Page 38 of Unbound Duchess

Ellen nibbled worriedly at her bottom lip. She sat on the ground in the garden, watching as her new handmaid walked back to the house and cold rain began to descend in harsh droplets from the charcoal gray clouds above. She missed Sarah and worried about her every day. Laurence had promised her that he would rescue her and Jacob if he could, but as with everything else, he had been silent.

Lily had confessed that it was Laurence who commanded her to take Ellen’s measurements secretly as she helped her dress each morning. The handmaid must have been skilled; being able to eye up the length of sleeves and widths of bodices without a measuring tape. It would also explain how her older dresses had suddenly seemed to fit better. The woman must hold great skill with fabric and needles.

Ellen shook her head, veering off the mental path that was taking her toward her handmaid’s secret skills and back toward the original thought: That it was Laurence. Laurence who had commanded her to go to the Modiste with said measurements and colors and fabric recommendations so that the new wardrobe awaiting her upstairs could be made. He’d gone to the care of clothing her. Yet, he had not spoken to her in five days.

Ellen scowled at the predicament, not at all sure of what to think of her new husband’s confounding behavior.

“Perhaps I was foolish to think the kiss was something more than a brief moment of passion,” she muttered to herself as she began to clip away the last, tired-looking sprigs of lavender around her. “Perhaps it was not passion at all, but instead comfort.”

They had been discussing loss, and she had heard of trysts starting between two people who suffered from such.

Her head began to ache with the swirling thoughts and confusion, and with the last bit of lavender cut, she tossed the shears into the half-filled basket and lay back. Raindrops, cool and harsh against her heated cheeks, began to splatter against her face as she looked up into the swirling, darkening clouds. The rain was going to come down heavier soon. She was sure of it. Perhaps even a bit of lightning would fork the sky, and thunder would make the surrounding trees tremble.

It was time to go inside. To save herself from the worst of the storm. Yet she did not move. Instead, she continued the study of the clouds, relished the harsh coolness of the wind and rain, and let herself relax into the earth beneath her, even as the wetness of it seeped into her gown. She would have to get up at some point, hold her head high and resume her role as duchess and survivor—but not yet. Not quite yet. She just wanted a few minutes more.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“How are they faring?” Laurence asked, rubbing at the calluses on his knuckles.

He was restless. He had been ever since he stepped out of Ellen’s room five long days ago.

Geoff stood, proud and tall as usual, in front of Laurence’s desk. If he noticed Laurence’s agitated state, he did not show it.

“Very well, Your Grace,” Geoff answered. “There is a woman in the village that has a talent for poultices. She has been attending to our… ‘guests’ every day, and their bruises are already nearly gone.”

Laurence gave a curt nod of approval.

“And their spirits?” he asked next.

Only the slightest hint of concern flashed in Geoff’s eyes before his gaze settled back into his usual detachment.

“Getting better,” Geoff explained. “The first few days, the guards watching over them reported that they slept and ate very little. Jacob was constantly at the door of the cottage, leaning his back against it as if someone was going to break in and take them at any moment. Sarah supposedly cried quite a bit.”

Rage licked at Laurence’s blood, urging him to reach for it and give in to its need for vengeance. He began to rub at his knuckles harder, the calloused skin from boxing beginning to give way to his harshness.

“But now?” Laurence urged.

“During the last two nights, they have both seemed to be able to sleep. Though the guard says he still hears screams in the middle of the night. Night terrors, I would presume,” Geoff answered.

“Jesus,” Laurence muttered, pushing his tense shoulders against the back of his chair. “What did he do to them?”

“I can only imagine, Your Grace,” Geoff replied somberly.

Laurence gave a curt nod, casting his eyes to the window as a fork of lightning flashed through the dark gray clouds.

“Another week then,” he decided aloud, turning his gaze slowly back to the man who was much more than his driver. “Make sure they continue to have everything they need. Food, water, clothing, medicine.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“And add another guard. Tell them about it too. Perhaps knowing that they are protected will help them sleep better,” Laurence added.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Thunder rumbled from above. Low at first, but with each passing second grew louder until the glasses on his drink cart started to clink. It drew Laurence’s attention to the window once more.

“You may go, Geoff. I will not need your services for the rest of the day. You may retire for the night,” Laurence offered.

He exchanged goodbyes with Geoff, and once the driver, who was more than his driver, had gone, Laurence stood and walked to the window.