She thought—just faintly—she heard a reply. But perhaps it was only the wind.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning dawned bright and cold, frost silvering the gardens beyond her window. Celine dressed in her riding habit—deep blue wool that had clearly weathered a number of seasons but was all she possessed—and made her way to the breakfast room.
The Duke was already there, appropriately attired for riding in clothes that managed to be both practical and impeccably fitted. He glanced up from his newspaper, something flickering in his eyes before he masked it.
“Good morning,” she said, taking her seat.
“You look…” He paused, searching for a diplomatic phrasing. “That habit has certainly seen better days.”
“It is what I have.”
“We shall remedy that. I’ve arranged for the local modiste to visit tomorrow with samples.”
“That isn’t necessary—”
“It is. You’ll ride out regularly as Countess; you require appropriate attire.”
“For the week we’re here?”
“For whenever we’re here.” He returned to his paper—though he glanced at her over the top of it more often than he read. “Eat something substantial. We’ll be out most of the day.”
After breakfast, they walked to the stables, their breath misting in the crisp air. Celine pulled her spencer closer around her shoulders.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Invigorated.”
“Liar.”
But he stepped closer, offering warmth without quite touching her.
The stables were immaculate—naturally—everything arranged with the Duke’s characteristic precision. A groom held two saddled horses: a steady mare for her and a magnificent black stallion for him.
“He’s beautiful,” she said, approaching cautiously.
“He’s temperamental. He threw three grooms before I took him in hand.”
“And now?”
“Now he tolerates me. Barely.” He helped her mount, his hands at her waist lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Can you manage?”
“I told you—I ride adequately.”
“We shall see.”
They set out across the estate, the Duke pointing out boundaries and landmarks with matter-of-fact precision barely concealing pride. The first tenant farm lay a few minutes’ ride through countryside so beautiful it made Celine’s chest ache.
“It’s magnificent,” she breathed.
“It’s profitable,” he corrected, but she saw the way his eyes swept the landscape with something approaching affection.
The tenant family—the Weatherbys—were clearly nervous about meeting the new Countess. Mr Weatherby kept tugging his forelock while Mrs Weatherby curtseyed so many times that Celine grew dizzy watching.
“Please,” Celine said gently. “There’s no need for such formality. I’m here to learn, not to judge.”
“Very kind, my lady,” Mrs Weatherby said, relaxing. “Would you care for some tea? It’s not fancy, but it’s hot.”
