Miss Wendy Garren has resigned herself to one last tormented season in the Capital's condemning rich and titled high-society, under the critical and abusive eye of her parents, The Earl and Countess of Follies. At seven and twenty she knows she is t...
Days continued to fly by and Wendy threw herself into the tasks that came with being Duchess of Thornberg, trying to drown herself in the day to day life and forget the circumstances of her life and marriage. She oversaw the care of the garden at the estate and it provided her peace, cementing in her heart as her favorite place of solitude. She continued learning to cook from Mrs. Dubay and was pleased that she no longer burned everything she touched, she saw to the everyday economics of the estate, she wrote often to her sisters, and she still took dinner in her quarters.
It had now been eight days since she had least spoken to or even seen the Duke, he did not care about how little he saw her and he no longer seemed to care what she did around the estate. There were many days in the weeks that passed since Mrs. Fairly's unwelcome visit where Wendy was tempted to stay in bed, sleeplessness had taken a firm hold of her and as she grew more weary her appetite waned as well. She could feel herself getting weaker though she would never admit to it aloud. Mary could do little to hide the bags under her eyes even with the pretty powder her sisters had presented her with at her wedding. Her dresses needed to be laced a little tighter now and she could not stop herself from the bitter thoughts of how happy that would have made Bianca.
Wendy sat in the gardens, she wore heavy and sturdy dark green skirts, the deep pockets made it her favorite thing to wear when she had many tasks to do, and especially to stick the berries that she picked in them. A cream bodice with puffed sleeves that she had rolled to her elbows, the top few buttons that would have brought it tight around her neck were undone, leaving the sides of the shirt to lay over and expose her collarbone, her hair was undone as well, falling in wild curls around her, a few pieces tied back with a black ribbon kept it from falling into her face.
She frowned as she looked down at her skin, it had once been so pale and creamy, but since coming to Thornberg she had taken to being outside more, she loved the gardens most of all and while she didn't mind how tan her skin was becoming she thought maybe she should take more care to not tan, she was a Duchess after all, and though she cared little what society thought of her she did not want to bring any ridicule unto the Duke.
As Rhys walked through the gardens he marveled at how it seemed to thrive even more now that Wendy was tending to it, surely it had done well under his servants but having been told a while ago by Mr. Faron of Wendy's fondness for it, he had seen it grow exponentially. As he turned slightly, his body still hidden behind a tree, he stopped short upon seeing Wendy sat on a wooden swing that was surrounded by bushes, while they would hold berries in the spring and summer, it was quickly apparent that autumn was approaching. It had been the end of winter when Rhys had first beheld his now wife in his brother in law's gardens, gasping for breath as the dimly lit area shrouded her angelic beauty from him.
Now it was who Rhys suddenly felt as though he could not breathe, the setting sun rained down on her as if to proclaim that she was indeed a fallen angel, beauty that could only be directly from the heavens stunned him. She was dressed practically, though she might as well have been dressed in the most fashionable ball gown for how well he thought she wore it. Her collar lay open, the subtle swell of her chest allowing the fabric to flow out before it was tucked in to her small waist, her hair like a curly halo, the rich brown was lighter than it had been at the Capital, and her skin a shade or so darker, surely the result of her time in the gardens and walking the grounds. If he had thought her a beauty clothed in the finery of a Capital's season, she was a Goddess on earth in her simple clothes with the grandness of untamed nature around her.
He felt a tug in his chest, he had noticed like a missing limb when she was absent from the dining table. He had hoped that she would come back, but as days passed and turned into weeks he wondered what he had done to have her avoiding him so. He did not want her to feel pressure to form a friendship with him but he could not continue to deny that how heavily she avoided him was like a dagger twisting in his chest. He wondered again what he could do to prove to her that this marriage could work.
Wendy heard the leaves crunch under his boots before she saw him, her breath catching in her throat as she turned to him suddenly, his black hair waved in the gentle breeze and his gray eyes pierced her like steel as they glinted in the sun. He was dressed as he always was when he worked around the estate or helped with his tenants properties, his white shirt tucked into his dark breeches. A cravat, waist coat, and jacket all forgotten, just his black wellington boots to complete his attire. Her heart throbbed violently against her chest, she had told herself time and time again in the past weeks that she would not want him, Julia Fairly could have him and she could live with that, but the second their gazes locked she knew she had been lying to herself, she wanted to throw a fit, scream and rage at how unfair it was that the first gentleman to ever catch her eye, to ever make her long for something she had told herself she could never have was her husband and yet was also completely unavailable to her. But she wouldn't, she would be the graceful Duchess she was supposed to be. She was all too used to playing a role while the emotions inside betrayed her.
She watched with longing at the way his lips moved when he spoke before it struck her that he was addressing her, she suddenly snapped her eyes up to his and saw the humor dancing around in them "Forgive me, Your Grace." Wendy cleared her throat, looking down at her hands as they nervously smoothed the skirts on her lap "I fear my mind was elsewhere." her cheeks grew pink as he let out a chuckle of amusement. It was not her fault his mouth was so alluring, she wanted to tell him.
"There is a Fête in town today, I thought you might like to go..." The sentence hung unfinished as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly "I'm to judge a pig." He added lamely and he felt the urge to kick himself. Why would she care about seeing him judge a pig?! He wanted to groan at his own stupidity, this was a refined lady of the Capital, one who had earned the respect of not only his household but all of his tenants as well, a learned lady who often busied herself studying in the library, furthering her knowledge in subjects and tasks. He doubted that she would be impressed by a simple town dance.
Wendy blinked once and then again, "You want...me...to attend...with you?" The words me and with you were emphasized more than she had meant to let on and her brows were drawn together in confusion.
Rhys nodded and again hated how he became nothing but a schoolboy in her presence. He was a Duke, had single-handedly raised his younger sister, had grown an estate that many would envy, had fought in wars and stared death in the eye unblinkingly, he was already of the age of six and thirty and yet this blue eyed, wild maned, beauty managed to make him so tongue tied he doubted he could repeat his own name if asked to. "Well" He laughed lightly "you are my Duchess." He wanted her to know, that even if they had been married through uncommon ways, even if they had not courted and made a love match, even if she avoided his presence at all times, she was what he wanted, what he would always want. She was his Duchess in his heart always.
Wendy felt her back stand straighter, his words stabbed at her heart and she felt her eyes burn with unbidden tears. His message was clear to her, She was his Duchess, society would want to see her by his side even if his heart belonged to someone else. She was his Duchess, but not his wife, not really. She was his Duchess, and certainly not his lover. She had a role to play and he expected her to play it.
She donned a forced smile as she stood "Let us go then" as she swept past him, he reached out, his fingers skimming against her own, their hands brushing by each other. She was everything he had ever wanted, she was his, so why did she feel so far from his reach?
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