“Mr. Winters,” the duke said. “Show Her Grace to her quarters.”
“At once, Your Grace.” He bowed deeply and then turned and made for the staircase that rose to the second floor. He did not look back to see if she would follow, taking the stairs slowly.
“Are you not coming?” she asked the duke.
“No,” he said. “Mr. Winters will take care of you.”
“Oh…” She blinked with confusion, doing her best not to look disappointed.Or surprised, perhaps. This may not be a love match or a marriage of companionship, but even I had not guessed just how distantly the duke planned on behaving.“That is… I thought you might wish to show me around?”
“As I said, Mr. Winters will take care of you.” His expression was stern, but a shadow passed behind his eyes, which looked like regret. “This is your home now,” he made sure to clarify. “You are free to do as you wish, when you wish it.”
“That is nice to know.”
“I am under no false illusions concerning this marriage,” he continued. “I know what it is, as I am sure that you do. All I ask is that you stay away from the western wing. The rest is yours to explore.”
“What is in the western wing?” she asked immediately.
His face hardened, and his jaw tightened. No doubt he thought to rebuke her, but stayed his tongue.Although why he bothers at this point, I have no idea.“Is there anything else?”
“Yes…” Clara considered, desperate to breach the gap between them even a little. “Will I be seeing you for supper?”
The duke considered the question. Again, there was a fight raging behind his eyes. That desire to say no outright, pushing back against something else. She only wished she knew what on earth he was so concerned with.
“Yes,” he said finally. “Appearances are important, and we should strive to meet them. I will see you for supper.”
“Perfect.” She smiled, wanting him to see that she was grateful. “I am looking forward to –” The duke turned and strode away, cutting her off before she had a chance to finish.
She frowned after him. Despite how necessary this marriage was, and despite the conviction that it was better than a marriage to Lord Ayles or a life spent in a convent, Clara was beginning to have her doubts. She did not expect to win the duke over to her cause, for him to warm to her and wish to spend time with her. But at least, she hoped they might be friendly.
The Duke of Ravencourt. After the rumors I have heard of him, I suppose I should not be surprised.
Mr. Winters was waiting for her at the top of the staircase. He looked frustrated that he was made to do so. When she started her way up, she thought to apologize, but held back as she was a duchess now and needed to act like it. She did, however, smile still, a gesture which went unreturned.
Mr. Winters led Clara to the third level of the eastern wing to her bedroom. It was an isolated part of the castle, and few of the halls they walked through were lit, and most of the doorways they passed were closed. That same sense of foreboding hung in the air with each step taken, such that it was suffocating.
“Are His Grace’s chambers nearby?” she asked Mr. Winters as the silence stretched.
“His rooms are in the western wing,” he answered simply.
“Is that all that is in the western wing?” she pried, her curiosity getting the best of her. “Surely there is more there than His Grace’s bedroom.”
To this, Mr. Winters gave no answer.
Her room was a richly decorated affair, a contrast to the rest of the castle. Rich satin sheets made the four-poster bed. Finely carved furniture adorned the room. And the view from the window was truly spectacular, as it looked over the grounds, stretching for miles to where just now the sun was sinking beneath the horizon. It was a relief, to be sure, as she had worried that she might be led to a cell with a single cot.Nothing would surprise me at this point.
With a few hours to kill before supper, Clara got to exploring. She felt it was dangerous doing so, as the halls were not lit, they wound and snaked through the various towers in a way that was disorientating. And although she lived here and this was her home, she still could not escape the feeling that she was trespassing. Not that there was anything worth trespassing for.
Most of the rooms she came to were locked tight. Those few that were open were draped with sheets, covering everything, dust sitting thick on every surface. She had joked earlier to herself about ghosts living here, but even they would leave more of a presence than what this castle did.
In the end, she found her way outside and into the back garden. Like the rest of the castle, it was a morbid affair filled with empty flower beds, withered hedges, and trees on the cusp of death. But here, she saw an opportunity.
This marriage would not be a happy affair. This home was not warm or welcoming. The year she had before her was sure to be sullen and deadly and most certainly grim. But this garden…I have a good idea where I will be spending most of my time.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as things currently stood, Clara needed to focus on these small victories as she sensed they would come at her few and far between.
Alaric stood by the window of his study in the western tower as he watched his new wife walk through the back garden. She didso with her hands folded behind her back, a determined scowl on her face, and a continual nodding of her head as if deciding something.
It looks to me as if she has found something to keep her interest. Perhaps I should send for supplies? Encourage her to occupy herself as much as possible. Although if I do that, she might get the wrong idea about me. Is it better to ignore her entirely than show any interest at all?
