Page 11 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

A fter distracting Genevieve with a few stories, Julian wound their way back into the house. Mrs. Waverly led her down the hall for a short tour on the way to her bath, leaving him behind.

It was for the best. He needed a minute to breathe.

Shifting his cuffs, Julian forced himself to look around at the gilded cage he had been raised in. It was strange coming back after all of these years. How he loved this property. How he loathed it.

The front hall had stood for centuries, once part of a fortress.

It had been framed and painted and decorated over time.

Surrounding walls had crumbled to allow for a lighter structure, more cozy and comforting.

The decorations, all still by his mother’s design, almost made him feel as though he were still a young lad scampering about in hopes of seeing his parents more than once a year.

I can almost hear the footsteps now. How is it every time I return, this heavy weight settles upon me? My university escapades here have done little to help me forget the past. I should at least have redecorated.

“Your Grace?”

A smile slid across his lips before he turned to face his butler. At least this was a true smile. “Mr. Thomas.”

“I cannot say enough how glad I am to have you here. We were beginning to worry you were meant for a career with the navy,” the man said with a pointed look.

“There is hope for me yet, I hear.”

But that only earned him a harrumph from the man.

Mr. Thomas had been with his family for as long as Julian could recall.

A second son of a third son of a penniless viscount, William Thomas had managed to enlist in the cavalry at a young age.

No one would hire him upon his return after losing an eye, but his mother had taken pity on the fellow and brought him in as a stable hand.

Mr. Thomas had risen through the ranks in time to become head butler.

Though he came off gruff and stern, Julian still recalled the younger version of him who had taught him how to ride a horse and how to fish.

“You don’t intend to go back, do you?”

“We will see,” Julian decided to say after a slight pause. He had his plans but alerting the household to his imminent departure might raise eyebrows.

He hadn’t considered that sooner, nor the notion he would have to lie to his old friend. Mr. Thomas had supported him through his years of being a rake all around England, and he owed the man better than that.

“You have a wife. A duchess, whom I am sure you wish to ensure is settled,” Mr. Thomas added as he lifted his chin to peer at Julian. “Permanently settled, I would assume?”

Realizing the man’s expectation, he coughed. “Oh, that. I… We have come for business matters, my old man. Not because she is expecting.”

“Ah. What a shame. But there is hope to be had. More hope should you stay at her side instead of fleeing the country,” Mr. Thomas added. He’d always had a loose tongue. Normally, Julian was highly amused by it. Just not today. “It’s high time you’ve had yourself an heir.”

Julian glanced away to make sure the one request he had here, that his parents’ portraits lived nowhere outside of the gallery, still remained fact. He remembered one painting of them by the stairs and how their eyes were forever following him.

“Your Grace?”

“Hm? Oh, perhaps. Perhaps not. It is not the highest concern I have,” he started and then hastily corrected himself, “I am enjoying the time I have with my wife. Should the children come, we shall be twice as content as we are now.”

Which is hardly at all.

Mr. Thomas tilted his head inquisitively but then changed the subject, inquiring if there were any concerns he had regarding the grounds. The two of them talked, slowly making their way to his chambers. There, he said farewell before bathing and dressing for supper.

It was the first meal he’d enjoy with his wife, Julian realized, as he greeted her in the drawing room. He hadn’t stayed after the ceremony for anything.

“There you are, my dear,” he said slowly so he could take his time to soak her in. Dressed in a dark blue, she was a pretty sapphire practically shining in the candlelight. A single diamond nestled against her throat as she rose from her seat to greet him. “I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Would you care if––” Genevieve caught herself, glancing at the servants as as the doors beside them opened to the dining room. “That is, would you care to join me, my dear husband? It feels ages since we have shared a meal together.”

“It as though you read my mind.” He offered his arm and led her through.

They might still be strangers, but Julian could see the tension in Genevieve’s smile.

Curiosity held him captive, making him wonder what sharp retort she had planned to say about him.

His clothes? He had been called a dandy before due to his commitment to bold jewel tones and the current styles.

His timing? He was only two minutes late, hardly worth mentioning.

Or had she found something else to complain about?

I don’t even know why I am curious. It’s not like she cares. This is simply her duty and nothing more.

He reminded himself of this as he led her to her seat and then took his own.

It was a private dining room for family with a total of eight chairs.

They weren’t so far they would have to shout, but not close enough to touch one another.

As he pondered his preference, Mrs. Waverly announced the first course while the kitchen servants brought out the dishes.

Once the servants took their leave, only two footmen and a serving maid remained lined against the wall. Silence settled. It was soft at first before growing awkward.

Julian ate his greens slowly before pausing to take a look at Genevieve. Her gaze met his only for the merest second and then dropped without a word, beyond the pink blooming on her cheeks.

Silverware clinked. He turned back to his meal. There came the ticking sound of the clock to his right. Once he had tried to climb the great thing and had received quite the ear cuffing for it. Through the courses, his mind wandered until he was certain he might go mad in the quiet.

“How is your dish?” Julian asked at last, his leg bouncing beneath the table.

Genevieve had her fork halfway to her mouth. She slowly set it down before looking at him. “I haven’t tried it yet.”

They had just been served the main dish, roasted pheasant. Though he’d downed three bites so far, apparently she’d been busy cutting hers. He eyed her plate and then looked at her carefully blank expression. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“Will I?”

“You like pheasant, surely?” Too late, he should have thought to rephrase the question as though he did know. Everyone liked pheasant. Didn’t they? He blinked while Genevieve darted an uneasy glance to the servants. “It’s fresh, I believe.”

“Yes, Mrs. Waverly just told us that,” his wife said with a slight gesture toward the door. “Plucked this morning for a slow roast. The scent is very promising, so I am sure I shall like it. And… and how do you like it?”

He cleared his throat. “Very well. But the first bite is always the worst because my mind always turns to Mr. Partridge, a fat old pheasant down the hallway that glowers whenever we walk by.” His wife stared.

“My grandfather shot him, from what I hear, and did the stuffing himself. That’s why the eyes are different sizes.

When I was a child, I was certain he would come back to life for revenge if I wasn’t careful. ”

A short giggle escaped her from where she sat. So close and yet so far. She lifted her hand over mouth as more giggles burst forth. It was the merriest sound he had heard in a while. Laughter shook her body, and he watched, amazed.

“I saw him earlier! I had the same thought,” she sputtered. “What a poor bird! How dreadful. Perhaps he should come back to life if only to put us all out of the misery of seeing him so often.”

Raising his eyebrows, Julian found himself pleased with her reaction. He had hoped for a bit of a smile. But to hear the laughter…

As she put down her hands and cleared her throat, the smile fading, he straightened up. “He almost had a mate, you know. I went hunting as a young man and almost brought one home.”

“Oh?” She paused before taking a bite. Her head tilted as she watched him, letting him dive into his story.

“I was hosting a party with my great aunt Eliza at the time. She had several politicians and diplomats who preferred arguing over breathing. As a recent graduate, I thought I was more than equipped for any sort of challenge. I brought a few friends along and included a hunting party for Eliza’s weekend. ”

Chewing, Genevieve nodded to show she was listening.

“What a beautiful day it was. We arose early and I played with the dogs, readying them for the hunt. I even brought out my favorite mount, Heidi, at the time. Beyond the orchard are some forests with plenty of birds and rabbits and foxes. A fruitful summer, I expected us all to enjoy ourselves. As the host, I led out the hunt.”

She paused to drink and then asked, “Do you hunt often?”

His lips curled into a smile before he could help himself.

“I enjoy a good ride, but no, I had not hunted much before then. Only with my father. But this was what men do, and I was eager to impress. So I led the way, jumping over broken logs and hedges and showing my horse’s talent.

We caught wind of a creature before long.

The dogs howled and we took chase… and kept chasing.

We trusted the dogs more than our sight, you see.

They smelled something and we expected to hunt it before long. ”

“Then you didn’t know what you were hunting?”

“Not yet. But that’s part of the fun.”

“Not if you get it wrong. Then you’ve wasted your time,” she pointed out.”

“Do you waste time enjoying a stroll in the gardens if you do not do the planting yourself?” he countered cheerfully.

Genevieve hesitated. “Touché. Very well, carry on.”

With a gracious nod, he continued his story about how the other gentlemen grew weary of the chase. They had gone in a few circles. They spotted other game, and began to split up. But Julian had started the chase, and he wanted to follow through.

“Eventually, I reached a thicket so thick my horse couldn’t breach it, so I went on foot.

Then I was on hands and knees with my pistol in hand because that was all I could manage.

By then, I was entirely turned around. Then I heard one of my dogs.

A keening howl. They had found something.

” He paused dramatically. “Just then, the bushes beside me began to shake. I could sense something there. Not a dog and certainly not a horse.”

Genevieve leaned forward. “Was it a pheasant?”

“No. It was a goose.” She exclaimed loudly, cutting off a short laugh. Julian’s lips curled as he recalled the memory. It hadn’t been funny then, but he’d learned to look back and laugh. “A very angry goose, mind you, who thought my nose was his next snack.”

“Goodness gracious! Whatever happened?”

“I took him home, of course. A few others had caught pheasants. Someone claimed a rabbit. We feasted. I requested we stuff the goose for the walls, but the household refused to help and I found I do not have the stomach for it. Not then, I didn’t,” he added low under his breath.

War had a way of changing a man, after all.

But Genevieve hadn’t heard. She shook her head and chuckled over his story.

The sound was soothing to his ears as well as his heart, allowing him an opportunity to relax at the supper table.

He clung to the feeling that resembled victory, all warm in his chest, as he heard his wife enjoying herself.

Maybe, just maybe, they could survive the next thirty days together.