She didn’t let the tears come. So often had she tried after reliving it in a dream, but she would not let that happen now.
“Lightning struck a tree on our path,” she said slowly, still remembering what it had been like to see that flash beyond the windows. “It fell and spooked the horses who bolted. The next minute… it happened so fast, the carriage trundled down a lane too small for it. The horses ended up tangled together and the carriage rolled. I was tossed out of the carriage window.”
She could remember the momentary feeling of flying. She had been so small at that time; it was all too easy for it to happen.
“I landed on a rock. I remember blood. I could feel it trickling down from the side of my eye. Next thing I knew, I opened my eyes, hearing the driver of the coach shouting to me, but I couldnot see him.” She halted, realizing she had never told the story to anyone before.
“I am truly sorry,” he whispered, his voice deep.
“It does not matter. It was a long time ago.” She swallowed around a lump in her throat.
We are sharing secrets, are we not? Can I not ask one of his?
“Isobel said there was a fire some years ago. What happened, Your Grace?”
He suddenly rolled over on the chaise longue, the sounds distinct.
“We should get some sleep. Good night, Charity.”
He will not share his secrets with me.
CHAPTER 9
“Here, these are done.” Charity held up the paper chain in her hand.
“Oh, these are so beautiful.” Isobel took the paper chain from her grasp. “It has been so many years since we have had Christmas decorations up in the house. I hope the master will not mind it,” she said with a giggle, but didn’t seem too afraid of the idea that he might not. “These are such beautiful things, they cheer the place up! I shall hang this one over the door.”
“Thank you.” Charity forced a smile as she reached down and started to make another paper chain. She was determined to make this place feel warmer and more homely. It did not matter if she couldn’t see such things, knowing they were there helped, as did being able to walk around the place and feel the decorations as she passed. The emptiness of the bare walls was getting to her, just as her isolation was in the house.
It didn’t seem to matter that the duke still slept in the same chamber as her each night. He kept to his chaise longue and gaveher the bed—but during the day, he did not acknowledge her at all.
More than once had she heard he’d taken breakfast or dinner in his study. She had gone out into the garden with the dogs on more than one occasion, only to hear the duke marching past her, his feet crunching the icy ground. He had not said anything to her in greeting, but just ignored her.
It was a lonely way to live, but Charity was grateful for one thing. There were no rules in this house. If she wanted to go outside, he let her go. There was no one there watching over her shoulder to stop her.
A dog barked. Charity held out her hand.
“Shelby?” she called, recognizing the tone of the greyhound. It was a lighter and more high-pitched tone than the other dog. She fussed at the dog as he reached her, stroking him.
“His Grace does not usually allow the hounds in the great hall. It is why the butler is so out of sorts, amongst other things,” Isobel said with a laugh, walking past as she took another chain from Charity’s grasp. “Yet I suspect Mr. Bates does not wish for an argument with you.”
“I have no wish for an argument either,” Charity assured her. “They are a comfort though. Such kind dogs.”
“Do these things help?” The sudden voice had her stiffening.
That was not Isobel’s voice, or even the butler’s tone. It was the duke’s.
“Forgive me, my Lady, but you cannot see the Christmas decorations. I hope you do not do this for my benefit.”
Charity angled her head in his direction, straining to listen to him. His footsteps moved nearer, the heels of his boots growing increasingly closer. Judging by the way Isobel coughed and the paper chain rustled, she was now at the far end of the great hall, presumably attempting to leave them alone to talk.
“Can I not be doing it for both of our benefits?” Charity murmured, continuing to feel her way with the strips of paper and make more chains.
“I beg your pardon?” The duke’s voice was rather sharp.
“It warms me, to have such things around the house and know that they are there,” she tried to explain. “Does it not please you too? To see something other than bare walls and emptiness? Maybe we could put up some more pictures too, and have more furniture around the manor.”
“We?” He must have moved toward her, for she felt him hissing in her ear. “Charity. This is not your house.”
