The Duke's Accidental Wife (Dukes of War Book 7) (18 page)

If he allowed her to chip away at his armor so that he became closer to her, he could lose respect in the eyes of everyone else.

Both paths risked something he dared not lose. But only one path was the right one. The proper one.

“I’ve decided to name him Francis,” she said hesitantly, her smile finally starting to wobble. “M-may we keep him?”

“No,” he said flatly. He leaned over and scooped the little beast up into his hands. “He looks more like a Jasper.”

He threw himself to the floor between his wife and Mrs. Havens and let the puppy gnaw a hole in his waistcoat.

Chapter Nineteen

It wasn’t until Ravenwood had worked through luncheon without a single interruption that he realized there hadn’t
been
any interruptions for weeks.

The maids were still cleaning his office—there was not so much as a speck of dust upon any surface—but he had not actually glimpsed a single mobcap.

He crossed to the bell pull and gave the sharp double-tug that indicated he wished a quick tray of easy-to-consume-at-one’s-desk food to be brought to his office. Yet he did not immediately return to his chair.

Yesterday, when the arrival of his cousins had interrupted Katherine’s explanation of the items in her Egyptian salon, he had been shocked to realize an entire fortnight had passed since he’d last had the opportunity to converse with her.

’Twas now occurring to him that they wouldn’t even have had those brief moments, had he not finally taken her up on her invitation to visit her in her half of Ravenwood House.

Parliament was the culprit. The House of Lords, the blasted Coinage Committee. Meetings, missives, drafting bills. Everyone needed something from him every second of the day. He was constantly tugged in a thousand different directions.

Except by his wife.

What had she been doing in the weeks between the Grenville soirée and his cousins’ noon visit? He assumed working on her arts society or waltzing in the parlor with his butler, but the truth was, Ravenwood had absolutely no idea.

The door eased open and a footman stepped in bearing a silver tray. “Your meal, your grace.”

Ravenwood motioned toward his desk.

The footman set down the tray and moved silently back toward the door.

Ravenwood retook his seat, then paused. “John?”

The footman turned toward him. “Yes, your grace?”

“Where are the maids assigned to this corridor? I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Yes, your grace.” The footman cleared his throat. “Her grace rescheduled all the staff covering your office to work evenings instead of days, so as not to bother you while you are working. The same responsibilities are being accomplished. They’re simply being handled while you are away from your desk.”

Ravenwood swallowed. How incredibly…
thoughtful
.

Katherine had gone well out of her way to ensure he had all the uninterrupted privacy he desired for his duties and his poetry.

It had worked so well that Ravenwood hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t thanked her when he’d had the chance.

Hadn’t even carved out a full hour of his time to give her in return.

“Where is her grace now?” he asked the footman.

John shook his head. “Can’t rightly say, your grace. When she’s not studying Lady Amelia’s journals, she’s usually shadowing one of the staff and taking notes.” He lifted a shoulder. “Can’t imagine what she finds to put in her journals that Lady Amelia hadn’t already written in hers.”

Ravenwood stared at him. “Her grace what? She has Lady Amelia’s old journals? There must be dozens of them.”

“Sixty-two,” the footman agreed. “We carried them up.”

Ravenwood shook his head. “Why would she want them?”

“She’s memorizing them,” the footman explained. “Each shift takes turns quizzing her from the volumes pertaining to our duties. Her grace is a right quick study,” he added with obvious pride. “Memorized the ones pertaining to this corridor in her very first week.”

Ravenwood’s mouth fell open. “I can understand her grace wishing to acquaint herself with the management of this estate, but my sister’s extensive journals were an obsession, not a requirement. Why would my wife wish to read them, much less memorize them?”

“Because Lady Amelia has everything memorized,” the footman answered simply. “Everyone knows she was a stupendous mistress—you’ve said so on many occasions yourself. Her grace believes she must do the same in order to be the kind of mistress you desire.”

“I don’t need her to be my
sister
,” Ravenwood spluttered.

The footman stared at him blankly. “You didn’t tell her grace to send for the journals?”

“I did not.” Ravenwood ran an unsteady hand through his hair as guilt assailed him.

Of course he hadn’t told her to send for the journals. He hadn’t told her anything.

He hadn’t even seen her.

While he’d been slaving over parliamentary duties…or writing poetry…or relaxing in his garden, Katherine had been killing herself to learn every aspect of his estate.

Simply because she wished to please him. To be a duchess he could be proud of.

His throat grew thick.

Whenever he got overwhelmed or needed a break, he simply left his office.

Kate’s office, on the other hand, was every inch and every corner of Ravenwood House.

There wasn’t a single room to escape to that didn’t have pending duties, corresponding journal entries, servants, history, details and schedules she would feel expected to know and manage and memorize.

He had spent the past fortnight irritated with his useless compatriots in the House of Lords.

She had spent hers trying to be someone she was not.

He had been wrong about marriage turning his world upside down. The compromise hadn’t disrupted his life one whit.

It had only upended hers.

“John,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I’ve changed my mind. Please return this tray to the kitchen, and have them prepare a picnic instead. I will take it by the front door.”

The footman retrieved the silver tray without question and disappeared down the hall.

Ravenwood stepped out of his office and closed the door firmly behind him. He was not the only one in need of an occasional visit to a private sanctuary.

Katherine didn’t even have one.

He strode from the west wing to the east wing in search of her. She was not in her chambers or in her parlor. He did, however, find Mrs. Havens in her guest quarters, playing with the puppy.

He sketched a bow. “Where is Katherine?”

Mrs. Havens glanced at the clock on her mantel. “Half past two. She must be on her way to the laundry. Today is ironing day for bedlinen.”

Ravenwood rubbed his nose. From the sound of it, even Mrs. Havens had read those cursed journals.

“Bring Jasper,” he ordered and spun back toward the corridor. “We’re going to find her.”

Mrs. Havens scooped the puppy into a basket and hurried after him. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Something is about to happen.” He led the way to the laundry. “This family is going on a picnic. Right. Now.”

He found Katherine before a roaring fire, hauling an iron from the flames with a large hooked stick.

“
Duchess
,” he barked, his chest tightening at the sight. “Please step away from the laundry.”

She leapt back, startled. It was impossible to say whether the flush on her cheeks was due to his unexpected arrival or the infernal heat from the blaze.

He took her arm and all but yanked her to safety.

His first impulse was to yell at her. To shake her. To tell her never again was she to be leaning so close to a fire that the puffed sleeves of her linen day dress still carried the scent of smoke.

The purple smudges beneath her eyes stopped him.

If she spent every shift immersing herself in the inner workings of Ravenwood House, when on earth did she sleep?

She
wasn’t
sleeping, he realized. She was working harder than any of his servants. Harder than he himself. She was spending every hour of every day here in the trenches or up memorizing journals.

For him.

He kissed her. Right there in front of the laundry maids, in front of Mrs. Havens and the puppy, out in the open where anyone might see. He kissed her because he needed to. Because he needed
her
.

And then he dragged her to the front door so he could pick up their picnic basket.

“What are we doing?” she stammered as he towed her out the door. “Where are we going?”

He fished the brass key from his pocket and placed it into her hand. “To my garden.
Our
garden. We’re having a picnic.”

A smile brightened her tired eyes. “I love picnics.”

He swung her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way, ignoring the bang of the picnic basket against his side as he walked.

She was tired, he told himself. Carrying her was practical. Snuggling her close so he could press frequent kisses to her hair, her nose, her forehead…

He did it again just because he could. Because he liked to kiss her. Liked how she felt in his arms. Liked that she carried the key to his garden. And the key to his heart.

Only when they reached the gate did he set her back on her feet.

Katherine slid the key into the lock and grinned over her shoulder at Mrs. Havens. “You’re going to love this, Aunt.”

Mrs. Havens gasped in delight as the gate swung open to reveal his wild, colorful paradise.

Ravenwood set down the picnic basket and tried not to look too pleased.

This time, he hadn’t been nervous about showing it to someone new. He hadn’t even thought about it. Bringing his family here simply felt right.

He opened the basket and shook out a large blanket for the three of them to sit on.

Jasper had already discovered a butterfly amongst the cherry trees, and was merrily bounding about the tall grass and sea of flowers to give chase.

“Have you had luncheon?” Ravenwood asked as he prepared a plate.

Katherine’s blank expression indicated she had not.

He filled the plate even higher before handing it to her. “Eat.”

“Thank you,” she said, but waited until he and Mrs. Havens also had plates before turning to hers.

He was famished. Bread and cheese had never tasted so good in his life. The wine and fruit were like ambrosia.

He was happy to see his wife also eating with pleasure, but angry with himself for making her feel like the only way she could be appreciated was to enslave herself to the perfect management of his household.

“No more memorizing,” he ordered.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“My sister was an excellent mistress to Ravenwood House. She’s also barmy for memory pantries and cross-referenced guest lists. You do not need to be Lady Amelia. I don’t
want
you to be Lady Amelia. I want you to be Katherine.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “That’s who I married.”

She shook her head. “You married a hoyden, not a duchess. I’m not what you wanted or needed. But I’m trying my best to—”

“Sweetheart.” He touched his hand to her face. “I like you just as you are. You don’t need to become anyone else for me to be proud of you.”

Her eyes widened and shimmered. She blinked rapidly, then threw herself into his arms.

He lay his cheek atop her head and held on tight.

She was only partially right. When they’d first been compromised, neither had been what the other wanted. But she was definitely what he needed.

He had married the right woman after all.

Chapter Twenty