Anita had never been so cold in her life. It wasn’t just her bad leg that was stiff. Her entire body felt that if she moved anything, even a mere inch, it would break in two. Despite that, if she could move them a mere inch, she would. She tried, but not even her fingers would move so she could release the reins.
The man who had offered help, who looked similar to the one who was already unbuckling the harness from Clod, had climbed up on the step for the driver’s seat. ‘Here, let me help you,’ he said while gently unlacing the reins from between her fingers.
Embarrassed by her inabilities, she tried to explain, ‘I g-guess I—I’m ch-chilled.’ The cold, or perhaps fear now that she’d arrived, was settling in fast, making it difficult to talk.
‘Understandably so.’ With her hands free of the reins, he grasped both of her arms. ‘I’ll help you stand up, then get down to the ground.’
She pushed with her good leg, forcing her bottom off the seat, but her bad leg was numb and that knee buckled. She emitted a tiny screech at the pain and at how her bottom landed back on the wooden seat.
One of his arms went around her back, the other slid beneath her knees. ‘I’m going to lift you down,’ he said. ‘You’re practically frozen stiff.’
She hadn’t been carried since she’d been a small child, and couldn’t be now. That was not how she wanted to arrive at Redford. The Duke could be watching out of a window, and... Maybe that would be best. Then he’d know right off that he’d made a mistake.
The man’s arms were as solid as wood, and he hoisted her off the seat as if she didn’t weigh more than a feather, then he climbed off the step without putting her down.
‘Th-thank you. I—I c-can w-walk,’ she said with effort, praying her bad leg wouldn’t fail her.
‘You need to get warmed up as fast as the others,’ he said, already walking towards the house with her still cradled in his arms. Aunt Tilda had carried her after the accident while her leg was healing, but after a time, Uncle Jerome had put a stop to it. He’d said that her cousin Matilda was younger than her, and walking, and that she should be walking, too.
She hadn’t been able to walk. It had hurt too much, so she’d started to crawl, but there, too, Uncle Jerome put a stop to it. Said that she had walked before the accident and that there was no reason she couldn’t again.
If there was a point that she could remember when her determination became strong enough to push her onward, it had been then. Though she’d had to walk on the side of her left foot, and still did, she’d forced herself to do it, through the pain, and had continued to push herself to walk, and never shed a tear.
She had to do that again now. Force herself to walk and to talk through the chattering of her teeth. ‘P-please put me d-down, sir,’ she said as they entered the house. ‘I—I can w-walk.’
‘I will put you down, Miss Crawford, after I carry you up those stairs and into a bedroom, where you’ll have the privacy to get warm.’
She had purposely kept her gaze off him and continued to not look his way. The inner heat in her cheeks, which were still burning from the cold, was from the mortification of having to be carried into the Duke’s house.
‘That is your name, is it not?’ he asked. ‘Lady Anita Crawford.’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said, while climbing the stair-steps with ease. ‘I am Myles Wadsworth, the Duke of Redford.’
Mortification didn’t just stay in her cheeks. It washed over her entire body. A body that was growing warmer by the heat emitted from his, no doubt, because she didn’t stutter when saying, ‘You’re him.’
‘Yes, and you’re her.’
A response wouldn’t form, for she was her. And he was him.
‘Welcome to Redford,’ he said.
She began to shake, to tremble.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
She couldn’t speak. Her teeth were chattering non-stop. It could be from the cold weather, or fear, because she truly had never felt so hopeless in her life. And she’d had a hopeless life for a long time.
He carried her down a long corridor and into a bedroom, where maids were waiting with blankets to wrap around her as soon as he set her on the bed.
‘We’re filling a warm bath for her, Your Grace,’ one of them said.
He touched her cheek softly with one hand. ‘You’re in good hands, Anita.’
Vocal cords couldn’t freeze, so with sheer will alone, she made them work. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘You have permission to call me Myles,’ he said, then turned about and left the room.
Anita didn’t have time for even a smidgen of relief, because one of the maids was pushing aside the blankets and the hem of her skirt, exposing her boots. Although both of her boots were very old and very worn, one looked normal, with less wear and tear, while the other was severely misshapen from how she walked.
Having warmed up considerably already, which she still believed was mostly due to the heat of Myles’s body as he’d carried her, she was able to move and quickly covered her boots with the blanket again. ‘Please, can you check on Joshua and Olive? My driver and my maid? See how they are doing?’
‘They are being assisted into hot baths, just like you,’ an older woman said while entering the room through the same door that Myles had exited. ‘We have to get all of you warmed up. It’s a dreadful day for travelling, and I’m so glad you’ve arrived so we don’t have to worry about you getting here.’
The woman was older, but not old, with dark brown hair and dressed in an elegant burgundy gown with a lovely white-and-gold broach pinned at the base of her neck. ‘I don’t want anyone to worry,’ Anita said, sure that this woman wasn’t another servant, although she carried a tray with a cup and a pot with steam coming out of the spout that filled the room with the scent of fresh brewed tea.
‘I’m sure you don’t, dear. That’s simply what mothers do, and that is who I am. Myles’s mother. Mary Wadsworth.’ She set the tray on a table beside the head of the bed. ‘While your maid is being taken care of, Sheila and Claire will see to your needs. If there is anything you need, you just tell them.’
‘There’s not,’ Anita replied. ‘I’ll be fine by myself, thank you, though, very much.’
‘My dear, child,’ Mary said, her brown eyes filled with compassion. ‘Your dress buttons down the back and is wet, we need to get it off you.’
The wet wool cloak covering her dress was open, showing the bright blue dress with no buttons running down the front. ‘Perhaps I could use some help.’
She hadn’t ever had help of any kind, other than Olive during their three-day journey, and even though her foot was unsightly and she was ashamed that others would be subjected to it, she determined that perhaps it would be best for Mary Wadsworth to see it. Then she could tell her son what a mistake he was making.
The maids were swift yet gentle in their assistance, and Mary was kind as she encouraged Anita to drink not one but two cups of the hot tea.
Practically before Anita realised it, she was soaking up to her neck in a hot tub of water. Being immersed in water always made her leg feel better, but a hot bath wasn’t something she’d been able to indulge in very often. Though she bathed regularly, by the time she’d carried enough hot water up the stairs to her bedroom at Brunswick, then climbed into the tub, the water had chilled considerably. Since she’d turned eighteen and her uncle had determined her unmarriageable, she was not allowed to ask the servants to wait on her as they did Matilda and Irma, as well as her aunt and uncle.
She hadn’t minded. The servants had enough to do, and she would much rather help them with the chores than sit around. Inactivity made her leg stiffer.
Claire, who was the shorter of the two maids, with shiny black hair, glistening blue eyes, and a cute button nose, used a lovely smelling soap to wash her hair and then applied a sweet-smelling oil that made ringlets form where there had only ever been fuzz.
The fuzz would return once her hair dried, it always did, but that was the least of her worries.
Once she was warmed through and through, Anita left the tub with the help of Sheila and Claire, who had to have noticed her bent foot and twisted leg, but made no comment or sign of being appalled by it. She shouldn’t be surprised by that. As servants, they would have been trained not to say or react to practically anything.
Sheila explained that the clothes in Anita’s trunk were still too damp and cold to wear and that others had been found for her. The under things were unlike the ones she’d removed. These were made of silk and not mended or threadbare, and the gown was velvet, the greenish-blue colour of a dunnock’s egg, with delicate crocheted white lace. There was even a pair of matching slippers.
‘I can’t wear those,’ Anita said, knowing she would ruin them in a mere a few steps.
‘Your boots are too wet to wear,’ Sheila said, sliding the slippers on her feet, over the silk stockings she’d already slipped on and secured with lace garters.
The slippers felt heavenly compared to her boots. Like she was barefoot, which had always been easier for her to walk, but whenever she’d been discovered being barefoot, it had been as if she’d committed the crime of the century.
‘I just used a couple of combs to pull your hair back,’ Claire said, running a brush to the very ends of Anita’s hair, ‘so it can dry thoroughly. I’ll fashion it for you later, before the evening meal.’
Anita could hardly believe the person in the mirror was her. Especially not her hair. It still hadn’t started to fuzz, which was highly unusual. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking from one maid to the other. ‘Thank you both so very much for all of your help.’
‘You’re very welcome, my lady,’ they both replied.
During her bath, Sheila had left and returned with the news that Olive and Joshua were doing fine; therefore, Anita wasn’t surprised when Sheila left the room again.
Anita was ready to leave the room, too. She was anxious to see for herself just how her companions had faired. Though achy still, due to the weather, her leg was much better and she held no worries about managing the stairs. ‘Could you tell me where I would find my driver and maid?’ It felt odd calling them that, but she was doing her best to sound somewhat refined.
Claire didn’t answer, simply looked at the door that was opening. It wasn’t the one Sheila had exited into the corridor through, nor was it the one that led to the bathing chamber. This one was on an adjacent wall. Anita hadn’t noticed the extra door, because the room was so lavish, so beautifully decorated in a soft greens and yellows, that there had been too many other things to notice.
Such as the four-poster bed, the tables and chest of drawers that were made from dark brown wood that shimmered in the light coming in through the tall windows. The drapes, bedcovers, pillows and chair cushions that were all covered in the same fabric with tiny yellow flowers and green leaves. The large woven rugs beside the bed and in front of the fireplace filling the room with heat were green, and the paint on the walls, which was not cracked, was yellow.
She noticed the door now because Myles stood there. Something inside her turned a somersault. Maybe her stomach, maybe her heart, it was hard to say, but it was in that vicinity, below her neck and above her hips.
His dark brown hair was parted on the side, and a portion of it flopped over his forehead at a striking angle, right above his eyes, which were as dark as his hair. His features—nose, mouth, cheeks, chin—were clearly defined, clearly masculine, but there was also a softness to them, which added to his attractiveness.
She’d never met so many men that she truly had others to compare him to, but doubted there were many as handsome.
He was tall, too, and wearing a grey suit, with black boots that came up to the bottoms of his knees.
‘May I escort you downstairs?’
Startled by his question, as much as by her own realisation that she’d been staring at him, eyeing him up like he was a horse she was checking over, she balled her hands into fists to stop their trembling. ‘I—I do not wish to impose upon you for that, Your Grace. If you could just tell me where I might find my maid and driver, I’d appreciate that.’ Having never had the opportunity to speak with someone of his standing prior to today, she felt tongue-tied and completely out of place.
‘After being warmed, and provided dry clothes, they are being fed,’ he said, stepping all the way into the room. ‘I will escort you to the kitchen to see them for yourself, then I will escort you to the dining room, where you too shall be fed, and introduced the other members of my family.’
There was that somersault again. It was definitely her stomach.
Myles felt a sense of wonder as he crossed the room. Round as coins and surrounded by sooty lashes, the eyes that looked up at him were the most amazing shade of silver he’d ever seen. More than that, they took on the hues of the colours around her. Earlier they’d had a tinge of blue to them, now it was a soft greenish blue, the shade of her dress. Her hair hung in corkscrew ringlets, down past her elbows, and it too had a silver tint to it. Not the shade of older hair, nor was it all over. Most of her hair was a soft brown colour, the shimmering here and there were strands that looked as if silver thread had somehow been weaved into the curls.
Her face was oval-shaped, with a delicacy he couldn’t explain, but made a mental note to ask his mother about a cream for her cheeks, which were red and most likely chafed from the weather.
All in all, this woman was far from unattractive, and he questioned what sort of ruse Jerome Crawford was attempting to pull off by calling Anita homely. In fact, he was questioning if she was Brunswick’s niece or if the man had sent someone else in her place. Giving his throat a quick, smothered, clearing cough, he asked, ‘Shall we?’
Though hesitant, she nodded.
He waited as she slowly rose off the stool in front of the dressing table, wondering if Brunswick’s claim of her walking with a limp was a ruse, too.
Myles drew in a silent breath at the anger he’d felt at how Brunswick had tried to convince him to consider marrying one of his daughters instead of Anita. The man had claimed she wasn’t fit to be a duchess, that she could barely walk, and when she did, it was unsightly. It had been years, not since he and Wesley used to get in fisticuffs when they were young lads, that he’d felt the urge to punch someone in the nose. He’d wanted to punch Brunswick that day. Not in the nose but in the mouth, forcing the man’s cruelty back down his own throat.
She took a step, but as she took a second one, she stumbled slightly, grasped the edge of the dressing table. ‘I—I’m sure my uncle, or perhaps your mother, told you about my leg, my foot.’
Her voice had been as soft as a whisper but also held conviction. ‘My mother did not tell me anything,’ he replied honestly. He had not seen nor spoken with his mother since Anita’s arrival. Taking care of others is what his mother lived for, and she’d been fully occupied with the three arrivals needing immediate care.
‘She saw it when they took my boots off,’ Anita said as softly as before, but with her chin up. ‘So did the others. Though no one commented on it, they can’t be blamed if they did. It’s unsightly. I was in an accident when I was young, and it never healed properly.’
The softening inside him was familiar. It happened whenever he saw something injured or mistreated. He was like his mother in that sense. Whether it was man or beast, or even a tree or bush with a broken branch that would scar it for ever, he always wanted to help. He also noticed the way the maid kept her head down, never looked their way, as she walked to the door and opened it for them.
Not having noticed which leg had caused Anita to stumble when she’d tried to step on it, he asked, ‘Which leg is it?’
‘My left.’
Stepping up beside her, he held out his arm, bent at the elbow. ‘Then I shall walk on your left side. I can only imagine how exhausted you are after such a journey, and I would like to offer you my arm, if you wish to lean on me.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ she said, then added, ‘Your Grace,’ as if his title were something she’d just remembered.
He gently lifted her arm and hooked her hand on the underside of his bent elbow. ‘Then I shall simply escort your downstairs. We have a lot of things to discuss, and we will, after we go and see how your servants are faring and after eating the noon meal with my family.’
She squared her shoulders and nodded. ‘Very well.’
He let her start off walking and kept his pace slow, matching her uneven gait. It was there, but slight, he may not have noticed it if she hadn’t been holding on to him, and he could feel her sway with each step.
Once they entered the corridor, he could feel her speed up, her body sway more, and wondered if her foot was so painful that she was in a hurry to get off it again. ‘Does it pain you to walk?’
‘Not usually, it’s just—it’s just what it is. I’ve grown used to it.’
‘Is it uncomfortable?’
‘Awkward is how I describe it, but as I said, I’m used to it.’
‘Is it more awkward when you walk fast? Or slow?’
‘Fast. I tend to trip more often when I have to hurry.’
Slowing his footsteps even more, he said, ‘Then we will take it slow. We’re not in a hurry.’
They walked nearly to the end of the corridor before she looked up at him. ‘You’re making a mistake, Your Grace. I don’t know the details of the agreement you made with my uncle, but I’m not the kind of person who could ever become a duchess. I’ve had very little formal education, and my only skills are cooking, cleaning and sewing. I doubt those are things that you’d expect from your duchess.’
Disagreements to her beliefs formed in his mind, but he made no comment. Their discussion on that subject would come later. When they came to the top of the staircase, he asked, ‘Are stairs difficult for you?’
‘No, not as long as they have a banister.’
The staircase before them was wide, and he side-stepped, positioning them so the banister was near her right side. ‘Then we shall walk on this side. You can hold the banister with one hand, and my arm with the other.’
‘Doesn’t this prove to you that what I just said is true?’ she asked after they’d descended down a couple of stair-steps. ‘I’d be an embarrassment to you, to your family. Just like I’ve always been to my family.’
He was no longer able to keep his comments to himself. ‘The only embarrassment that I glean from your statement is that of how you’ve been treated. Your uncle, your family, should be embarrassed by that, by their behaviour, not by you. The agreement I made with your uncle was simple. He owed me a gambling debt, and I told him that I’d call it even for your hand in marriage. If you agreed.’
She paused momentarily, stared up at him with a frown. ‘But he needs money. Aunt Tilda said that she refuses to ask her sister Rainie for any more, and their daughters won’t gain suiters without a dowry.’ She shook her head as she stepped down another step. ‘Forgive me for repeating things aloud that I’d accidently overheard. That was terrible of me.’
‘Honesty is not something to be ashamed of.’ In his mind, it proved she had more scruples than her uncle. Yet, at the same time, an odd inkling formed in the back of his mind that told him that she hadn’t agreed, which would explain why her uncle and other family members had not travelled with her to attend the wedding. Again, he concluded that their conversation needed more time than they had right now.
They stepped off the stairs and he turned them towards his left. ‘The kitchen is this way. In the future, if you’re ever looking for me, you go in the opposite direction. At the end of the corridor behind us in my library, where my mother says I spend too much time. If you’re looking for her, she’s often to be found in the front drawing room. Again, behind us, but the first room on the right. For my sisters, you’ll find them upstairs, second floor, the opposite direction from your room, studying, with their tutor. At least that’s where they should be most days. And my brother, whom you may have briefly seen outside upon your arrival, when he is here, he’ll usually be in the stables.’
‘Stables?’
The hint of excitement in her tone was the first he’d heard since he’d lifted her off the coach’s driver’s seat. ‘Yes. We have a large stable.’ There were actually several stables, and one more still being built.
‘How large?’ she asked.
There was definite enthusiasm in her voice, and that made him chuckle.
‘I apologise,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘You weren’t,’ he said, seconds before he understood why she’d apologised. ‘I wasn’t laughing at you, Anita, I was chuckling because I’m happy that you would want to see it. I’m very proud of our stables. We raise English thoroughbreds, the best in the country.’
‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a thoroughbred.’
‘You will.’ He refrained from saying when that would happen, because it was still snowing, and he’d wait until the pathways were clear before taking her out to the stables. ‘What other animals do you like?’
‘All of them,’ she said.
‘Then you’ll like it here,’ he said. ‘We have three cats who roam the house, and you’ll meet them eventually. On their terms. That’s how cats are, and there is Roscoe, currently our only dog, who is in the kitchen begging as we speak, I guarantee that. There are also several cats in the stables, and there are barns and sheds that house horses, cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, ducks, peacocks, geese—’
‘Peacocks?’ she asked.
‘Yes. And peahens. We have a total of six of them.’ Due to Wesley’s statement that he couldn’t rescue people like he did animals, and not wanting her to think the same, Myles didn’t elaborate as to how he’d seen a peacock and peahen in a pen in London a few years ago that had appeared to be on their deathbeds that he’d purchased and brought home. Slowing his steps to a stop, he gestured towards the door. ‘This is the kitchen.’
She nodded, but as he put his hand on the door, she touched it, stopping him from pushing it open. ‘Do people eat peacocks?’
‘Only the gardener.’
Her frown deepened. ‘Why only him?’
He laughed and touched the tip of her nose, much like he would one of his sisters when teasing them. ‘He hasn’t eaten one, but threatens to each time one gets in his vegetable garden.’
The smile that flashed across her face was so natural, so brilliant that it nearly took his breath away. It was also a moment before he remembered the task at hand and pushed open the door.
The kitchen was filled with people and sound, which became muted as they walked into the room. Her maid and driver instantly rose from the table and hurried across the room.
The maid gushed, singing her praises about the kitchen, which he thought was slightly odd for a lady’s maid. Her driver touched Anita’s arm and asked after her condition, almost with a fatherly concern, before thanking her for saving his life.
Roscoe had rushed towards them too, but with a single look, Myles had stopped the big shaggy-haired sheepdog from bumping into Anita. The dog sat less than a foot away and patiently waited for a greeting from her, which he got.
Myles was already observant of her every move, but the way she held on to his arm tighter as she bent enough to pet Roscoe’s head, told him that bending at the waist was uncomfortable for her. He wondered just how severe her injury was and if anything could be done that might make her more comfortable.
Anita was grateful that neither Joshua nor Olive showed any ill effects from the mishap, and though it meant meeting the rest of his family, she was thankful when Myles escorted her into the dining room, where she was seated at the large wooden table with carved lion-feet legs.
Her leg wasn’t hurting, but the silk stockings inside the velvet slippers were slippery, and they didn’t have a sole like her boots, so there was nothing to keep the velvet from sliding on the polished wooden floors. She’d had to hold on to his arm tighter than she’d have liked to keep her footing.
She hated having to depend on anyone. She knew her challenges, lived with them every day and rarely felt sorry for herself, but there were times when she was tired. Tired of having a body that made doing the simplest things hard.
Myles, though, was nothing like she’d expected. She wasn’t overly sure exactly what she had expected, but not someone as kind and compassionate as him. She’d never had someone help her down a stairway, ask her about her injury, ask if it hurt and talk to her at the same time as if she were genuinely interesting to him.
He was unlike anyone she’d ever met, and in that sense, she was sorrowful. For him. For how he’d asked for her hand in marriage without seeing first hand that she wasn’t witty or worldly, or anything that a man of his standing would seek in a wife.
Before they’d left the kitchen, he’d nodded at a man, and she assumed that must have been the butler, because moments after she’d sat down at the large table, the rest of his family entered the dining room.
Myles stood beside her chair, with a hand softly touching her shoulder, as if to say she didn’t need to rise as he introduced her formally to his mother, brother Wesley, whom she had seen outside, and his two sisters, Christina and Maria, who were fifteen and fourteen.
They resembled each other, all of them, with their dark brown hair and eyes, and smiles that didn’t fade when they looked at her. Their smiles didn’t appear fake, either.
No one at the table peppered her with questions, which she was sure they must have. Instead, they told her things about themselves and Myles and the family, as if they were sure she’d want to know. Including how she shouldn’t be alarmed if she heard screams coming from outside. That was just the peacocks, which were merely pets.
She found that touching and everything they said interesting, often comical. For they were a lively bunch, laughing and teasing each other, in ways that tickled something inside her. Happiness had been one of those things that she’d long ago tied in ribbon and tucked away, but she felt it sneaking out, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even giggling a time or two. She’d pinch her lips together to stop the smile, and giggle and remind herself to not get too comfortable. It was hard because they were all so nice, and she wasn’t used to that. Not used to any of this.
Unable not to, she found her gaze slipping to Myles more than once, understanding that he wasn’t the only one who was kind and compassionate. His entire family appeared to be, and again, she wished things were different. That she was different, someone who could fit in with this lovely family. She also couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said about trading her for a gambling debt. Why would he do that? Why would Uncle Jerome have agreed to it? Something was not right, and she kept telling herself that the truth was sure to be revealed soon, and it wouldn’t be favourable.
The meal was plentiful, with a variety of foods that had to have been palatable, because when she looked down, she found her plate empty. A lemon chiffon cake was served last. It was so delicate it melted in her mouth, and tasted so delicious that she knew she had one more thing to tie up and tuck away, because she’d never taste something like that again.
She’d never share another meal like this one, either, because one more thing was roiling about in her mind. He’d said if she’d agreed. Agreed to what? The marriage? She hadn’t had a choice. If she had, she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t hold him to any agreement with Uncle Jerome. Couldn’t, because it wouldn’t be favourable to anyone but Uncle Jerome.
The plates had been removed from the table, and their teacups were empty when Myles rose. ‘I’m sure you will all excuse us,’ he said, moving to stand behind her chair.
The family agreed and stated it was wonderful to have her here as Myles pulled her chair back and then stood at her left side so she could use his arm to assist her rising to her feet.
As they slowly walked from the room, with her still holding on to his arm, she’d never felt more self-conscious of her every movement, every sway of her hip, every slip of the velvet slipper on the floor.