Page 21 of A Family Bargain with the Duke

“I did not ask because I expected it to concern me. I asked because you have been frowning at that page since we passed through Kensington, and I find myself curious whether the letter has offended you personally, or whether frowning is simply your customary expression for correspondence in general.”

Julian looked up from the page, something almost like a reluctant smile touching the corner of his mouth before he suppressed it. “My steward writes that one of the tenant families has fallen behind on repairs to their roof. He wishes to know whether I will authorize the expense of new thatch before winter, or whether he ought to wait until spring.”

“And what troubles you about that?”

“Nothing troubles me about it. I have already decided. The thatch will be replaced before winter.” He folded the letter and set it aside. “I’m frowning because it is my ordinary expression when reading correspondence, and I confess I had not realized until this moment that anyone found it worth remarking upon.”

“I imagine a great many people have found it worth remarking upon, Your Grace. They have simply lacked the nerve to say so to your face.”

“And you do not lack it.”

“I have never once in my life lacked it.” Louisa turned back to the window for a moment, then back to him, curiosity plainly winning out over pride. “Tell me about Ashvale Park, since I have only ever seen your London townhouse, and I confess I know almost nothing about the place I am to call home.”

“You have seen more of Ashvale House than most of London’s hostesses have managed in one Season, Duchess. Twice, by my count. And on both occasions, you left having accomplished considerably more than I had in years.”

“That was your townhouse. I have never once set foot on the actual estate, Your Grace, and I find it a rather significant omission, given that I am meant to preside over it as its mistress by supper.”

“A fair point. I confess I had not thought of the distinction as strongly as you evidently have.” Something almost apologetic crossed his face. “There is not a great deal to tell that the house will not show you better than my words could. It dates from my grandfather’s time, though my father made considerable additions to the east wing. The grounds are extensive. There is a lake stocked with trout, though I confess I have not fished it in years.”

“And Kit? Is that where he spends most of his time, or does he prefer the townhouse?”

“Ashvale Park, almost entirely. He has always preferred it to London. The stables there are considerably larger, and he has more room to disappear into, which I suspect is half the attraction.”

I am not nervous, Louisa reminded herself, watching a hawk wheel low over a distant hedge as the carriage trundled on. This is a practical marriage, precisely as we agreed. I have never once required romance to be happy, and I do not require it now, whatever this fluttering in my chest insists on suggesting. I have simply never seen my own home before arriving to live in it, which would unsettle anyone, duchess or otherwise.

She glanced out the rear window. Somewhere behind them, Eleanor would be asleep—or protesting sleep—with Mrs. Finch and the wet nurse in the second carriage. The child had weathered the journey far better than Louisa had expected, which was a comfort she had not realized she needed until now.

“And the household? Who manages it in my absence, and who should I know by name before I arrive and embarrass us both by asking a footman’s name for the third time in an hour?”

“Mrs. Whitfield keeps the house. She has done so since before my father’s death. She runs it considerably better than I could myself, were I ever foolish enough to attempt it.” A faint, dry note entered Julian’s voice. “She will likely have opinions about you within the first quarter hour, and will share none of them with me directly, though I expect I will hear them regardless, filtered through my valet, who hears everything below stairs whether he wishes to or not.”

“I shall endeavor to earn her good opinion then, given how far it seems to travel.”

“I would not trouble myself over it excessively if I were you. Mrs. Whitfield’s good opinion is earned through consistency rather than charm, and I suspect you have consistency enough to satisfy her, whatever else she makes of the rest of it.”

The carriage slowed, turning through a set of iron gates flanked by stone pillars. Louisa’s breath caught at her first sight of the house that was to be her home.

It rose before them across a long sweep of gravel drive, pale stone catching the afternoon light, three stories of tall windows and careful symmetry, flanked by gardens laid out with the same precision she had noted in Julian’s study on her first visit to Ashvale House. It was beautiful, every line considered, every proportion balanced, nothing left to chance or accident.

It was also, she thought as it drew closer, almost unnervingly silent. No children’s voices carried from the grounds. No dogs barked a welcome. The gardens, however lovely, held a stillness she associated more with a painting than a home.

This is not at all what I expected. It is beautiful, but it feels like no one has properly lived in it for a very long time.

The carriage drew to a stop. A small assembly of servants had already gathered on the front steps, arranged with the precision of a household informed well in advance of its master’s return with a new mistress in tow.

As a footman moved to open the second carriage for Mrs. Finch, the wet nurse and the baby, Julian offered Louisa his hand to descend.

“Your Grace.” A woman stepped forward as Julian handed Louisa down from the carriage. She was tall, silver-haired, and dressed in dark sensible wool, her face arranged into an expression of measured welcome. “Welcome home.”

“Mrs. Whitfield.” Julian inclined his head. “Allow me to present the Duchess of Ashvale.”

“Your Grace.” Mrs. Whitfield dropped into a curtsy, precise and correct. When she rose, her eyes moved over Louisa with a swift, assessing thoroughness that reminded her oddly of Julian’s first appraisal in his study. “We are honored to welcome you to Ashvale Park. I trust the journey was not too tiring?”

“Not at all, thank you. Though I confess I am rather behind everyone else in the household, Mrs. Whitfield. I have visited His Grace’s townhouse before, but I have never once seen the Park before today, so you must forgive me if I look at everything with more curiosity than a proper duchess ought to show.”

Something flickered across Mrs. Whitfield’s face, there and gone too quickly to place.

Louisa suspected that she had just said something the housekeeper had not expected a duchess to admit so plainly, and that the housekeeper had decided that she rather approved of it.