Page 11 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 11

C harlotte continued to laugh loudly once the trio were well out of earshot, having returned to their own personal spot just past the brush line.

She’d long since kicked off her shoes and dipped her legs ankle-deep in the gentle stream that wound past them, giving their grove a delightful ambiance alongside springtime’s songbirds.

And, though she greatly appreciated her hostess’ help, Thalia remained at her spot beneath a large, shady oak, helping to unpack the picnic basket across the blanket spread out long before her arrival.

“Oh, but did you see her face, Thalia?” Charlotte grinned, giving the stream a kick as water sprayed across the air. “Like an old lemon tart molding away in the back of the kitchen—and she’s such a busybody, minding your personal business as if it were her own!”

“You certainly aired her personal business for all to hear,” the duke commented lightly, having found interest in a bed of wild clover that he’d plucked and begun knotting together on his lap. Thalia found herself occasionally distracted by his work, uncertain if she’d ever see such a wildly incompatible picture again in her lifetime.

“She started it,” Charlotte retorted. “And Father always said if you’re going to start a fight, you best be ready to…” Her voice trailed off, suddenly very interested in the stream’s reflection as she twirled a loose curl of hair nervously around her index finger.

Thalia dared a glance back at the duke, whose face hardly seemed any different than usual; stone-cold, unreadable, carefully neutral so as to not betray his thoughts. But something clearly had spooked Charlotte, which rightly terrified Thalia herself.

As such, she decided to change the subject as best she could, lifting a plate of salmagundi and trying very hard to keep her voice even. “I’d be rather upset if we didn’t enjoy this meal your kitchen staff made for us; let’s eat, shall we?”

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, slipping her legs out from the water before sheepishly making her way towards the blanket.

* * *

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault, and Gabriel knew very well he shouldn’t be so cross about it. And as he watched his dear sister nibble nervously—loudly—on the end of a sliced pickle, he was aware that she could feel the anger roiling off his body.

Thalia could too, though the exact reason why was probably lost to her. Still, both women kept their voices soft, their conversation vague and polite, all while giving him a wide, social berth.

He decided to take advantage of the space to cool his head, setting the start of a flower crown aside before reaching towards a pitcher of lemonade. The day really was too lovely to let sour so easily, and the grove was just as beautiful as the day he found it.

Whether the other socialites knew well to steer clear due to his personal interest, or couldn’t stand the thought of ‘roughing it’ in the wilderness long enough to reach this spot, hardly mattered to him.

Eventually, he and Charlotte would have to emerge from the woods and socialize, but at least for now, they could let their guards down. For now, time could pass by him without being tracked so carefully.

As he sipped his drink (and inwardly made a face—someone in the kitchen really needed to learn how to temper their sugar use), Gabriel found his gaze lingering on Thalia. She looked as lovely as always, the olive hues of her dress a perfect complement to the brilliance of her eyes.

Of particular interest was her hair, done up in a neat bun without a curl left out of place. He noted how it wasn’t simply black, but a myriad of rich, brown shades when exposed to beams of sunlight. It was full, lively; like the fur of a black cat sunbathing at noon. More than anything, he wanted to see it undone and freely flowing against her body.

“Oh…” Charlotte made a slight face, setting a slice of buttered bread back onto her plate. “There are no ramps.”

Gabriel rose a slight brow, watching as Thalia gave a bemused smile. “Ramps, Charlotte?”

His sister nodded enthusiastically. “Wild onions—gracious, have you never tried them with butter before, Thalia? Gabriel makes them sometimes when the mood strikes him.” She turned towards him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Charlotte, I can’t simply make ramps appear because you desire them,” Gabriel said.

“I know that!” Charlotte huffed. “But you’ve told me before that they grow around here—can’t you go and find some?”

He chuckled lightly at her sheer audacity; it was only made more humorous at Thalia’s blanching face. Setting his cup aside, Gabriel rose from the ground and brushed off his trousers, offering a hand forward.

“Then you have to come and get them with me.”

Just as quickly as she offered, Charlotte quickly declined. “Absolutely not! You always make fun of me when we go foraging.”

“You mistook a species of destroying angel for a button mushroom,” Gabriel deadpanned. “I hardly consider keeping us alive, ‘making fun of you’.”

Charlotte made a face, leaning conspiratorially towards Thalia before whispering loudly, “Don’t listen to him, he’s lying through his teeth. He’ll tease you, too, if given the chance.”

Gabriel made a similar, if not somewhat more reserved, face back at his sister. Immediately, though, his mood brightened inwardly as Thalia spoke next.

“Well, if His Grace doesn’t mind the company, I’d love to see what foraging is like for myself.” She smiled shyly, her hand absentmindedly covering her splinted wrist. “It sounded very… interesting, when we discussed it last night.”

Charlotte’s eyes went wide, her eyes traveling between the two before she suddenly stood. “That’s actually excellent timing! I promised Louise I would visit her picnic grounds at some point, so you two go on ahead. Just meet us over there when you’re finished, and make sure to bring the ramps!” She quickly hopped to her feet and began to dart away.

“Shoes, Charlotte,” Gabriel sighed lightly.

His sister giggled nervously, returning to the blanket and quickly slipping her flats back on. “Oh—and I’m taking this as well,” she added, snagging the half-finished flower crown. “It’s atrocious work and I need to rescue it from your fat, uncoordinated fingers.”

With a slight wave, Gabriel watched as his sweet sister bounded off through the brush, every bit the wild animal he was inwardly. Her poor maid hurried to keep pace, hardly wanting to be chided for leaving the young lady without a chaperone.

His attention then shifted to Thalia, whose own maid sat across the blanket, unfazed by Charlotte’s antics. Thalia, meanwhile, looked completely in shock.

“Believe me, I tried to tame that side of her for years.” He offered his hand, which Thalia graciously took. “She swore if I ever made an honest attempt to change who she was, she’d never speak to me again.”

“Did she really?”

Brief memories flooded Gabriel’s mind as his ears began to ring in recollection—of shouting voices and slamming doors, of harsh words and hot tears that seemingly fell in endless waves down his sister’s youthful face. “I… wasn’t willing to test her and find out.” Something unspoken passed between them; he could feel it in the pit of his soul.

Thalia’s eyes had softened considerably, a slight overcast to what was usually bright and luminescent. She tried her best to maintain her smile, but the corners of her lips seemed strained, as if she tried to force her own memories away. In that moment, he spoke not to his shy little rabbit, but another eldest sibling who knew exactly—entirely—what he’d been through.

“Are… ramps often mistaken for anything poisonous?” Thalia asked softly.

Gabriel allowed the smallest hint of a smile—a genuine one—to slip across his lips. He gave her hand a soft squeeze before helping her to her feet, leading towards an old footpath to head deeper into the brush, as the old maid followed them silently a few steps behind.

Making sure they were not overheard, he leaned in and whispered in Thalia’s ear, “There’s only one way to find out, my Lady. Are you willing to take the risk?”

* * *

This. This had been her absolute worst idea, without any doubt in her mind. Thalia knew for certain she was in no danger; the duke had proved himself a gentleman time and time again, disregarding his outwardly frigid demeanor.

And she was certain, as they continued down the footpath, that their distance from the park grounds wouldn’t suddenly cause him to discard the wool from his wolfish exterior. Regardless what others might have spoken about him, Thalia knew in her heart that she was perfectly safe.

But gracious, it was so horrifically cold between the pair of them. The duke didn’t seem the type to willingly engage in small talk, and Thalia couldn’t think of any topic that didn’t involve his family. His reaction after Charlotte mentioned their father still weighed heavily on her mind, and their brief discussion of his sister’s teenage years conjured images of dramatic fights and tearful apologies.

All were things she so desperately wanted more information about, but simply could not inquire further. Whatever relationship she had managed to build with the duke was fragile at best, and she did not wish to destroy it all with ill-timed curiosity.

Instead, Thalia did her best to simply enjoy what nature had to offer. In truth, she found herself utterly captivated at how differently the woods presented themselves.

She had long-since grown used to neatly-trimmed bushes and rows of evenly-spaced flowers, whose color palette had been carefully considered by the landscapers well-before the seeds had been planted. Out here, everything seemed to breathe deeply, free of societal constraints that strove for an impossible perfection. Flora grasped in every which direction, while the fauna called out loudly, without rhyme or reason.

“Organized chaos,” the duke suddenly stated.

Thalia blinked, glancing upward as their gazes met. She managed to hold it this time, face turning warm beneath a stray ray of sunlight through the trees.

“There’s still an order out here, even among what we consider untamed wilderness.” The duke gently led Thalia forward, the pair standing just ahead of the stream. Dark stones rippled beneath its crystal clear surface, while dozens of minnows shot past, hiding beneath the tangled roots and large rocks.

“Your Grace,” the older maid piped up from behind them. “I hardly think the lady is prepared to walk off the path.”

“I’ll ensure she’s safe,” the duke promised. “And you’ll still be within earshot if we need assistance.”

Thalia watched as the older maid’s brow furrowed; she clearly didn’t look convinced.

“You’ve known me since I was young,” the duke began.

“And as such, my concern is well-founded,” the older maid finished.

He chuckled—had Thalia ever heard him properly chuckle like that?—and offered a wave of his hand. “I promise to return her in one piece.”

Thalia’s grip tightened around his arm, and she allowed herself to be led farther off the path. The pair followed the small stream until it led into a massive pond, filled to the brim with the sound of croaking frogs and humming insects. Thalia watched as a blue-tinged stork waded the deeper parts, eyeing the waters before piercing the surface, a frog grasped in its beak. She gasped, grasp tightening further around the duke; once more, she heard him chuckle.

“The water churns so the aquatic life can flourish,” he said. “Which draws the birds to eat what isn’t fast enough to flee. A perfect thread to follow, one that easily snaps if even one part is out of balance.”

“Organized chaos,” Thalia repeated.

The duke nodded, and the pair continued well past the pond. Tree limbs began to bend and twist outward, the scruff of bushes and grass dispersing as the way opened up more and more. Thalia blinked furiously as they reached the mouth of the forest, not used to the sudden shift in sunlight.

Then, as she lowered her hands, she inhaled sharply at the sight, immediately overtaken by the rich, floral scent of hundreds—maybe thousands—of wildflowers blooming in a rolling, open field. Tulips, daffodils, bluebells; there was such a wide assortment that Thalia couldn’t rightly keep track of it all, appearing as a myriad of colors amongst freshly-sprung prairie grass.

She felt the duke’s hand squeeze hers, and she looked to him once more, surprised to find a slight, if not clearly satisfied smile, on his face. “I thought you might like it. Exactly the place a little rabbit might call home.”

“And the place a mighty wolf might hunt?” Thalia was delighted to see his smile persist, allowing him to pull her down the incline and into the flowers proper. She couldn’t resist picking a few along the way, and when the duke finally released her hand, she had a colorful bouquet in the making.

“Such lovely flowers, Little Red,” the duke teased. “Awfully dangerous, though, letting your guard down out here in the open.”

Thalia raised her brow, presenting the bouquet with an elaborate flourish. “I hardly have anything to fear out here.”

“Is that so?”

Thalia’s face flushed as Mr. Harding inched closer, a smirk drawn across his face in playful fashion. “The wolf of fairytales is far more interested in the grandmother, if you recall. Little Red is quite safe until then.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting something rather important.” Gently, the duke lifted the bouquet from her hands, gasping it with his own as he pulled close to her ear. Then, in a delicate whisper that ran across her skin, he said; “I’m no imaginary wolf, and my tastes are far more refined.”

Nervous laughter quickly fluttered from Thalia’s throat as she dropped to the ground, feigning interest in a clump of grass. “S-So the ramps! Um—they’re here somewhere, yes?”

Mr. Harding nodded, getting down on one knee as he pushed some of the taller grass aside. If he was disappointed in her unwillingness to continue their game, he hardly showed it on his face. “It’s easy to miss if you only look for it.”

“I’m… not entirely sure what other way there is to find something other than looking,” Thalia quipped. She wasn’t entirely sure if she’d taken the banter too far, as the duke’s shoulders seemed to stiffen slightly. Best not to press her luck. “How does one find ramps, if not by sight?” she asked.

The duke held out his hand. Thalia took it without hesitation, allowing herself to be brought down to a kneel beside him. She could feel the damp of the dirt begin to stain her dress, but it was likely to be an improvement. At least she’d have a reason to throw it out. A happy occasion indeed.

“You’ve smelled raw onion before, yes?”

Thalia nodded, leaning closer to the ground as to copy the duke exactly.

“Imagine that smell, but far more pungent.” The duke inhaled deeply, his eyes closed. “Even among these flowers, you’ll be hard pressed to miss it.”

Thalia did so, breathing deeply and trying to filter out the smells that followed. It was all so very floral, so very fresh—until suddenly, it wasn’t. She wrinkled her nose slightly, turning her head to follow the scent.

“Oh! Is this it, over here?” Her gloved hand reached to grasp at stalks of bright green, only to find the duke’s hand instead. Immediately, a hot flash ran across her skin, and she turned to face him for what felt like the dozenth time that day.

And then, quite suddenly, she found his face drawing closer to hers. And then , quite suddenly… she wanted nothing more than to pull forward into a kiss.

“You have a stray petal in your hair, Miss Sutton.”

Thalia blinked, acutely aware of the duke actively pulling away the offending petal pinched between his fingers. She was certain it was the reddest she’d ever been in her life, and she hastily looked down at the ground, still gripping the stalks of grass in between her hands.

“Master Harding? Miss Sutton?” The maid’s voice cut through the air as Thalia exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. “Are you two quite alright?”

“Yes; we’ll be heading your way shortly.” Mr. Harding rose to his feet, offering a hand to Thalia as she weakly took it. “And, by the way,” His hand found hers, still gripping the grass as he helped pull the plant free. “These are indeed ramps. Excellent catch.”

“Y-Yes,” Thalia replied breathlessly. Excellent, indeed.