Page 30 of The Duke's Only Desire

Chapter Seven

Sitting in theslant of afternoon sunlight before the drawing room window, Sophie held out her hand while the local midwife and apothecary examined the long cut across the heel of her thumb. She had only been at Ravenscroft for a sennight, yet she’d already caused an uproar. “I feel like a complete idiot, Miss Danvies.”

“Hannah, please, Your Grace.”

“I’ll call you Hannah if you call me Sophie.” When the young woman began to protest at that informality, Sophie cut her off. “I insist. I won’t be your patient, otherwise.”

“Well, anything for a patient.” The woman smiled, her eyes not moving from the wound. “And no need to feel embarrassed about cutting yourself. We all forget our hands at some point when working with knives.”

“Gardening,” Sophie admitted sheepishly.

The young midwife looked up, surprised. “In winter?”

“The busiest time of the year for gardeners is when nothing is in bloom.” Sophie shrugged. “I was attempting to clean up the old greenhouse so it would be ready for spring.”

In truth, she’d grown bored. She’d learned almost everything there was to know about the house itself and how it was run, and Mr. Enfield, the estate agent, was away in York on business, leaving her unable to learn about the rest of theproperty. So she’d donned her heavy coat and wandered outside to investigate the gardens, hoping to find some solace there. After all, the estate couldn’t be all bad if it had a garden, even a severely neglected one. The rose garden was a mess of brambles, the kitchen garden tidy but small, and an old greenhouse tucked away at the edge of the gardens was in disrepair but showed signs of having once been magnificent. So she’d made up her mind. This winter, she would focus on refreshing the house, making it bright and cheerful again, but in the spring, she’d fix her attention on the gardens. Spring?La!Unable to wait that long, she’d gone into the greenhouse and begun to work, only to cut her hand a few hours later.

“Doesn’t His Grace employ men to do that sort of thing?” the young woman asked.

“I’d rather do it myself. I love to garden. Usually, it calms me.”

This morning, however, she’d taken out her frustrations with Shay’s prolonged absences during the first week of their marriage on an old tin-covered workbench which she’d attempted to wrangle into a new location, only for the bent metal to slice through her glove. The cut had been too much for Mrs. Sexton and Mrs. Latimer to tend, and the little village of Wolton too small to employ a physician. Not wanting to put herself into the hands of the local farrier—although Sophie had been assured by the groundskeepers that he excelled in extracting teeth from both horses and humans and could handle sewing up a cut—she’d sent for Miss Danvies instead.

The midwife wasn’t at all what Sophie had expected. For one, she was young, most likely only a few years older than Sophie and certainly not yet thirty, and second, she wasMissDanvies. Sophie had thought all midwives were older women who had first-hand experience birthing babies by having half a dozen children of their own.

No, this one wasn’t at all as expected, right down to her curly ginger hair, straight spine, and blunt manner that declared she brooked no patience for nonsense.

Sophie liked her immediately.

“Good thing you were wearing gloves.” Hannah carefully examined her hand. “For a garden wound, this one is especially clean.”

Sophie bit her bottom lip. “Will it need stitches?”

“No, it’s long but shallow. But I would like to put a poultice on it to help remove some of the sting, then wrap it tightly in a bandage. You’ll need to change the dressing every other day, but I expect it to heal quickly.” Her voice softened sympathetically. “I can’t be certain you won’t have a scar, though.”

Sophie exhaled a long breath, relieved the cut wasn’t serious. The possibility of scarring didn’t bother her. Given all the other scars in her marriage, this one wouldn’t even be noticeable.

Hannah stood and moved to the low tea table where she’d set down the leather case she’d brought with her from her apothecary shop in the village. “His Grace must be beside himself with worry.”

Sophie frowned. “Over what?”

“You, of course.” Hannah cast a knowing smile over her shoulder at Sophie as she selected one of the bottles in her case, then spooned out some of the powder into an empty tea cup from the tray Mrs. Sexton had brought up for them. Miss Danvies had asked only for hot water, but surely the housekeeper thought tea could heal anything and put seeping leaves into a second pot. “From the newlywed husbands I’ve seen, I’m surprised he’s not pacing in the hallway right now, wringing his hands as if you’d cut off your entire arm. He must be caught up in something important to be away from you.”

“I don’t know what he’s caught up in,” Sophie answered quietly, dropping her gaze to her hand and fixating on the cut.It wasn’t deep, but it stung with every pulse of her heart. “Or where.”

But why should today be any different from the others since she’d arrived at Ravenscroft Manor?

They’d fallen into a pattern. She spent her mornings learning all she could about the estate and house—which didn’t need her help or oversight and could easily have gone on for another twenty years without a proper mistress. She tried to stay busy in the afternoons by writing letters to friends and family to assure them that her married life was absolutely perfect, followed by a silent dinner by herself, then tossing and turning all night as she barely succeeded in staving off tears.

Shay spent his days anywhere she wasn’t, ate dinner at the tavern, and returned long after midnight to go straight to his room. The only contact she had with him were notes that encouraged her to make Ravenscroft Manor her home and do whatever she’d like with it. She wanted to do just that. Now that her maid Smithson and her luggage had finally arrived, she could settle completely into the house and make it into a true home.

Except for Shay. They’d been married for over a week, and he’d yet to come to her bed.

“What I’d like is to see my husband,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“Pardon?” Hannah looked up as she carefully poured a bit of hot water from the tea pot into the cup with the powder, then stirred it slowly to mix it.

Sophie lied. “I said I’m certain my husband knows I’m in good hands with you.”