“That would be lovely.”
She saw the Duke’s surprise at her easy acceptance, but he said nothing, following her into the modest farmhouse. Over tea and simple cake, the Weatherbys gradually opened up, telling her about their struggles with the wet spring, their hopes for next year’s planting, their eldest son, who was learning his letters at the village school the Duke funded.
“His Grace’s been right, generous,” Mr Weatherby said. “Reduced the rents when the crops failed, sent the physician when our youngest took ill. Not many landlords would do as much.”
Celine glanced at the Duke, who shifted uncomfortably. “I protect my investments,” he said stiffly.
“Is that what you call it, Your Grace?” Mrs Weatherby smiled. “Protecting investments? When you sat up all night with our Sarah when she had the fever?”
“That was... an exceptional circumstance.”
“Exceptional,” Celine murmured. “Naturally.”
They visited three more farms that morning, and at each one, Celine discovered more evidence of the Duke’s hidden kindness. Roofs repaired at his expense. Seed provided after a bad harvest. Children’s school fees quietly paid.
“You’re a fraud,” she said as they rode between farms.
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Beast of Berkeley Square. The cold, calculating Duke who cares for nothing but control. You’re a complete fraud.”
“I am exactly what I appear to be.”
“You’re a man who sits up all night with sick children and pretends it’s about protecting investments.”
“Itisabout—”
“It’s about caring. About being human. About all those feelings you claim to have locked away.”
He reined in his horse abruptly. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“Caring is dangerous. It makes you vulnerable. It gives others power over you.”
“It makes you real.”
“I don’t want to be real. Real hurts too much.”
The raw honesty of it stole her breath. She moved her mare closer, reaching for his hand where it gripped the reins.
“It also feels too much,” she said softly. “The good parts, I mean.”
He looked down at their joined hands. “The good parts never last.”
“Nothing lasts forever. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth having.”
“Doesn’t it?” he whispered.
Before she could answer, shouts erupted from the farm ahead. They spurred their horses forward, finding chaos in the yard. A barn had partially collapsed, trapping someone inside.
The Duke was off his horse before it had fully stopped, throwing off his coat and joining the men attempting to lift the heavy beams.
“Who’s in there?” he demanded.
“Young Marcus, Your Grace—went in to check the animals just before it came down.”
Without hesitation, the Duke began directing the rescue—sharp, decisive, controlled. But not cold. This was control born of urgency, not detachment.
