Page 10 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

P utting a hand over her heart, Genevieve prayed the rapid beating rhythm might slow down soon.

She didn’t usually startle in carriages. Sometimes she grew ill if she studied the view for too long, but she’d managed well enough all these years. The strangeness that had struck her when Julian caught her in his arms had to be tied to that. The unease in her stomach or something like that.

It’s merely my first time in the countryside, after all. That is all.

Being so close to him had her smelling citrus and thinking confusing thoughts. She’d escaped his grasp at once with a huff before returning to her seat. Then she had to cling to the strap overhead with her free hand.

“Here we are,” Julian murmured as he pushed the partially shaded curtain back for a full view. His eyes had left her, like he had already forgotten her.

All the better for it, of course. This mad dash plan of his can only end in disaster. What a farce of a marriage this is… And yet, I think I can survive thirty days of this, if it lets me avoid thirty years together.

Just as she was pulling together her courage, Genevieve looked out and immediately shuttered away her thoughts for later at the view.

It was magnificent. Southwick Hall was a beautiful property, as she well knew. Everyone in London knew. There had been young ladies who were determined to wed Julian just so they might have this estate to call their own. And wasn’t this the reason why he had even married her?

She could start to see why. Past the wrought iron gates intricately designed with florals and trees they rolled, moving toward a widely laid out grand courtyard.

The stones were nearly polished white, as were the accented pillars and stairs leading up to the front door.

There was beauty in every corner, nature intertwining neatly with the human world.

Too small to be a castle, it was still too grand to call a house.

Stunned into silence, Genevieve had to admit to herself she had expected something much more austere.

But it was more of a summer palace with strong stone covered in thick, beautiful ivy.

They drew closer and closer, revealing a handsome estate that had to be a painting come to life.

There were lush green grounds around them now, and the scent of roses already tickled her nose.

So busy admiring the landscape, Genevieve allowed Julian to help her out of the carriage. She only took a few small steps before spinning in a small circle to try and see everything.

“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured in awe.

“Why thank you, my dear duchess,” said her husband with a grin. “I do my best.”

She turned to him and then realized he was still holding her hand. Warmth emanated from his grip. At once, she tugged herself free. Or tried, for he would not let her go.

The simple lift of his eyebrow reminded her of the wicked plot of pretending to be a committed, if not loving wedded couple. She gave up trying. When he tucked her hand closer onto his arm, she let him.

“Your Grace, welcome home.” They turned to see a small trail of servants stepping out of the house, led by a butler who was wearing an eyepatch. He turned his other eye to her as she tried not to stare. “Your Grace, we are so glad to have you.”

“Mr. Thomas!” Julian stepped forward. “How good to see you. Everyone, this is my wife, Lady Genevieve Ashcombe, Duchess of Southwick.”

Mr. Thomas offered up introductions of the household before apologizing for the small staff. More servants were being hired within the nearby village for their visit, which had offered very little time in preparations.

As the housekeeper, Mrs. Waverly, stepped up and explained the evening’s menu, Genevieve struggled to focus. The entire household was well behaved and yet they studied her with open curiosity. She fixed her grip on Julian, standing tall, and couldn’t help but hope she met their measure.

“Do take your time,” Julian offered cheerfully. “I think we shall enjoy a stroll before we eat. After the long day’s ride, we need to stretch our legs. My dear?”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her. To her. “Oh, yes, lovely. A stroll would be lovely. I’ve always wanted to see the grounds you talk to me of so often,” she added in her sweetest tone.

Judging by his expression, she was trying too hard. Her grip tightened on him in irritation, and his only reaction was to twitch his nose.

“Indeed. We’ll return in half an hour. We’ll have baths drawn and then our supper,” he announced before neatly turning her toward the side of the house. Once they were far enough away, he let out a quiet chortle. “I don’t think you need to try that hard.”

She whipped her head around to glare at him. “You’re the one using endearments.”

“A husband should use endearments, shouldn’t he?”

In reply, she asked sardonically, “And shouldn’t a wife hang on her husband’s every word?”

Julian shook his head and smiled. He seemed to relax in that moment as they rounded the house.

The golden light of the setting sun created a halo around his head.

Her gaze shifted away. “Marriage is a devious design, only meant to for people to torture one another. Thank the Lord we only have thirty days of this.”

Bitter words out of such a cheerful set of lips surprised Genevieve.

She knew he didn’t care for marriage; wedding her was clear enough.

But her assumption had been he didn’t wish to be limited to a single woman, based on the countless stories of him she had heard through the years.

Hearing this caught her off guard. She opened her mouth to ask if he meant such anger towards the institution of marriage, but grew distracted once more by the view.

This estate was prettier than any painting she had ever seen before.

Though her fingers itched to sketch this place herself, she highly doubted she could ever show one true whit of the beauty here. Dappled daylight shown through the nearby trees. Ahead were well-shaped hedges with fountains and flowers along the path. Somewhere, birds were singing.

Pressing her lips together, she hardly dared breathe to disrupt the view.

She walked quietly and softly. For a time, she could even forget about Julian’s obstinate presence before her.

He led her walk half a step ahead, leading them along, to slow down or hasten so she might enjoy a closer look at something on the path.

Beyond the hedges, the land opened up into greens and golds––and blue with a nearby pond. This entire estate, Genevieve resolved, belonged in a fairy tale.

“You must have had a wonderful childhood here,” she voiced at last, still speaking softly as though not to disrupt any living thing.

Her eyes trailed over the orchard beyond the pond.

And to the side were the stables. She noted the movement of servants confidently tending to their carriage and the horses before turning back to see the sunlight sparkling on the water.

“It’s so lovely here. I feel like I’ve walked into a storybook. ”

A small sound escaped Julian, breaking through the quiet. Her gaze jerked to his. He smiled, but it didn’t look right. “Looks can be deceiving,” he told her lightly. “Don’t you know? Not every fairytale comes with a happy start.”

Confusion swept over Genevieve. She startled as he moved his arm and freed her from hanging on him. But he didn’t move away. Instead, Julian cleared his throat. His hand went around the small of the back while he pointed with his other one.

“An excellent view here to admire the house. It shapes into an L, but we still call that the west wing and this the east wing. You can see the conservatory up ahead. You do seem to enjoy your horticulture. Come, I can show you where we once removed the roof to use this as an open-air ballroom.”

He hurried her along, so Genevieve hardly had a chance to speak, let alone think. “Oh?”

“That was my great aunt Eliza for you. It was her coming out ball and no one, not even her father, could convince her to change her mind. She’d sent invitations to folks all over Europe far in advance.

Many of them came, hearing of her clever wit.

Her mother begged her to move the ball further indoors, especially when the clouds rolled in. ”

“Well, you can hardly dance in the rain,” Genevieve pointed out.

“The rain stopped before the ball. But it flooded. Only about six inches, but that was enough. Still, great aunt Eliza persevered. She took off her shoes to create quite the scandal. And then she convinced everyone else to take their shoes off as well. They splashed all over the ballroom.”

She gasped. “She couldn’t do such a thing!”

Chuckling, he gazed up at the glass-domed conservatory with what she could only term as fondness. “That was my great aunt for you. Her father thought to drag her to a madhouse once. Instead, she suggested they duel over the matter.”

“And?”

“She won, clearly.”

A small chuckle escaped Genevieve before she could help herself. Her hand clapped over her mouth. She looked about before turning to Julian in bewilderment, wondering how she could laugh alongside him.

He was grinning and clearly appeared happy. It was terribly confusing as she tried to make sense of this moment with her husband.

Except I know what I saw. I heard the pause. Behind his smile, there is something there, like a shadow. I don’t know my husband at all, do I?