The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Six

Ernest stared down at the woman’s hands. He had not touched Christiana much, but he knew what a highborn woman’s hands looked like. The woman standing in front of him had hands like those of a servant.

“What did you say?” Christiana asked with an impassive look. Ernest stared at her. Was it his imagination, or was there fear in her eyes?

He repeated his question, turning her hands over in his.

“Pray tell me, Ernest, what is that supposed to mean?” For the first time since she returned, he saw a semblance of the Christiana he knew, with the way she looked up at him imperiously, her chin high. Ernest looked down at her. Was he just imagining things? He barely knew Christiana, after all. And if the woman standing in front of him wasn’t Christiana, then who the hell could she be?

Still, he took hold of her hands. “No, you tell me. How are your hands coarse and unladylike? How are you so dark? How are you thinner?” he asked, more sceptical and confused than angry. He had a feeling he was looking at a puzzle he had no idea how to solve.

Christiana threw back her head and gave one of her mocking laughs. “This is ridiculous. Ernest, who else could I possibly be? My ladylike hands have had a rough go of it since we got attacked. And since our carriage was taken away from us, we had to ride all day long in the wretched sun. And your lovely, pale wife got darker,” she replied, with the mocking smile still on her face.

Ernest’s eyes narrowed. No one could laugh like that except Christiana, but this woman seemed different, somehow. “Why are you thinner?” he asked, not entirely convinced.

“The food at the inn I stayed at was unworthy of the horses. I couldn’t eat much. Once, I found human hair in the pudding served to me, and got sick from it. The living conditions were simply horrible. My bed was a lumpy mess, and I could hardly get comfortable no matter how much I tried,” she replied.

“Why would you stay at such an inn?” he asked.

“It was supposed to be the best in that area. Besides, the next inn was miles away.”

Ernest nodded. He had to be imagining things. The woman in front of him had to be Christiana. She could not be anyone else. But there was something about her that was different, something he could not put his finger on. He sighed. Perhaps he had forgotten what his wife was like after a week apart.

He let go of her. “I am sorry, Christiana,” he said.

“You accused me of being an imposter, Your Grace. Perhaps you are not feeling well. Shall I get the physician? Or perhaps you drank a lot this afternoon,” she continued.

Ernest frowned. Every other reservation he had flew out of the window. This was Christiana, that much he was sure of. No other woman could reach into him and annoy him so deeply. Perhaps she’d merely been shaken by her incident. “Good Lord, nothing is wrong with me. And you know bloody well that I don’t drink in the afternoon,” he replied. All he wanted was to leave the room and not see her for the rest of the day. For a moment, he had felt hopeful that Christiana might have been changed by her incident, but he now knew that whatever change she had gone through was fleeting.

“Now, do you know why I have come to your quarters?” he asked.

“I can only imagine,” she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm.

He ignored the tone. “We are expected to hold a ball to celebrate our recent marriage. As the duchess, you are to help with the preparations. We are to lead the first dance, as is the custom,” he replied.

He saw her face fall. He felt a twinge of pity for her. Christiana did not like customs such as this, he knew. She preferred to hole up in her room, doing nothing. But she was a duchess, he thought, and this came with the role. There was nothing else he could do about it. He did not much like balls himself, but it was tradition. “I know you detest things like this, but it is the custom. It would not do for the Duke of Roxburghe to not hold a ball. And the dance cannot start without the hosts,” he said with a conciliatory look on his face.

Christiana nodded absentmindedly.

Ernest took in a deep breath. He was about to tell her the real reason he had come to her bedchamber, and he had no idea how to begin. He released the breath slowly, watching her. For some reason, she looked deep in thought. Did the thought of throwing a ball upset her so deeply? Ernest could not say.

However, he needed to say what he had come to tell her.

“We’ve been married for a month now, as you know,” he began.

However, Christiana looked like she was not listening.

“Christiana?” he called.

She came to with a start. “Yes, Ernest?”

“I was asking you if you knew we have been together for a month. What were you thinking about?” he asked.

“I would like to keep my thoughts private, Your Grace. But I fail to understand the importance of having been together for a month,” she replied.

Ernest let out a grunt. He had forgotten how insufferable his wife was. “My apologies. Well, I have given you enough time to adjust to your new home. I have taken great care not to intrude upon your presence unnecessarily,” he said.

“Your Grace?” she asked, sounding almost scared. Ernest’s brows furrowed. There was something wrong with his wife today. She had sounded rude and cold in the past, but he had never, ever, heard her sound scared.

“I think it’s high time we start trying for heirs. If I don’t have a child soon, tongue will start wagging. A lot of unkind rumours would fly around town, none of which you would be pleased with.”

“What?” she croaked. Ernest stared at her. Surely, the thought of sharing his bed was not so abhorrent, was it?

A frown creased his brows. “I know you do not want any of this, but this is important. Once we have an heir, I will give you the space you so much desire. I would do my utmost best not to get in your way.”

“Thank you so much, dearest Ernest,” she replied sarcastically.

“I better get going. You should have a rest, my lady. I will see you at dinner,” he said.

With that, he turned and headed out of her room.

Outside, he ran his hand through his hair as he headed for his chambers. He did not know what was going on with his wife, but he knew he wanted to find out. There was something not quite right with her. She had been a little snappish, yes, but it almost felt like she had been forcing it.

Ernest could not tell why he felt that way. Was he so desperate for a mildly tolerable wife he was now seeing things that weren’t there? Or was Christiana changing? Ernest could not tell. All he wanted was a wife he could get along with. If Christiana was becoming that person, it was all for the better.

* * *

A few hours later, Ernest was sitting for dinner with his sister.

The dinner’s first course was chestnut soup. The second course consisted of roasted meat, sweet pies, and tarts. The vegetables were drowned in a rich butter sauce. In the middle of the table, fruits and marzipan were arranged in a pyramid.

Ernest took a bite of the chestnut soup. He had to admit it tasted good. He did not usually like soups, but it was one of Christiana’s favourite meals, and it was her homecoming, after all.

“Where is your darling wife?” his sister asked, as though she’d read his thoughts.

Ernest stared at her. “Rebecca,” he said.

“It’s just a question, brother,” she said.

“She probably drifted off to sleep.”

“What a shame,” Rebecca said. “Eating chestnut soup is the only time she ever seems happy.”

Ernest sighed. “Look, Rebecca, Christiana has been through a lot. At least try to be civil—for my sake.”

Rebecca huffed. “Pray, brother, what has she been through?”

“You heard her tale, did you not?”

“I have never heard of robbers who steal everything a noblewoman owns but leaves them with horses,” Rebecca said, her gaze on her soup.

Ernest stared at his sister. “Are you suggesting she’s lying?”

Rebecca shrugged. “It’s just a fascinating story, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a story,” Ernest said through gritted teeth. “Christiana has no reason to lie about what happened to her. Please be graceful towards her. It’s just a meal. I am certain the both of you can endure it without clawing out each other’s throats.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. At that moment, Christiana entered, followed closely by Mary, her maid.

“Good evening, Christiana. Do take your seat. We have been waiting for you,” Ernest said, forcing a smile.

“Good evening, Ernest,” she replied. Turning to Rebecca, she repeated her greeting.

Ernest raised his brows, surprised. Christiana had never deigned to greet Rebecca before. He had been right. Something was indeed wrong with his wife.

Rebecca responded with a grunt. Ernest sent her a warning look, which she ignored.

“Christiana, I notice you seem to have lost the ring bequeathed to you by my brother. Where is it?” Rebecca asked.

“It was stolen by the bandits who ambushed us on our way home. I would assume they thought it could fetch a pretty sum,” Christiana said.

“I only wish I was there to see the look on your face. The great Lady Gillingham reduced to a fright by a bunch of commoners,” she said, a smile at the corner of her lips.

“Rebecca,” Ernest said through gritted teeth.

“I am glad you weren’t. I assure you, there was nothing funny about the incident,” Christiana said, giving a tight smile.

Apparently, Rebecca was not quite finished. “It seems your double-edged sword of a tongue has really lost its edge. Why, I haven’t heard any good retorts from you all day.”

“That’s enough, Rebecca. Christiana has been through a lot these last few days,” Ernest interjected.

Rebecca looked like she wanted to say something else. But Ernest watched as she sighed and returned to her plate. They ate the remainder of the first course without any incident.

“Mary, please pass the vegetables,” Christiana said, after they had spent several minutes in silence.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mary replied.

Mary reached across the table to take the bowl of vegetables. Ernest did not see what happened next, but he heard Christiana scream and, looking up, he saw she was completely drenched in vegetables.

“Good Lord, I am so sorry. I didn’t notice Mary passing by. Are you hurt?” Rebecca asked. Ernest could have sworn he saw a smile on her face, which was swiftly replaced by a fake look of concern.

“Mary, please escort Christiana to her quarters,” Ernest said, struggling to maintain a calmness in his voice he did not feel.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mary said. Christiana stood up, brushing wet vegetables from her gown as she left with Mary.

Ernest turned back to his sister. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he thundered. He was angrier than he’d been in a long time.

“It was a mistake, brother. Surely I am allowed to make some of my own?” she asked with twinkling eyes.

“That was no mistake,” Ernest said, smouldering. “You wanted to hurt Christiana. She has done nothing but try to be civil to you ever since she came back, but you are intent on avenging past wrongs.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Your wife has been nothing but impolite to me for a month. But you’re defending her because she went one dinner without pointing out the faults in my hair or dress.”

Ernest sighed. “All I’m saying is that you should try to be civil if she’s trying to do the same,” he said.

“I have no wish to be civil to your wife, brother,” Rebecca said. “In a few days, she’ll be back to normal and we shall all be flattened under her waspish tongue. It’s best to get my wins in early.”

“Rebecca, stop being childish,” Ernest said.

“That’s all you and your wife think I am, isn’t it? A pathetic child who cannot get a husband.” With that, Rebecca stood up and stormed out.

Ernest sighed, burying his face in his palms. He had not realised it before, but women were difficult. Ernest would rather get punched repeatedly by a mob than deal with this war between his wife and sister every day for the rest of his life.

He stood up, making his way to his wife’s quarters. For some reason, Christiana had not retaliated against his sister. Christiana before the incident would have seized the bowl of chestnut soup and thrown it at Rebecca. But she had not done anything. Was there something going on with Christiana?

Ernest knocked on the door to his wife’s quarters, still wondering.

“Come in,” Mary said

“Have you cleaned her up?” he asked, taking a step closer. His wife looked a mess. He could see several parts of her skin that were red. It was even more surprising to him now that she had not reacted.

“Yes, Lord Gillingham. I applied an ointment from the apothecary to her skin,” Mary said.

“Well then, excuse us,” he told Mary.

The door closed behind Mary, and he turned to his wife.

“Does it hurt, Christiana?” he asked.

“Not so much anymore,” she replied.

“How do you feel now?”

“I don’t feel too well. I think I need more rest,” she replied.

“I apologise for Rebecca’s actions this evening. I know the both of you don’t get along, but that is no excuse for how she acted. I am also sorry for all you went through. I promise to do all in my power to make the roads safe from brigands,” he said.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said.

Ernest stared at her. He had expected her to fly into a rage, to talk about exacting revenge on his sister. He could not understand why she was so passive. She had not done anything wrong today, after all, and she did not deserve what Rebecca had done. Yet she had not uttered a word of complaint. Had something happened to his wife, besides the incident with the bandits? Why had she changed so much? It was unbelievable.

“I will leave you to rest now. I’m sure you must be tired after today’s events.”

“Well, I did not wager I would get drenched in soup,” Christiana said wanly.

Ernest felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He had never thought of his wife as funny. He had thought of her as many things, but never funny. Perhaps her attitude was not the only thing that was changing about her.

“Goodnight, Christiana,” he said.

Christiana nodded.

He went to the door and opened it, closing it shut behind himself. However, he did not leave immediately. He stood staring at the door.

He did not know why, but something about the new Christiana made him want to spend more time in her presence.