Page 31 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

S crubbing his face, Julian watched Genevieve leave the mews in a quiet but fierce stomp. She disappeared into the house. He knew the path she would take. Soon, he would follow it to his own bed chamber.

But not yet.

He gave her a moment alone to create the separation between them. It was for the best. If he was too close for her for another minute, smelling her sweet perfume, thinking about her soft skin… those pouty lips of hers dearly needed a kiss but he would not do it.

She is not for me.

“Your Grace?”

Jerking his head up, Julian forced a smile for the butler. “What are you still doing afoot? Come, let us get ourselves to bed. It has been a long night.”

“Was it not enjoyable, Your Grace?”

“It was…”

He trailed off, looking for an appropriate word. Except nothing appropriate came to mind.

The evening had gone entirely as it should and yet not at all as he had anticipated. Everyone had looked their way when he was with Genevieve. The few times he had glanced closely at the others, he had seen the clarity of their curiosity and envy. He’d even heard a few of the whispers––

“Never have I ever seen two people more in love with one another. Their behavior together is hardly decent. What a complete spectacle. I can’t look away.”

“My father in London said that the duke was in trouble. The only trouble he faces is keeping his hands to himself.”

“Oh, that? Yes, absolute nonsense. Balderdash. Tell him to see for himself. The duke is terribly in love. He looks like he wishes to worship her. Do you think he could teach my betrothed to behave the same way?”

Everything was going just as he had hoped.

It should have been a clear success. All of his hard work was coming to fruition.

Not only was he preparing new contracts with most of his tenants to capsize any prior protests, but the country gentry could provide proof he was there and he was more than capable of running his duchy.

As for his wife, Genevieve played so prettily the doting and proper duchess on his hand. Too pretty. She smiled even when he could see the strain in her eyes. She melted sweetly when he made any gestures, and she engaged everyone who spoke to her.

She may not particularly enjoy it, as she claims, but behaving as a duchess apparently is what she was meant to do. The household respects her, the gentry are enamored by her, and I…

Julian shook his head.

It didn’t help that he had heard her vulnerable story of her home life before becoming a duchess. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how glad he was to have her.

But it was all too sweet to be trusted. It had to be. Everything always was. Now he simply had to convince his heart of the matter.

“Your Grace, is there something I can do to help you?”

“No. No, I shall take myself to bed. Thank you.” He gave a short nod to his butler and the other two servants standing there before going down the hall with an offered candle.

Tonight showcased their talents as well as their knack for pretending to be peaceable. Julian told himself that was all. Most of the time they argued if they didn’t have company. Clearly not compatible, not really. The two of them had too much heart.

It was best he would be leaving soon. Perhaps he could even leave sooner if all went well. They only had a little over a week to survive together. So long as they kept their distance, then they would survive.

I suppose I should have told Genevieve that when she tried talking to me in the carriage. Can’t she see how risky it is? I can’t be a proper husband. I wouldn’t know where to start. And she wants her peace, I know she must.

Justifying every reason why he had to be more careful and more distant around his wife, Julian prepared for bed and slipped beneath the coverlet.

One moment he was closing his eyes. In the next, he opened them to see the cloudy night sky. He looked down and saw a soldier he knew at his knees, struggling to breathe as blood dripped down from an injury.

Shouts followed. The alarm rang across their group in the form of a shrill whistle that made his ears hurt. He scrambled to the soldier to help, panicking and forgetting what it meant to secure an injury to prevent blood loss.

The soldier, gasping for breath, gave the orders.

“I’m trying. I’m trying,” Julian said while gagging on the metallic scent of blood as it spilled over his hands.

Then the soldier appeared now faceless, still turning to him. “Why are you leaving me behind?”

“I’m not! I’m not leaving you behind!”

Julian woke shouting these words, gasping and heaving for breath.

He froze. Sitting in the middle of his large bed, with the canopy curtains partially closed, he found himself alone. Safe. Dawn was breaking over the horizon so splinters of light were beginning to spread across the room.

Falling back onto the pillows, Julian groaned. It felt like he had just fallen asleep. His eyes ached. There was a throbbing in his head. Setting aside the sheets also soaked in his sweat, he forced himself to his feet.

“What was the war like for you?” he had asked Tristan the other afternoon when they’d spun the conversation from wives and marriage. He’d worked hard to pose the question as casually as possible.

But his friend still knew. “It is still with you, isn’t it?”

“I never saw the front lines. The little action I did see is hardly worth noting. Especially compared to anything you might have faced,” Julian had said in reply.

Raising an eyebrow, Tristan just gave him a look. “There is nothing small or simple about war. The battles live on within us always. Through dreams, through fractured moments of the day, it isn’t particular, and we cannot control it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t move on.”

“How?”

“Time. You learn to live with it. To endure it. And to move on.”

That was the most Tristan-type of answer he had ever heard in all his life. He would have laughed if it didn’t annoy him so. “That’s all you have to say?”

Moving closer, his friend had offered a shrug. “We are only human. None of us are perfect. I think we should have compassion for ourselves. Our experiences, the pain we’ve put away, our failures, all of it.”

“That’s hardly medicinal.”

“There isn’t medicine for our heads or our memories unless you intend to numb yourself forever. But we have a future. If you want that future, then you must do what you can to lead yourself there.”

The future. That was an old washed-up idea of his father’s, Julian recalled. The previous duke once had countless plans for him and his future. None of them had come to pass, of course, not that the man ever saw that for himself.

My only future is in the Royal Navy now.

“You are a married man. A duke. You can have anything you desire,” Julian had listened to his friend say.

“Travel the world if you like. Or stay here. It’s a beautiful property.

Make new and better memories. That’s what Verity and I have decided upon, after all.

A life that is fitting for what we desire.

A comfortable home with plenty of sunshine.

A fresh nursery for the children we have since decided we wish to have, and so on.

You could have all of that too, Julian.”

Having turned toward the open window, Julian had dared to let himself dream.

Southwick was beautiful. It produced a complicated past for him, but there was the innate beauty that could not be denied.

I always thought I would end up here for more of my time.

The land here is fruitful, the people are good, and truthfully this has felt more like home than any other place.

What would it be like to stay here? To look into a future?

I don’t even know what that would include.

If it would be anything like Tristan’s, the only happily married man I know.

Could I have the contentment in my marriage like he does? To look forward to children?

And then he could see them.

Julian could see it all, the way he could walk through the maze on the edge of his gardens where the summertime made the pond shine brighter.

He could see his wife up ahead laughing with a wriggling bundle in her arms. And the maze, short as it was, allowed him to see the top of two mousy heads running about and laughing as well.

“Come join us!” they called.

When he blinked, it went away. Julian remembered making a jest and changing the topic. It hadn’t been long before Tristan took his leave.

The image of a life that didn’t exist––that wasn’t meant to exist––had been immediately pushed as far away as Julian could manage. But it had resurfaced a time or two without his permission.

Now as he looked out to the dawn of a new day, he could still hear the laughter ringing through the air. These were voices that didn’t exist. Memories that would never be real. So why did his heart know them?

Needing an escape, Julian dressed himself and took off toward the stables. His horse eagerly welcomed him. Soon they were flying across the land and exploring the trails at a risky pace, but neither of them cared to stop.

It was still a while before he slowed down. Both of them were damp with sweat and breathing hard when he slid off the horse, pausing at the river that ran alongside the village. He had crossed the land further than expected, even leaving his own property to wind up on the other side of town.

“Good morning,” he called a short while later when he passed one of his tenants on the outskirts of the farm. “How are you this fine morning?”