She’d meant what she said; no one else had ever allowed her to just be. To exist. Something was always required of her. Something was always taken. And now, she had the ability to just live her life for herself.
She didn’t know what that looked like, but she did feel a surge of gratitude and affection for Winston that he had given it to her.
And as she lay down to fall asleep, she tried not to let herself wonder if he simply had said all those things because he foundher as undesirable, uninteresting, and unattractive as she had always felt.
Chapter Thirteen
“How was the tour of the estate grounds, Your Grace?” Elaine asked as she helped Vanessa out of her pelisse. “You were gone for such a long time that I assumed it must have been very interesting.”
“Yes, it was interesting,” Vanessa said,although that is not the first word I would have chosen,she added to herself. “Quite long. The groundskeeper is very thorough in his explanation.”
“The groundskeeper?” Elaine glanced at Vanessa curiously as she walked across the Duchess’ bedchamber to hang the pelisse in the closet. “Did His Grace not go with you?”
“No,” Vanessa said, fighting to keep the disappointment from her voice. “He is busy with his work, or so I was informed by the groundskeeper.”
“I am very sorry to hear that,” Elaine replied, her expression carefully neutral as she hung up the pelisse. “It seems he has been busy very often of late.”
“Yes.” Vanessa turned away. Although she suspected that her lady’s maid could sense her disappointment and loneliness, she did not want her face to give it away, as well.
It had been a week since they had arrived at Thornfield Castle, and even compared to Vanessa’s already lonely life in London, this had, by far, been the loneliest week of her life. At least back in London she had her mother to talk to. While Lady Forthwell was not always the best company, and her attention could be more critical than kind, she had at leastpaid attentionto Vanessa.
Which was more than she could say for her husband, who had all but ignored her over the last week. He was busy, he’d said to her, or the housekeeper and groundskeeper informed her.
Too busy for dinner even which he had only joined her for on their first night. Since then, she had dined alone in the long, grand hall of the castle.
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” Elaine asked, clearly taking her cue from Vanessa to change the subject. “Would you like to have tea on the terrace? Or I could set up a game of croquet?”
“To play by myself?” Vanessa asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I suppose not,” Elaine replied, looking down.
Vanessa considered it. She could, indeed, take tea on the terrace alone as she had every other day this week. Or she could demand that her husband, who had promised to protect her, spend time with her.
The shy wallflower who had cowered at the back of ballrooms her first few Seasons would have taken the tea, but Vanessa wasn’t that girl anymore. She was a married woman. She had survived a kidnapping. And she was free to lead the life she wanted.
It turned out that the life she wanted was not one of complete isolation and loneliness.
“I think I shall go see my husband,” she said abruptly. From across the room, Elaine’s eyebrows went up then she grinned.
“I think that is a very good idea, Your Grace.”
Winston, she presumed, was in his study. He had been there for most of the week, and when she knocked on the door, she was unsurprised to hear his deep, rich voice ring out, “Enter.”
She pushed open the door to find him sitting at his desk, quill in hand, a large ledger open in front of him. The room was dark with only one candle lit, and the shadows cast on his face made him look weary and irascible.
Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her.
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes not even meeting hers before he looked back down at his ledgers.
“I am sorry to bother you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a squeak, “but I have come to ask you for a favor.”
Winston sighed and still did not look back up. “I am very busy, Vanessa. Now is not a good time.”
“I am sure you have much to do,” she forced herself to say, “but I was wondering if you might be able to assign me a task of some kind, something to do that will keep me busy.”
“You are the Duchess of Thornfield,” the Duke said, his words crisp and cold. “You do not have to do anything.”
Vanessa hesitated. Part of her—a very large part of her—wanted to turn and flee. Gone was the kind, sweet duke who had made her feel comfortable the other night when she had gone to him in his bedchamber. Also gone was the fiery, passionate duke who had defended her from Langdon and demanded her hand in marriage. This duke was cold and dismissive—in other words, he was the Duke of Thornfield she had heard so much about before meeting him.
