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“Thank you,” Harry murmured.
“Are you here to meet Mr. Bailey? I am afraid he is in Derbyshire visiting his mother.”
“We are here to visit your family, Mrs. Bailey,” Harry said, trying to muster a smile. Her stare was discomfiting him. “And to assure you that I intend to decrease your rent.”
Her cold eyes widened on hearing his last sentence, and hope replaced the curiosity in her gaze.
“It is all we ask for, Your Grace.”
“And you shall have it. I appreciate your patience and cooperation, and I humbly ask that you give me a little more time to have my affairs in order.”
Mrs. Bailey was quiet for a moment and glanced from Harry to Bridget as if looking for something in their countenance to make her believe his words.
“Very well, Your Grace,” she said at last. “I shall tell this to Mr. Bailey when he returns.”
“He may come to Grayfield if he wishes to discuss the matter further.”
Mrs. Bailey’s mouth curved, and Harry thought she was pleased with the notion of being welcome in Grayfield. The castle had been unapproachable since he became duke.
“I shall tell him that, as well,” she said. With a nod from Bridget, the footman set the basket down in front of her. She glanced at it, then looked at Bridget. “Mrs. Atkinson told me the herbs you gifted her were very helpful.”
Harry smiled, pleased his wife’s efforts were appreciated. Bridget smiled too, saying, “There are herbs for you, too. Both medicine and tea.”
“I thank you, Your Grace.” For the first time since their arrival, Mrs. Bailey gave them a true smile.
The success of the first visit carried on through the others, and in every house they visited, they were received well. Harry had not expected this. He also had not been aware that Bridget had been sending the families medicinal herbs much to the apothecary’s chagrin.
And as the afternoon progressed, he discovered that the stares he received did not bother him as much as they had before.
As he climbed into the carriage after helping Bridget in and saw her smile at him, he realized why he had been able to bear the attention he had received both here and at the Dilworth ball. Harry had been accepted by the person he loved the most in the world. He had not acknowledged her acceptance at the ball but a part of him had been aware of it.
“I am quite pleased with how that went,” Bridget said as he settled beside her and took her hand.
“So am I, my darling.” He tugged her glove off and raised her fingers to his lips as the carriage began to move. “The villagers are fond of you, and that makes me happy.”
She grinned and moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Perhaps we should have a late summer ball instead of autumn.”
Harry smiled. “We could have one in autumn, too.”
She sat up and he could see the cogs in her mind turning as she already began planning the ball. “Belinda will be ecstatic!” Guilt stung him at the mention of a ball bringing Belinda happiness. He felt Bridget’s soft hand on his cheek. “What is the matter?”
“I am only now realizing the extent to which I have trapped my aunt. It was her choice to come live with me in Grayfield but she was a prisoner.”
“No, Harry,” Bridget said firmly. “I am sure she does not feel that way.”
“She was so happy when I married you.” He smiled, stroking her soft cheeks.
“And she will be happier still.”
Harry frowned slightly as he recalled something. He had been oblivious to it until he married Bridget. “She fancies Gerard.”
Bridget giggled. “She certainly does. Should we encourage a match?”
“I think we should.” Her eyes sparkled, and once more, her excitement expanded his heart.
When he glanced out the window, he saw Grayfield, brighter, no longer the imposing structure that cast fear in the hearts of visitors.
“Bridget,” he said, thinking.
