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Had I said something wrong?

He replayed his words in his mind and could find nothing offensive in them. A party needed organizing. Dresses needed to be acquired. Invitations needed sending. Olivia was a duchess and therefore had duties. It was all perfectly straightforward. Why, then, did he have the distinct impression that he had somehow disappointed her?

James resisted the urge to ask. He had never been skilled at deciphering emotions, particularly when those emotions were his own, and he had even less confidence when confronted with Olivia's. Instead, he reached for his wine.

Whatever troubles her will pass.

She had never struck him as a woman who allowed herself to remain unhappy for long.

"There is another matter," he said after a moment, turning toward her. "Tomorrow I will be gone for the next two days. I have tenants to see and several land holdings on the other side of the county requiring my attention." He placed his glass down carefully. "I expect the duchess to keep things running in my absence."

Olivia finally looked at him. "Of course," she said, with a polite smile that somehow felt colder than silence. "I will."

James nodded, satisfied that the matter was settled, although an inexplicable discomfort remained beneath his ribs. He could not understand why the evening felt so strained. He had invited them to dinner, arranged for Olivia to be introduced to society, promised to provide the necessary households for the invitations, and ensured that she and Louiza would have proper gowns. By any reasonable measure, he was fulfilling his obligations.

So why does Olivia look as though I have failed her?

The third course arrived, consisting of roast meats, game and various savory dishes, but conversation dwindled after James's announcement. Servants quietly cleared the plates and brought fresh ones, yet the clinking of silver seemed louder than usual in the silence.

Louiza attempted another question about the surrounding countryside, but even that conversation soon faded. James found himself struggling to think of anything to say that did not involve estates, tenants, money, or duties. He was not a man who cared for polite conversation, and he had never needed to be charming at his own dinner table.

When the final savory plates were removed and the servants prepared to bring dessert, James glanced toward the clock. He could not endure another half hour of this peculiar tension, particularly when he had no idea how to repair it.

"I am afraid I must excuse myself before dessert," he said, rising from his chair. Olivia and Louiza both looked toward him. "I must prepare for the next two days of travel."

Louiza offered him a polite smile. "Of course."

James nodded. "Please enjoy the dessert without me. I am certain it will be better company than I am tonight." He intended the remark as a small attempt at humor, but neither woman laughed, and the silence that followed made him wish he had said nothing at all.

He bowed slightly and left the dining room, his footsteps echoing along the corridor. Yet as he walked toward his study, James found himself thinking about Olivia's expression rather than the journey ahead. He had no idea what he had done wrong, and the fact that he cared enough to wonder irritated him more than it should have. He had married Olivia to fulfil a purpose, not to become entangled in her moods, expectations, or feelings. That was what he told himself, at least, as he closed the study door behind him and tried very deliberately not to wonder whether she was disappointed because she had wanted him to stay.

Chapter Eighteen

James spent the morning riding across the Glenmore estate, and the further he travelled from the manor, the more his mood settled into its usual hard-edged calm. He preferred the land to drawing rooms, tenants to titled gentlemen, and problems that could be solved with money or labor to problems involving feelings. A roof could be repaired. A boundary dispute could be settled. A poor harvest could be planned for. People were considerably more complicated, particularly one woman who had somehow managed to occupy his thoughts since the moment he had left the dining room.

He pushed Olivia from his mind as he rode toward the first tenant cottages, telling himself firmly that he had work to do. The cottages sat in a neat row beneath a low hill, but James's sharp eyes immediately caught the trouble. Several roofs were sagging, and one had a section of thatch missing altogether.

He dismounted before the cottage belonging to Ross, tying his horse to the fence as the farmer emerged from his doorway.

"Your Grace," Ross said, wiping his hands upon his trousers before bowing awkwardly. "I did not expect you today."

James glanced toward the roof. "You should have expected me. That roof looks ready to fall upon your head."

Ross gave a nervous laugh. "It has held together this long."

"That is not an argument in its favor." James stepped closer, examining the damaged thatch. "How long has it been like this?"

"Since the last storm, Your Grace. I meant to repair it, but the cost of materials …"

"You have children?"

Ross lowered his eyes. "Four."

"Then you will not be spending your money repairing the roof." James turned toward him. "You will spend it feeding your family."

Ross stared at him. "But, Your Grace …"

"No argument." James pointed toward the damaged section. "You are my tenant and this is my duty to tend to. How much timber do you need?"