“Silence? Do you really think that woman has a silent bone in her body?” Brandon challenged. “She will use your money on ledgers and everything she considers sensible. Then, she will venture to lecture you on propriety and how you deal with your assets. You replaced a delicate flower with a thistle!”
What?
Cathy knew she might not be dainty, but she was not an ogre. Far from it. She also knew this marriage was supposed to be in nameonly, but she would not have a rake badmouth her on her own wedding day.
“Enough, Brandon,” Tristan snapped. His face now darkened into an undeniable fury. “There is no point in us discussing this further. Kathleen Quinten is now Kathleen Radcliffe. Whatever happens in this marriage, it will be my business, not yours.”
That was when Cathy decided to put a stop to this discussion.
She did not just open the door. She slammed it against the wall, creating a distinctive groan. All her life, she had schooled her features to create ‘Miss Priggish,’ the marble defense against the world that could not accept her.
She saw Tristan clearly before he registered her. He stood with his chest heaving, his cravat loosened, perhaps from frustration. It reminded her of him in different stages of undress, but she was not there for that.
“Your Grace,” Cathy said coolly.
The new duchess tried not to look at the empty glasses of brandy. She met her husband’s gaze directly, instead.
“I believe it is time to bid our guests farewell. They will be wondering why the Duke of Baxter disappeared from his own wedding breakfast,” she continued. “Well, I suppose if you are finished with your deliberations.”
Brandon’s mouth was hanging open when he saw the woman he had just called Miss Priggish, among other things, standing before him, with calm rage and a straight back. Tristan, on the other hand, merely squinted at his bride.
“Yes, of course. We were finished anyway,” the Duke replied.
“Splendid,” she said dully, as she turned on her heel without looking back.
Chapter 10
Brandon was wrong.
It had been three days since Cathy went home with him to Baxter Hall, but he had not seen her shadow unless they passed each other in the corridors. His wife apparently was not enthused to hover around him.
He told himself it did not matter.
He was a fool.
Brandon’s words had been rattling around in his skull since the wedding breakfast.
‘She scowls most of the time. A thistle.’
Tristan now wished that he had slapped some sense into Brandon for speaking of his wife like that. What Brandon had failed to understand, what Tristan himself was reluctant to examine too closely, was that he had seen what lived behind that scowl. He had felt it against his lips. In the library, when he kissed her. Against the chapel wall, when she forgot to be Miss Priggish entirely.
He did not want to think about that.
What he wanted was for his wife to conduct herself accordingly. That was all this irritation amounted to. Practicality. The preservation of what remained of both their reputations. Nothing more.
He did not miss her company. That would be ridiculous.
On the fourth day, the Duke found himself eating breakfast alone. He was used to the silence, but knowing now that he had a wife made the silence all the louder. If he had married Miss Longrove, she would have been prattling about the events of the Season she wanted to grace with her presence.
But no, he had to eat his eggs and bread while listening to the clock ticking three rooms away.
“Where is the duchess?” Tristan asked the butler, Henderson, unable to contain himself anymore.
Henderson bowed politely before responding neutrally, “Her Grace has departed early this morning, Your Grace. In fact, she left at first light of dawn.”
Tristan frowned. “At first light of dawn? Why? Where would she go?”
“To her family, Your Grace. She mentioned something about... managing the transition. I believe she is staying with Lord and Lady Marlow and her sisters.”