Page 15 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)

CHAPTER 15

“ W elcome to Ashthorne House, Your Grace.” Mrs. Collins, the housekeeper, stood at the head of two perfectly arranged rows of servants in the grand entrance hall. “We hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

Alice lifted her chin, channeling every lesson in poise her mother had taught her. Though her heart fluttered at the sheer number of servants before her—far more than her family had employed even in better days—she kept her voice steady.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrison. I look forward to becoming acquainted with everyone.”

Dorian’s presence beside her radiated authority as he made the introductions, his deep voice carrying easily through the marble hall. Alice tried to memorize each name and face, though they seemed to blur together in her exhaustion.

“Mrs. Harrison will show you to your chambers,” Dorian said finally. His hand brushed her elbow—the barest touch, yet it sent sparks through her blood. “I have some business to attend to in my study.”

Of course you do .

But Alice managed a serene nod.

The housekeeper led her up the grand staircase, pointing out various rooms and galleries along the way. Alice’s mind spun, trying to absorb it all—the priceless artworks, the generations of history, the sheer scale of the duchy she was now expected to help manage.

“These will be your chambers, Your Grace.” Mrs. Harrison opened a set of magnificent double doors. “I trust you’ll find them suitable.”

Alice stepped into a suite that was larger than the entire first floor of her family’s townhouse. Delicate blue silk covered the walls, matching the upholstery of several elegant seating areas. Fresh flowers filled crystal vases, their scent mingling with beeswax and lavender.

“Your lady’s maid, Charity Porter.” Mrs. Harrison gestured toward a young woman who curtsied perfectly. “She comes highly recommended from the Duchess of Rutland.”

“A pleasure, Your Grace.” Charity’s smile seemed genuine beneath her professional demeanor. “Shall I help you change out of your traveling clothes?”

“Yes, thank you.” Alice glanced at the connecting door that undoubtedly led to the Duke’s chambers. “Will His Grace…?”

“The Duke keeps separate chambers, as is proper,” Mrs. Harrison assured her smoothly. “Though the connecting door remains should you require anything.”

The slight emphasis on ‘anything’ made Alice’s cheeks flush.

After Mrs. Harrison withdrew, Charity helped Alice out of her traveling dress and into a fresh afternoon gown. “Such a lovely green, Your Grace. It matches your eyes perfectly.”

“Thank you.” Alice sat at the delicate dressing table as the maid began removing pins from her hair. “How long have you been at Ashthorne House?”

“Only a few weeks, Your Grace. His Grace hired several new servants in preparation for your arrival.” Charity’s fingers were gentle as she brushed out Alice’s copper curls. “He was most particular about everything being perfect.”

“Was he?” Alice studied her reflection in the mirror, wondering what Dorian saw when he looked at her.

An obligation? A responsibility? Or something more?

“Oh yes. The entire house has been in an uproar, preparing. Though I must say…” Charity lowered her voice conspiratorially. “None of us expected him to marry quite so suddenly. There were wagers among the staff about how long he’d remain a bachelor.”

“And what was the general consensus?” Alice couldn’t help asking.

“Forever, Your Grace.” Charity grinned. “His Grace has quite the reputation for avoiding marriage-minded ladies. Which makes you rather special, if you do not mind my saying so.”

Before Alice could respond to that unsettling observation, a knock at the door made her jump.

“His Grace,” Charity announced. Then, she added hastily, “I’ll just see about having tea sent up,” before making a swift exit.

Dorian filled the doorway, still in his formal black wedding clothes, though his cravat had been loosened. Something about seeing him in her private chambers made Alice’s pulse quicken.

“I trust you find everything satisfactory?” His tone was carefully neutral as he remained by the door.

“Very.” Alice remained seated at her dressing table, grateful for its anchoring, solid presence. “Though I confess, it’s rather overwhelming.”

“You’ll adjust.” He moved into the room but maintained his distance. “We should discuss the arrangements.”

“Arrangements?”

“Our marriage.” He spoke as though outlining a business contract. “I believe we both understand that this was a matter of necessity rather than inclination.”

Alice’s fingers curled into her skirts. “You make that abundantly clear.”

“Then we understand each other.” His expression remained unreadable. “You’ll have complete freedom to manage the household as you see fit. Your allowance will be generous, and you’ll want for nothing.”

“How very pragmatic of you.”

“I thought you’d appreciate pragmatism.” Something flickered in his eyes. “Given the circumstances.”

“And what of…” Alice faltered, heat flooding her cheeks.

“Our marital obligations?” His voice dropped lower, making her shiver despite his clinical words. “I won’t force anything on you. We’ll maintain separate chambers, as is proper.”

“I see.” Alice was proud of how steady her voice remained, even as disappointment curled low in her stomach. “And if I?—”

“It’s been a long day,” he cut in abruptly, his shoulders tensing as though fighting some internal battle.

The tenderness of moments before had vanished, replaced by that ducal mask she was coming to recognize.

“You should rest. I have business in London tomorrow that requires my attention.” “Of course you do.” The words came out sharper than she had intended. “Do not let me keep you from your obligations.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “Alice.”

“Yes?”

But whatever he might have said was lost as he shook his head.

“Good evening, Duchess.”

After he left, Alice pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her mirror.

This was what she’d expected, wasn’t it? A marriage of convenience. Freedom to manage her own life. Distance from a husband who’d married her out of duty.

Then why did her body still hum with awareness whenever he was near? Why did she keep remembering the heat of his kiss at their wedding?

And why, despite his careful distance, did she suspect he remembered it too?

Breakfast was served precisely at nine in a morning room that caught the early sun.

Alice had barely slept, too aware of the connecting door to her husband’s chambers. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed about spending her wedding night alone.

“Good morning.” Dorian entered, already dressed for travel.

The dark circles under his eyes suggested that she wasn’t the only one who’d had a restless night.

“Leaving so soon?” She buttered her toast with careful precision. “London must be terribly exciting.”

“Business rarely waits for personal matters.” He sat down, his broad shoulders slumped, and his mind clearly elsewhere.

“And I am merely a personal matter?”

“You are my wife.” He spoke as though reminding himself. “Which means you’ll have authority here while I’m gone. The staff will assist you in whatever you require.”

“How generous.” Alice set down her knife. “Though I suspect managing a household isn’t so different from managing creditors. I’ve had ample practice at both.”

That caught his attention. “You managed your family’s accounts?”

“Someone had to.” She met his gaze. “Thomas was too busy gambling, and Father…” She faltered. “Well, let’s just say that I learned to be resourceful.”

Something akin to respect flickered in his eyes. “Then I leave Ashthorne House in capable hands.”

“When will you return?”

“Two days. Perhaps three.” He stood up, adjusting his already perfect cuffs. “Try not to revolutionize the entire household while I am gone.”

“I’ll contain my radical impulses to merely rearranging the library.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Careful, Duchess. I might start thinking that you have a sense of humor.”

“Heaven forbid.” But she found herself almost smiling back. “Safe travels, Your Grace.”

He hesitated at the door, as though wanting to say more. But in the end, he merely nodded and strode out.

Over the next few days, Alice threw herself into learning every aspect of her new home. She met with Mrs. Collins to review household accounts, memorized the names and duties of every servant, and began making subtle changes to their routines.

Each morning brought new discoveries. The housekeeper’s ledgers revealed not just accounts, but the intricate dance of managing a household that served hundreds—from the highest-ranking guests to the lowest scullery maid. While her family’s townhouse had required careful economizing, Ashthorne’s challenge lay in its sheer magnitude.

“The kitchen gardens need expansion,” she noted to Mrs. Harrison during their morning review. “We’re spending far too much at the market when we have acres of unused land.”

“The last head gardener preferred ornamental plants, Your Grace.”

“Well, the new one can learn to appreciate cabbages as well as roses,” Alice declared. “And these wine merchants are charging well above current rates. I suspect they’ve grown complacent without regular review.”

Mrs. Harrison’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re familiar with wine prices, Your Grace?”

“When one’s brother develops expensive tastes on a dwindling budget, one learns to negotiate.” Alice allowed herself a small smile. “Perhaps we should revisit some of these contracts.”

She tried to ignore how her heart fluttered at the thought of Dorian. Instead, she focused on the satisfaction of bringing order to her new domain, even as she wondered what business kept her husband in London.

The gardens proved to be a welcome escape from endless household accounts. Alice was admiring a particularly lovely rose bower when voices from the other side caught her attention.

“His Grace won’t be pleased about them bills from London,” came a gruff voice—one of the under-gardeners, she thought. “Not with everything else he’s managing.”

“Aye, but that’s his way, isn’t it?” She recognized this voice as that of Mr. Peters, the head groom. “Takes his responsibilities seriously. Just as he did with the late Lord Treyfield.”

“Shame about that business.” The first voice dropped. “Never seen His Grace so grim as when His Lordship passed. A few months gone now, and still, he?—”

“Best not to gossip about such things,” Mr. Peters cut in sharply. “His Grace has enough weighing on him, what with the new Duchess and all.”

Alice pressed closer to the hedge, her heart beating faster.

“I’d still say it was strange timing,” the first voice muttered. “The former Lord Treyfield dying so suddenly and His Grace rushing off to London every few days after. Now, this hasty marriage?—”

“That’s enough, Tom! Get back to work.”

The voices faded, leaving Alice with more questions than answers.

The late Lord Treyfield…

She racked her brain for any mention of him in Society. She remembered vague whispers about a young earl’s death some months ago, but nothing more. She’d been too consumed with Thomas’s gambling debts and their family’s precarious financial situation to pay much attention to gossip.

But clearly, the late Lord Treyfield had meant something to Dorian. Enough that his death still affected him deeply, according to the servants. It explained some of his preoccupation, perhaps—this shadow of grief he carried.

More than that, it suggested a depth of loyalty she hadn’t expected from London’s most notorious rake. A man who took his responsibilities seriously, the head groom had said. Who grieved deeply for a friend months after his death.

It didn’t explain everything—his mysterious business in London, his careful distance from her—but it offered a glimpse of the man behind the polished facade.

Alice touched one of the roses, its petals silk-soft beneath her fingers.

The gardens stretched before her in perfect symmetry—box hedges trimmed to precision, gravel paths raked into careful patterns, every bloom placed for maximum effect.

The ton knew him as the dangerous Duke of Ashthorne, all cutting wit and cold control. But the late Lord Treyfield had clearly seen another side of him—the sort of man who would grieve deeply for a friend, who took his responsibilities seriously enough to earn the loyalty of even the humblest servants.

What other sides of him lay hidden behind that carefully maintained facade? The tender lover who had kissed her so thoroughly at their wedding? The distant husband who fled to London? Or something else entirely, a man capable of both fierce loyalty and crushing betrayal?

Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Harrison, who came bearing a letter on a silver salver. “From Lord Colton, Your Grace.”

Alice broke the seal, recognizing her brother’s characteristic scrawl.

Dearest Alice,

You’ll be amused to know that I spent the morning reviewing agricultural reports of all things. Evelyn mentioned crop rotation, and suddenly I found myself genuinely interested. Do not smirk, Sister. I can practically see your expression from here.

The suggestions His Grace gave me at the wedding breakfast regarding the estate are sound, though I confess that half the terms might as well be in Greek. Evelyn helps explain them—did you know that she’s brilliant with numbers? She has this way of making everything clear without making me feel like a complete fool.

The house feels strange without you here to lecture me about my cravat or my accounts. Though I suppose I haven’t had any gambling debts to be lectured about lately…

Your devoted brother,

Thomas.

Alice pressed the letter to her heart, smiling despite herself.

Perhaps she wasn’t the only one learning to see beyond carefully maintained facades.