The rain had ceased, but the air was still cold, marking how far into December they now were. Shelby and Rufus walked at her side, and she laid a hand on Rufus’ neck, allowing him to guide her.
Isobel walked on the dogs’ other side.
“The tenants all have a huge amount of respect for His Grace. He has done much for them over the last few years, despite being kept mostly to himself. Yes, they certainly like to gossip as well, but they respect him, very dearly.”
I know why.
Charity clutched to the basket in her hand, trying to remember how many fresh loaves of bread and jars of jam she had already given out to the tenants they had visited, and what she had left. That morning, she had risen determined to perform some of the new duties that would soon be her own. As duchess of the estate, she would have responsibilities toward the tenants. Isobel had been only too happy to accompany her as they visited the tenants and made these food offerings from their kitchens.
Then, she caught the words that had previously slipped her mind. “Gossip? What sort of gossip?” Charity asked.
“Oh. It is nothing, my Lady,” Isobel waved the matter away. She must have come to a stop as the hounds did too, and so, Charity halted. “Here is the last one. Here lives a lovely old lady. Her name is Ethel, Ethel Braithwaite.”
Isobel knocked on a door, the sound clear, and not a second later, the door opened.
“Goodness, is this she?” a heavily northern-accented voice answered the door. “Is this the new duchess-to-be? I’ve heard a lot about you, lass. Come, come in, out of this bitter wind.” As Ethel Braithwaite spoke, the wind whistled loudly in the air, making the ribbon of Charity’s bonnet quiver.
“Thank you,” Charity said and stepped forward. The dogs stayed dutifully outside of the door, as Charity swept in with Isobel beside her.
“Now, let me look at you.”
They came to a stop in a room that felt very warm indeed. Charity smiled to herself, recognizing the feeling of the fire and taking comfort in the fact that her husband-to-be clearly took care of his tenants to make sure they had enough coal and firewood.
“By Jove, you are a beauty,” Ethel Braithwaite cooed, her voice emanating from a few steps before Charity.
Charity blushed. “You are too kind, thank you, Miss. I am Lady Charity.”
“You shall soon be the Duchess of Axfordshire from what I hear,” the lady chuckled. “Aye, a great beauty. You’ll suit him very well indeed. For all that scarring, I’ve always said he has a handsome face. That voice as well. Oh! What comfort that voice has brought over the years. You should see the way everyone in the village turns when they hear his voice approaching.”
“I confess a weakness for his voice,” Charity said softly. “It is something I like very dearly about him.”
“Here, sit down, my Lady. There’s the chair, just behind you.” Miss Braithwaite took her arm and helped her to the chair, clearly picking up on the fact she was blind. Unlike some of the other tenants who had been shocked and confused, unsure how to handle her, Miss Braithwaite took it in her stride.
“These are for you.” Charity held the basket forward. “I wished to introduce myself to all the tenants and bring gifts.”
“Ah, kind as well as bonnie. Aye, you’ll make a good duchess. Thank you.” Miss Braithwaite took the basket from her. Two stools creaked and Charity judged both Miss Braithwaite and Isobel had sat down again. “I knew His Grace would marry. I knew all this gossip about him being a hermit forever was a lie. You see, my Lady, I’ve always observed something.
“I believe those that have good and adventurous hearts when they are young, still hold onto that their whole lives. Aye, things can happen, scars can change us, and I don’t mean scars on the skin, but on our hearts. But that boy was always a strong one.” Miss Braithwaite laughed good-naturedly, clearly overjoyed.
He was a hermit? For how long?
Charity was learning more and more about her husband-to-be, so much so that she hung onto the lady’s words.
“I have already observed him to be very caring indeed,” Charity assured the lady, thinking of how he had caught her when she fell in the storm, and how he had rescued her from her house.
“He is like his mother, see. Ah, bless that girl, Mary. She was a kind soul too. Same eyes, just the same between them,” Miss Braithwaite whittled on as the sounds of tea being prepared echoed around them, with water starting to bubble on a fire. “She was a most attentive duchess. I still remember clear as day the way he would stick by her arm as a child when she would visit the good old folk in Axfordshire. Could never separate the two. So unfortunate the way he lost her. Though, I suppose, it was unfortunate the way he lost them all.”
All? Lost all of whom?
More and more questions were being raised as Charity sat there, silently, her hands folded on her lap. Soon enough, a teacup was pressed into her hands.
“Thank you,” Charity said softly. “Tell me more of the former duchess. What was she like?”
“Loving,” Miss Braithwaite said with a wistful tone. “Quite doting too of her son and the late duke. It is why when tragedy befell, her poor good heart struggled with it. You see, the duke got his kindness from his mother, his integrity from them both, and his strength from his father. It is what has allowed him to go on all these years, I am convinced of it.”
What on earth is going on? What is it I do not know? Rather, how much do I not know?
Charity was feeling more and more lost. She turned her head and Isobel must have seen in her eyes some amount of desperation, for she spoke quickly and changed the subject.
