more “…I would not encourage you to investigate this unless I was convinced that you are interested in your husband’s well-being and that of your marriage. You were so filled with life and anticipation when you first married. You had such a joie de vivre, and I thought that Windmere returned your feelings.”
“That was so long ago, Sophie, and so much has changed between us,” she said with resignation.
Any hopes she’d had had been eroded by each new responsibility and new duty of being a duchess married to an important peer of the realm. So many depended on him that she’d learned to stand back and become what he needed the most: a wife who understood her place. Now, they were both so changed from the man and woman who’d stood before the rector at Windmere House and exchanged marriage vows. And she was not certain that either of them could go back to the people they had been, even if they wanted to.
“If that were true, you would not be in the least bit perturbed by anything he did or said or did not do.”
Sighing, Miranda stood and walked toward the door of the drawing room. If nothing else, she was curious. Surely it was only that? Gathering up her bonnet from where she had tossed it, she placed it back on her head, securing the ribbons beneath her chin, and tugged on her gloves.
“I will return home and see if he has left yet.”
“A fair beginning. Call upon me if you need any assistance. Anything,” Sophie called out to her as the door was opened.
Sophie had done enough already, Miranda suspected. As her carriage moved through the streets of Mayfair toward home, she began to silently practice the words she would use to inquire as to any difficulties the duke might be facing. It had been so long since she’d permitted herself to ask personal questions of him that she feared even knowing how to phrase them.
And what if the problem involved Windmere’s mistress? Should Miranda simply turn away and let it be? How could she overcome the embarrassment and humiliation of having brought up such a personal concern?
News from the butler, however, gave her all the time in the world. Adrian had left word that he was out for the remainder of the day, would return very late this evening—no need to wait for him—and that he and his valet would leave for Windmere Park at dawn. She could send word of any problems to him there, through his secretary.
How exactly did one ask one’s husband through an intermediary the types of questions she was considering? Miranda spent most of that and the next few days pondering her next move and then decided that, in the proper way of things, a wife did not ask. But she also decided that she would. If there was any chance, no matter how slight, of peeling back the layers and reclaiming the man she’d married, it was worth the risks.
Three days after the duke left London for their estates in the north of England, the duchess received a note from her friend that caused her to send her own polite regrets to Lady Crispin and to the dowager. It would appear that neither the Duke nor Duchess of Windmere would be present for the ball on Saturday next, after all.
Chapter Four
Adrian watched out the window of his study as work on the estate continued as usual. His breathing had eased now, but he’d suffered two attacks during his travel here. Usually, the air felt easier to breathe in the country than in London, where the ash and dust and fog could make it rather uncomfortable. So long as he stayed away from the stables and the gardens, he remained free of those attacks the physicians and apothecaries called “hay fever.” It was the others, the more virulent, breath-stealing ones, that seemed to be on the increase.
The last seven days had been grueling for him—first traveling north to Windmere Park and then the extensive review of all his estate and family documents. If his steward here thought it strange that he should appear and demand to see all the records, he would never say so. They’d ridden to outlying farms, visited the rector in the village that lay on his property, and spoken to many of his tenants. Repairs and some changes to the summer and autumn crops were planned where needed. A larger selection of books was ordered for use by the rector’s wife to teach the children of the village.
The most difficult task yet lay ahead of him. His solicitor should be arriving either this day or the next, and Adrian would review and update his will. Although his title and most of the accompanying estates were entailed, he still had some discretionary properties and funds. He would feel better once those decisions and arrangements were made for everyone who depended on him for support or a living.
Turning from the window, Adrian picked up the glass of wine and drank from it. He’d learned the hard lesson of overimbibing the night he’d discovered his fate. His stomach had remained unsettled for days, and he’d had to stop several times on the road north to empty it rather forcefully. No, he would rather face his future, limited though it might be, with a clear head and a calm stomach.
It would be a few hours until supper even with the earlier country hours, so Adrian decided to walk down to the lake. He mentioned his intent to the butler as he picked up his hat and made his way through the house. Using a side door in the blue drawing room, Adrian followed the path that led away from the house to the larger of the two lakes in Windmere Park.
The sun beat strongly and its heat could be felt, in spite of the cool breezes that moved through the trees surrounding the lake. Seeking refuge from the strongest of its rays, he found a well-spread chestnut and sat down next to it, leaning against its stout trunk. The irony of facing his own impending death, even as every living thing was moving toward bloom and maturity, was not lost on him.
As was his custom, he reviewed the list of unaccomplished tasks left to him on this trip and realized that in his haste to leave the city, he’d not had the latest concoctions made up. The crumpled papers were most likely still in the pocket of his coat, where he’d shoved them the next morning. There was an apothecary of some experience whom he usually frequented some miles away in Newcastle, but also a woman in his own village who had gained some measure of good repute as a healer. Perhaps he would visit her.
Adding it to his mental list, he moved on to the next item. The estate and his personal papers were in order. Everything would be ready for his…demise. Adrian pulled off his hat and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes.
How did one approach this? Never an overly spiritual or religious man, he did not feel compelled to seek out a religious advisor. He trusted that the rector would perform the necessary rites with the solemnity Adrian deserved. When his symptoms worsened and he was convinced the end was nearing, he would speak to the rector about it. But not now.
The matters of the entailed estate were handled, those of his own properties and will would be, and the only ones left were…his family. His mother and his wife.
His mother and his wife.
Shaking his head, he knew there would be no way of avoiding those subjects once his solicitor arrived. Although the estate documents included arrangements for both of them, he would verify the specifics and clarify what each woman could expect for an income and home after his death.
What would become of each of them? The strange thought formed in his mind and he knew that it was the thing that bothered him the most.
His distant, twice-removed cousin Robert would inherit the lands and titles and, since he already had the prerequisite heir-and-a-spare, the dukedom would go on. A pang of regret pierced Adrian then and he tried to discover its cause.
Never meant to inherit, he had come almost reluctantly to the titles and the powers and the responsibilities of being Duke of Windmere. And the
