Then he extended a hand, and the two men shook, a silent acknowledgment of a once uneasy alliance now softened by mutual respect. The sight of it filled Diana’s eyes with gratitude.
That evening, after a simple but companionable supper with Lord Crayford and Alison, Diana felt relief settle over the small household. Despite her father’s lingering embarrassment over Crayford Manor’s strained condition, the meal had passed without incident. Diana excused herself once the dishes had been cleared, citing the late hour.
Upstairs, a single guest chamber, cozier than anything at Rivenhall but far from grand, had been hastily aired for them.
In a larger residence they might have expected separate bedchambers. However, Crayford Manor’s limited quarters left little choice but to share a room. The housemaid, her cheeks pink with nerves, stood by the door, uncertain whether she should remain to assist. Gilbert’s valet, traveling with minimal luggage, had already retired to a small room at the end of the corridor.
Ruth helped Diana loosen the ribbons of her day gown, unfastening each button until Diana could step out of the fabric. The modest nightclothes awaiting her on a nearby chair were nothing like the silks she wore at Rivenhall; still, they carried a certain comfort.
Meanwhile, Gilbert excused himself to discard his coat and cravat in an adjoining space, forgoing any notion of needing his valet in such an informal setting.
A few minutes later, Ruth bobbed a curtsy and slipped out, leaving Diana smoothing her night wrapper. Only the soft glow of a single bedside candle illuminated the humble chamber, highlighting the faded wallpaper, a tall but simple wardrobe, and curtains whose colors had long since dimmed.
Gilbert reentered, likewise dressed down for the evening. If he found the modest surroundings lacking, he gave no sign. Instead, he crossed the small room with quiet purpose, his gaze moving between the well-worn furnishings and the waiting bed.
“I know that it is not quite what you are accustomed to,” Diana murmured, folding her hands before her. “If it troubles you, I can call Mrs. Warwick back…”
“There is no need,” Gilbert shook his head gently. “I find it comfortable enough.” His voice was low and intended to be reassuring. “And… I do not mind sharing the space with my wife.”
Heat warmed Diana’s cheeks at his subtle emphasis on wife . Though many ducal couples maintained separate bedchambers in London, the circumstances at Crayford Manor made it natural—or at least acceptable—that they occupy the single room. Tonight, more than any other night spent under her father’s roof, she felt how far they had come since her sudden marriage.
She slipped into the bed, the old mattress sagging beneath her weight. He joined her a moment later, his hand settling lightly over hers. The hush that followed might have felt awkward once, but now it carried a quiet sense of unity. They talked for a brief spell—of the orchard’s looming repairs, of Lord Crayford’s improved spirits—and then lapsed into a companionable silence.
At length, Gilbert reached to douse the candle, and they both lay down on the slightly narrow mattress. Though it was against all the formal standards a duke and duchess might keep in London, there in the gentle hush of Crayford Manor, it felt only right to share this close space. Diana exhaled as he drew the coverlet over them, her heart giving an unfamiliar flutter at having him so near beneath her father’s roof.
“You seemed at ease downstairs,” Gilbert remarked softly. “I think your father was glad to see you so…assured of yourself.”
Diana turned her head on the pillow, meeting his gaze in the faint moonlight spilling through the small window.
“I only followed your lead. You had no hesitation stepping in when the conversation became difficult.”
He gave a low chuckle. “We managed,” he conceded. “Together.”
Neither spoke further; the mild intimacy of lying side by side in their modest chamber said enough. With the household servants all retired, they had no further calls on their attention and could bask in the soothing comfort of each other’s presence.
As Diana drifted toward sleep, she realized that this unassuming bed at Crayford Manor might one day be among her dearest memories: a place where she and Gilbert learned—beyond ceremony and grand estates—that they truly shared more than a name.
By morning, they would be back to the duties awaiting them, but for now, there was only the quiet of a country house at rest, and the gentle rhythm of two hearts finding solace in an arrangement that, against all odds, felt unexpectedly right.