“And what about yesterday? I have not seen her in days,” Tristan said, trying to ignore the ticking of his jaw.
“The same, Your Grace. She left early and returned late. You were already in your bedchambers, by then, or your study.”
Tristan placed his fork sharply on his plate. A newly married woman, especially a duchess, should not be spending almost every waking hour away from her husband. If thetoncaught wind of it, the whole thing was as good as a public slap in the face. Baxter Hall had become nothing more to her than a place to sleep. And then she fled back to her family whenever given the chance.
Tristan tried to hold on to the last of his temper. He reminded himself that the transition might have been difficult for her, considering her family’s current circumstances.
However, by dinner time on the fifth day, that patience had eviscerated. Fury made his vision blur. He had been navigating the halls of his own home, his mind caught by the vision of her blue eyes and luxurious brown hair, the same hair she pinned tightly for everyone but him, which he had seen loose. The problem was that he had seen her beyond how people saw her, and now she had been actively erasing that picture. He wanted to confront her. She needed to acknowledge the marriage. She needed to acknowledgehim.
This time, the table was set for two. A steaming hot and delicious meal was waiting on gleaming silver. Four footmen waited to serve the duke and duchess, while the butler supervised. Yet again, he was alone.
“Henderson,” Tristan called.
The butler quickly approached. “Your Grace?”
“Where is my wife? Has she not returned from her visit to her family yet? I had the meal arranged for later so she could join me.”
“Your Grace, she returned about an hour ago,” Henderson replied. “However, she had requested to have her dinner served in her private chambers, expressing the need for... solitude. Apparently, the ledgers at the Marlows and Quintens gave her a headache.”
The ledgers? How is that her responsibility?
He had to admit the mention of ledgers took him by surprise. He had not realized she even knew how to balance a balance sheet. Worse, he did not know that she was so deeply in financial misery because of her father’s irresponsibility. He had unfairly assumed that solitude meant embroidery or a book, or even that she was just being difficult.
“Solitude?” Tristan echoed. “Did she happen to mention me at all? Did she send a message? A duchess should not be dining in her rooms alone, as if she were in hiding or in mourning.”
“I am afraid she did not mention Your Grace at all,” Henderson commented pensively.
“This is unacceptable!” Tristan exclaimed. “She is my wife. She is not a guest, and even guests have to show some sort of respect to their hosts.”
Henderson cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Grace, it is quite touching to see how deeply concerned His Grace is about the duchess’s welfare.”
Tristan’s eyes snapped to him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your concern for Her Grace,” Henderson repeated, his expression remaining perfectly neutral. “It speaks very well of Your Grace’s character, if I may say so.”
“You may not,” Tristan said flatly. “I am concerned about appearances, Henderson. Nothing more. A duke whose wife refuses to dine with him is a duke being made a laughingstock in his own home.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Henderson agreed. “Shall I send word to Her Grace, then?”
“No,” Tristan snapped, rising from his chair. “I shall deliver the word myself. Let us see if that would be enough for Her Grace, then. She will be dining in the hall tonight.”
The Duke took the stairs two steps at a time. He could feel the heat around his neck and the blood rushing in his ears. When he reached her chambers, he did not bother to knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, ready to confront the woman who had so far been avoiding him and making a fool of him in his own home, in front of his own staff.
Cathy was sitting by her small, wooden table. The tray of food set in front of her was untouched. Her brown hair was loose and cascading down her back in such a manner that it made his throat go dry. When she looked up at him, there was a fleeting look of icy disdain before it became a look of complete disinterest.
“Your Grace,” she said calmly. “What brings you to my chambers? I believe I have already made my wishes known to eat in solitude.”
“Is that so?” Tristan asked, stepping into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. “I believe you have forgotten that this is a marriage, and that you must explain why you continue to ignore your own husband in his own home for almost a week.”
“As you can see, Your Grace, I am busy.”
His eyes swept the space and landed on the open ledger beside her untouched dinner tray.
“You are working,” he said. It came out less like an accusation and more like a discovery.
“I have ledgers to balance,” Cathy replied, her quill not pausing.
“Whose ledgers?”