clearly leaning towards dandyism with fair hair and plump apple cheeks, doffed his high-crowned hat. This was a man she had not met before, she was sure, yet he regarded her with a puzzled frown.
‘My cousin, Your Grace,’ the Duke said, his voice full of ennui. ‘Percy Hepple. He was not at our ball.’
None of his family had been at their ball.
The plump fellow, his shirt collar impossibly high and his coat straining at the seams, bent awkwardly in the middle. ‘Good day, Coz.’ He frowned. ‘Though may I say you look vaguely familiar? Must have seen you at somewhere around town.’
Julia’s blood turned to ice. Her only other public appearance had been on stage at Mrs B.’s auction. Fortunately, the fellow seemed to lose interest in her and almost at once turned back to Alistair.
‘Now I am in town again, Your Grace, I’ll look for you at your club. I’ve a mind to challenge you to a game of piquet and recover some of my losses.’
Her stomach sank. More reason for her husband to leave home and hearth every night. She kept a smile pinned to her lips and hoped her dismay did not show.
‘I doubt you can afford the stakes at my table,’ the Duke said, his voice arctic. Was he always so unfriendly?
An awkward silence fell, during which Beauworth gave each of them a distinctly piercing stare.
‘It is a beautiful day for a ride—’ she said.
‘I must be getting along—’ Hepple said at the same moment.
‘Yes,’ Beauworth said. ‘Run along, Hepple. Thank you for your company.’
Another awkward bow and Hepple rode off.
‘Do you go to Sackfield Hall any time soon?’ Beauworth asked, his gaze still on Hepple, his mouth curled in distaste.
‘I had planned to go in a couple of weeks,’ her husband said.
Julia swallowed a gasp. He had said nothing of this to her. Her glance shot to Alistair and he gave a slight shrug that told her nothing.
The Marquess smiled rather like a cat that had spotted a dish of cream. ‘You will bring your wife to visit us, Duke, or my Marchioness will want to know why.’
Julia waited, breath held, half expecting Alistair to say she would not be going with him.
‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘I will send a note when we are in residence.’
The Marquess nodded and turned to Julia. ‘We are no more than five miles from you as the crow flies and normally, we would ask permission to call on you, Your Grace, but with young children underfoot...you will forgive us for not venturing forth.’
‘Congratulations on your growing family,’ Julia said, a slight pang in her heart, envy for the Marchioness she had not yet met. It was unlikely she would ever conceive when she hadn’t after eight gruelling years of marriage. She ignored the feeling and crushed the tiny tendril of hope that a younger, more virile husband might succeed where an old man had not. The fact that her husband never came to her bed didn’t help, but the doctors had been adamant she was unsuited to conception.
The recollection of their harsh words made her chest squeeze, but she kept her composure. ‘I shall look forward to making your wife’s acquaintance.’
‘She will be thrilled to have someone nearby close to her own age. Up to now she has been surrounded by dowagers and ageing matrons. Now if you will excuse me, I have business requiring my attention before I head home.’ He gave her another elegant bow, nodded to Alistair and rode off.
Julia knew better than to carp at her husband for not telling her his plans to remove to the country. She knew now, after all.
‘About our removal to Sackfield Hall,’ she said. ‘Do you have a specific date in mind?’
‘Lewis will give you the details.’
Lewis, his amanuensis. Apparently it was his secretary’s job to inform her of His Grace’s wishes. She bit back a sharp retort. This morning had afforded a ray of hope for improvement in their relationship. It would be foolish to ruin it with words spoken in irritation. This fragile beginning needed careful nurturing. And time. ‘Very well, I will speak to Mr Lewis upon our return.’ She managed to say the words without gritting her teeth and felt proud of her forbearance.
As they turned their horses towards the gate, an unpleasant thought crept into her mind. Perhaps he had not intended that she would go with him and had been driven into a corner by Beauworth’s assumption.
A chill invaded her stomach. Had he planned to take someone else? A mistress, for example? ‘Was it your intention that I remain in town while you visited your estate in Hampshire?’
She regretted the words the moment she spoke them, but it was too late to call them back.
‘Did you want to remain in town?’
The tone of his voice said he didn’t care one way or the other. Dash it all. ‘A visit to the country would be pleasant at this time of year.’
He didn’t react.
They headed home, the silence between them becoming impenetrable. Every time she thought of something to say, she discarded it as being too bold, too weak sounding or just plain ridiculous. While the Duke had not shown himself to be the sort of man to strike his wife for impertinence, she did not want to make him angry.
Bah. Such cowardice. She did not know who she wanted to kick harder, herself or him.
They arrived back at the stables without having said one word.
* * *
Julia went in search of her husband’s secretary. As Duchess, she must have some duties to perform in regards to their removal from town. She also wished to know exactly where Sackfield Hall was located.
‘Ah, Grindle,’ she said, when the butler appeared in answer to her ring. ‘Where will I find Mr Lewis?’
‘In his lordship’s estate office, Your Grace.’
Another room in this monster of a town house she had never heard of. ‘And where will I find the office?’
‘Would you like me to take you there, Your Grace?’ He frowned. ‘His Grace is not at home at the moment.’
She knew that. He had set out on some errand or other; she’d seen him pass the drawing-room window. ‘Lead the way, please.’
Grindle bowed and set off.
Sometimes being a duchess had its advantages. People did not question your requests, never mind your orders, though she had noticed a faint wrinkle of concern in Grindle’s brow as he turned away. Apparently, His Grace not having left instructions to the contrary, he had decided there could not be any harm in showing her into the omnipotent presence of His Grace’s amanuensis.
Stop it, Julia. Sarcasm was unbecoming, even in the recesses of her own mind.
Mr Lewis was an important person
