Page 10 of The Beast’s Duchess (Duchesses of Inconvenience #1)

Chapter Eight

D ressed in a simple linen shirt and pair of trousers, Christopher knelt in the dirt, removing stubborn, unwanted plants from some of his vegetables.

After his life crumbled all three years ago, he had found solace in his routines.

Something about the predictability of his days and weeks made him feel stable.

Something he needed more than ever, considering his new wife.

“At least you don’t sneak into my study and snoop around instead of asking me what you want to know,” Christopher said to the trellis of peas he had been tending to.

“ And you are easier to talk to than a mouthy, five-foot nothing, hellion of a woman!” he grunted and he yanked at a stubborn weed.

Despite it not being the most fashionable of pursuits, he loved his time in the garden. It was one of the few places he felt truly at peace.

Especially since all other places he felt comfortable in meant he would also be cooped up in the house. It was hard even after all these years to go anywhere, even just in the village without anyone staring at him.

And now, Veronica was omnipresent in his house. Or it felt that way. Her scent lingered in every room after her tour of the castle, and her words, her guilt and pain, echoed in his mind.

“Even my servants won’t shut up about her!”

He could feel her all around him, her presence lingering the air he was breathing. He even though he could hear her voice echo in his mind...

His head jerked up. It was her voice, calling out to her lady’s maid.

In an instant, Christopher was walking towards her. Surely he was mistaken. Why would she want to go into a vegetable garden?

But there she was. In a warm, reddish cloak, looking around the earth he tended to and made his own. Bending over to inhale the still ripening vegetables and smiling at them like they were the most precious things.

His heart squeezed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, though it sounded gruff and commanding even to his own ears. She froze, still looking up at the sunflowers above her.

He walked up to her, and when she turned around the pressure in his chest only got worse.

She is afraid of me. And I don’t think I can blame her.

As her eyes dipped to his chest, to the collar he left gaping open because he hated how restrained his cravat made him feel while gardening.

The scarring on his upper chest and neck was clearly and easily visible, and he expected her to run for the hills.

She hadn’t done it when she first saw the scars, but she had to show her revulsion at some point .

To react like most people did when first seeing him like this.

But those sapphire eyes simply evaluated him, calm and thoughtful, making him feel exposed in a way no disgusted or horrified expression ever had.

Why is she looking at me like that? He knew what he looked like. “I bet this is not what you expected your future husband to look like?”

“I know I shouldn’t say so, but,” Christopher prepared himself for the blow, the pity or the disgust she was sure to admit to. Only when she continued, it took him a few minutes to realize what she said. “But I would take you, scars and all, over Lord Gallmore.”

A surprised laugh escaped his lips, and the pressure on his chest eased, just a little bit. “I hadn’t talked to the man before your—well our, I suppose—wedding. But he seemed a bit of a slimy sort.”

“Oh you have no idea,” she said, a smile growing on her own lips.

She hesitated before walking up to his side, her eyes scanning his face as she slipped a hand behind his arm and placed it on his bicep.

“When my parents first introduced me to him the first thing he asked was if I thought my mother was a failure for only birthing daughters.”

“He did not!” Christopher found himself walking alongside her in his gardens. And he was not entirely sure how that had happened.

“Oh he did! Though he was kind enough to assure me that he did not plan on taking a mistress until after I gave him an heir, maybe after a spare, but only if I was the epitome of a good wife.”

“The cad! And he did so in front of your parents?”

“We were promenading, so they were not right next to us. Though I think they heard. My mother even tried to persuade my father to find someone, anyone else to marry me off to. But it was of no use.”

“I am sorry about that, I never wished to make you a social pariah. It was completely unforgivable of me to leave you alone after everything. But it was never my intention to make you suffer.”

Christopher risked a glance at her only to find her already looking. “I’m sure it wasn’t, perhaps I should write a bit about them in the letters I sent you—which you never read. And if you didn’t want anything to do with me anyway, why should I unburden myself to you?”

He swallowed. “I read them. I… I couldn’t bring myself to reply. First my hands, and then…”

Veronica stopped walking then, the gentleness being slowly replaced by the fire, the anger that was becoming more and more familiar to him. “I would have accepted that if it took you a year, maybe a bit more. But it has been so long, even my younger sisters are approaching spinsterhood.”

“Should I guess that that too was because of the fire?”

“In part,” she left the rest of the sentence unsaid. But her glare finished it for her:

You not marrying me, publicly rejecting me, only made it worse.

He had known he would be having this conversation with her sooner or later. He only wished they had more time, that he had first told her about the best friend he lost in the fire, and how he could not bring himself to be part of a world that no longer accepted him

He could see he was losing her, and the tentative peace between them. She shook her head and turned to leave, but he caught her elbow. When she faced him, he took a steadying breath.

“I wanted to write to you, I must have started a hundred letters, but each time I tossed them in the fire. I always thought I had time. That I could still reply, and we could pick up where we left off. But then they stopped coming, and I knew it was too late.”

“I want to believe you. But it’s hard to trust what you say when so much of our marriage is still some big mysterious secret.”

He looked away from her wonderfully expressive eyes. He didn’t even know if she meant for him to see the war happening within her, but he could see it. And it was in his hand to help her decide.

“I know I have a temper, and I know it must be hard for you to be married to someone who cannot talk about his past. I promise to tell you, but I cannot right now.”

“I see,” her eyes studied him like she was trying to gauge if his words were genuine or not.

For a moment, neither of them said anything then he forced himself to continue. He had things he needed to say to her, and perhaps, if he played his cards right, he just might be able to save this moment.

So he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. “I know I am not always the easiest one to get along with, but I would like us to be able to at least be cordial with one another. To be... friends.”

Veronica stared at him wordlessly.

He struggled to interpret her expression so he pushed on, hoping for the best. Maybe if she saw him trying to meet her half way, she would meet him at least part of the way there.

“Is it too late for us?”