C ymbeline had never been so happy. Not in her entire life. Every day with her husband was a new adventure. And she dearly loved an adventure!
He took her out every night. They went to countless art openings, to plays, to readings, to philosophical discussions. She had learned more about science and anthropology and archeology than she had in her entire life, which was saying something, given how much the Briarwoods loved knowledge.
Because of Callum, she had a newfound fascination with Egypt and the things that had been discovered there, though she really did frown on the idea of taking mummies into her house.
She would not allow that. Worse, she’d realized that many people seemed to think that mummy powder was a medicine.
That did give her the shivers and made her rather wary of apothecaries.
Yes, every day was something new with the Duke of Baxter, and as the Duchess of Baxter, doors had opened before her that she had not even known existed, and she came from one of the most powerful families in the land.
People sought her out. They asked for her opinions.
Every day, there was a line of people coming to his house—her house now—petitioning for her help, for her sponsorship and her patronage, and she had begun to see just how insanely busy her husband was.
She’d thought she’d known before, but she’d been mistaken.
How her Aunt Mercy, Duchess of Westleigh, had managed to handle it all, she did not know.
But there seemed to be something even more about being the Duke of Baxter’s wife than the Duke of Westleigh’s.
Perhaps it was the way that Callum worked so unceasingly as the chair of so many committees, as the sponsor of so many endeavors.
Her husband did not sleep. Not the way she did.
This was something that she had realized, and this did give her grave concern because as happy as she was, she still did need to sleep at night. And surely, such extensive sleeplessness could not be good for the heart.
But every night, after they made love, he would kiss her, make certain she was covered and warm, and then slip to his study and work ceaselessly through the night.
She did not know how he did it. At most, he slept perhaps four hours, and often he did not lay down to do that at all. No, he sat in his chair before his massive desk, covered in papers and books.
He was working as if at any moment his life could be taken away from him. It was both a magnificent and terrifying thing to behold. Yet, he seemed to suffer no ill effects.
So unlike her family, she could not censure him for it. As a matter of fact, he seemed more vital than almost anyone she knew. So how could she tell him what he did was dangerous? Surely, he was the one who knew what was best for himself.
And so when he presented her with a beautiful box wrapped in silk, tied with a blue ribbon, she found herself smiling because he had all but bathed her in presents throughout the last few weeks. Anything that he thought that she’d enjoy, from fans to books to artifacts, had found their way to her.
Anything that piqued her interest, he immediately bought for her, and she adored that.
She adored being made to feel so special, and yet she knew she was not the center of his world, but nor did she wish to be.
The center of his world was his ducal power and she now, like the rest of the world, was a planet orbiting that.
When she opened the box, she felt his stare upon her, waiting to see her smile. And she gave him that smile. Oh, how she did, because when she pulled the tissue back, she saw the beautiful clothes that had been folded with care.
“Your measurements were given to me by your mother, and these should fit you perfectly so that you can come with me,” he said, his voice deep with excitement.
“I want you to get dressed immediately. I would suggest Shepard help you, but that would be too much of a scandal,” he teased. “So I shall do it.”
The gentleman’s clothes were beautiful and perfect in every way.
He pulled her up from the bed and immediately helped her into them, one step at a time. He then helped her tuck her hair under a beautiful and sumptuous wig. A wig that any gentleman would be proud to wear. Then he presented her with a hat.
“There you are. The perfect figure of a young man who can come with me to Parliament.” He held his hand out to her. “Are you ready to at last see me at work?”
“I am,” she declared. “I thought you had forgotten what you said that night out under the roses.”
“I will never forget anything that is between us,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “That is how my mind works. I don’t forget things.”
“It is marvel,” she said. “Most people cannot do what you do.”
“I am aware that most people cannot do what I do,” he said. “But I’m grateful that you admire it. Most people find it slightly frightening or upsetting.”
“There’s nothing about you that’s frightening or upsetting, Callum,” she assured.
With that, he led her down to the foyer, turned to her, and said, “All right, let’s see your best man.”
And then she did what she had done before she met him, when going out on the town as a young buck. She struck a pose and remembered what it was like to be the way her mother had trained her to be.
“Too good,” he cheered, applauding. “Too good. Don’t be too fiery or someone might challenge you to a duel.”
“Oh no, I’m a pacifist, good sir,” she teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek before adding, “I have no desire to fight. Surely, we can have a battle of wits instead of a battle of fists.”
“You will always win then,” he returned.
They went out to the ducal coach and rolled down towards Westminster. Soon they were entering the halls of power. He pointed her in the right direction, so that she could go up to the gallery and watch the debate at play.
When she took her seat and stared down at the place that was the seat of England’s government, where great history had been made, she found herself aglow, especially when she spotted her husband.
Waves of pride crashed over her.
He was hers! This magnificent man who stood and began to speak, and speak powerfully, on the subject of laws that would abolish children being sent to work in mines below the earth for hours and hours a day with no breaks and no safety whatsoever.
Callum spoke with such vigor and such passion, she understood why he did not sleep at night. He had every detail memorized. He had every fact at his fingertips, and he spoke with so much determination that she could have sworn there would not be a single heart unturned.
When he reached the end of his speech, he was met with thundering applause, and she stood too, applauding her pride for him. When he was done and Parliament was dismissed for the day, she expected him to slip out to go to his offices, where she might be able to meet him, but he did not.
He was surrounded by a crush of well-wishers and those seeking a word with him. Man after man approached him, and he gave each one special and individual attention, listening and making notes.
As she took this in, Cymbeline realized that this was a normal day for her husband.
From the moment that he got up to the moment he gave himself a small amount of rest, he was always doing this.
He was always helping people. He was always taking in more information and remembering it and willing himself to do something about it.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly, for she could not appear too feminine in her garb. Femininity was not approved of in a man. Not these days, at any rate!
She sucked in a breath, prouder than she had ever been. But suddenly she did feel the fear of her father and her uncle…and the whispers she’d heard from her family when they had stayed at Heron House.
How could a man live like this for years and years and endure?
She wouldn’t let herself think of it. She shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it.
She couldn’t wish him to be different than he was because he couldn’t be anyone else and anyone else would make her simply unhappy.
And so she reminded herself that she had to accept him exactly as he was.
She raced down the stairs, headed through the hallway, hoping to see him, to tell him of her own pleasure at his speech, but he did not come to meet her.
No. He turned and spoke to another lord, then another, and then another, and they rushed him down the hall, almost as if he had forgotten that she was there.
Perhaps he had, and she could not recriminate him for it.
He was not there to receive her approval.
He was there to make England a safer and better place.
She walked down the hall until she spotted him standing in a small circle of powerful men. She heard the words Napoleon , Russia , and troops , and her breath caught in her throat because whatever they were discussing would no doubt affect her family.
Many of her cousins were now heading back out to war.
Octavian, no doubt, would be gone soon. Calchas would go back to his ship.
Things were progressing fast now, and there would be no turning back because Napoleon, like her husband, was working at a fever pitch to achieve his dream of becoming the most powerful man in the world, and only men like her husband and the great army led by Wellington could stop him.
How could she get in the way of her husband? How could she ask him to slow down and think of his health? Of his future? She could not. This was a moment in history that required much from men.
Yes. It would require her own sacrifice. Though it hurt, she understood that she would never be first in his life, that she could never dissuade him from doing all of this. All of this was who he was.
He turned and looked at her. He gave her a slight smile, and then he lifted his hand to his mouth and began to cough. His great shoulders bowed, and he coughed again. He pounded his chest and laughed, making some light comment to the powerful men he was talking to.
He looked back over at her and smiled again, reassuring her.
“A bit of coal dust,” he mouthed.
She nodded, relieved.
The cough had been quite strong, but she wasn’t going to be afraid of a little cough. He was the Duke of Baxter. He was the most powerful man in England. A little cough meant absolutely nothing.