Page 25 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

It shouldn’t make any difference what Marce did with her time at Hadlow Estate or whom she chose to spend it with. Actually, Tobias was doing Rowan a favor by keeping the woman occupied and out of his way. He should thank his friend.

So why did Rowan have the overwhelming urge to follow the pair and demand that he be included in their outing?

An excursion between his counterfeit wife and his best friend…there were at least a dozen things more pressing and worthy of Rowan’s time. Namely, restoring some semblance of order to the garden he’d destroyed during his moment of madness.

Chapter 11

Marce eased into a calming sway as her horse navigated the trail beside Lord Cresthaven, the silence between them not one of discomfort but rather of a mutual friendship that allowed moments of quiet without the need for idle chatter. She found this most soothing. The man had a knack for knowing the right moments to lift her spirits and when she needed time to think. This was one of those instances.

The differences between the two lords had never been as apparent and contrasting as they were now.

If she’d known Rowan’s state of unrest, she never would have sought him out in the gardens.

Cold, calculated, and confident.

Those were words anyone would use to describe the duke.

He had been none of those things when she happened upon him earlier.

His unpredictable outburst and scattered ramblings had terrified her far more than the arrogant, poised lord she’d known all these years. There was something comforting in routine and predictability—and something altogether disconcerting about their encounter in the garden. It seemed not an inch of Rowan was under his control.

Yes, the duchess had spoken the previous evening of her desire to till her own garden, but that was the murmuring of someone who had no other option but to sit idly by as others tended to her treasured space. The area hadn’t been in as much disarray as Rowan claimed—at least until he entered it. No servant had been negligent in his or her duties.

So, what had caused Rowan’s aberrant and erratic behavior?

Her first thought had been that he’d somehow found out about her decision to end their arrangement, but she’d spoken to no one about her plan. Trusting another was no easy feat for Marce. No one would know of her intent until she spoke with Rowan about it—even the duchess would learn about her deceit second-hand.

Beside her, Tobias hummed, his deep tone lulling her and pushing all her worries aside.

Closing her eyes, she allowed the breeze to wash over her as she took in the clear, fresh air. While some spoke of the odd scents to be found in the countryside, Marce favored the smell of open landscape more than the stifling, dense, ash-filled air that hung heavily over every inch of town. The mingling aromas of cooking meats, baking pies, and the pungent odor of cleaning solutions and waste were enough to send her senses into utter turmoil.

Yet here, in Kent, she could take in the scents on the breeze, each independently identifiable. A single flower in bloom during the spring months. The dense, earthy aroma of freshly tilled soil during the fall. The blessedly satisfying smell of recently picked wild berries just before the heat of summer waned. It was why she’d decided that her next home would be on the cliffs bordering the ocean or deeply nestled within an open meadow, surrounded by fields of wild blossoms.

Perhaps her association with Rowan hadn’t been completely negative. She’d at least learned, with concrete certainty, where she’d spend her future—or at least where she would not.

She did not wish to be embroiled in the hustle and bustle of life in London, boxed in on every side by the ton who watched their counterparts for any hint of scandal or impropriety. She desired to live off the land and utilize what it produced to sustain her.

There would be no hanging about the fringes of a crowded ballroom as finely dressed men and women flitted across the dance floor as was her due as the daughter of a marquess, but country gatherings held in open stables and attended by hardworking, loyal townsfolk.

And she’d certainly not live off the kindness of her younger siblings—staying at their homes, invading their private moments, and depending on them for her basic necessities.

No, Marce was the one who cared for those in need…she was not less fortunate, nor deserving of her siblings’ pity.

Once she was settled and her new home prepared, she’d again help those in London who needed her. Women and girls abused by those who should care most for them: fathers, husbands, and brothers. There was a day, not so many years ago, when Marce’s own sibling, her half-brother, had tossed Marce, her mother, and Garrett out onto the cold, lonely, cruel streets of London without a farthing to their names and only the clothing on their backs. It had taken several months for her mother to gain access to the money set aside by Marce’s father to help his widow in case of his death. In that time, they’d lived off the kindness of others.

It was a debt Marce would repay every day of her life, as long as she was able.

Perhaps, one day, her eldest brother, Benton, now the Marquess of Buckston, would seek her or Garrett out to make amends for his deplorable behavior. However, if he were anything like the majority of the men she’d come into contact with over the years, he would never stoop so low as to give his younger siblings even a single moment’s thought.

“You look like you would greatly benefit from a healthy tumbler of scotch.” Tobias paused, and Marce wished she could forget everything that weighed her down and just enjoy their outing. “I mean, as a proper lady, you would probably find a glass of sherry more to your liking. We can return to the manor if you wish.”

She longed to be anywhere but Hadlow, yet she was drawn to the house as if the tides swept her in that direction. No matter how hard she fought against it. All things she could not—dared not—share with the earl, no matter the familiarity they’d grown accustomed to. His role was to entertain her, keep her busy while in Kent…not to be her confidante or companion. It was likely Tobias paid such close mind to her at Rowan’s insistence. Tobias was to distract her. Keep her from saying or doing anything that would jeopardize their ruse.

All these years, she’d been glad for it. Truly, if she thought about it, Tobias knew more about her than her own siblings, despite her and the earl only seeing one another a few times a year. Had she cast him into the role of her lady’s companion?

“Lady Harw—“

“Marce, simply Marce,” she sighed. “How many times must I request you address me as such?”