His Three-Day Duchess. Laurie Benson
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months, she had been telling herself that everything would be fine. That she would find a way to get back some of what she felt was hers, like the use of this house. But now, standing in her favourite room at Stonehaven, with its new marble chimney piece and mouldings, she now saw that the world had gone on without her for these past few months and there was no going back to the way things were. It was too late for that. Nothing in her life would ever be the same. She was a creature of habit and moving forward through all this change was terrifying.
‘Thank you for coming here with me. You have been nothing but kind and patient. You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? If not Mr Alexander changing the house, then some other things would be different.’
‘I suspected the servants would bar you from entering. I had hoped to save you from that humiliation. That’s why I suggested we go to my home in Bath instead. I love you, Elizabeth, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Living with Skeffington was punishment enough for one lifetime.’
Lizzy turned and scanned the room once more. He had done an admirable job. The reproductions in the room were of very high quality. You would almost think they were made a very long time ago. If this room were in anyone else’s home, she would have said that she liked it. But not here. Not in Stonehaven.
‘Let’s finish our tea,’ Lizzy said with a sigh. ‘I only wish we didn’t have to have it in my Wedgwood cups.’
They walked back to the sofa and settled in.
‘I think you are right,’ Lizzy said after taking a long, slow sip from her cup. ‘I think we should go to Bath. There is nothing left for me here.’ She was proud of herself for being able to hold back the catch in her throat.
‘You will find your place, Elizabeth. All is not lost. You were able to make a home for yourself here in Stonehaven. You will find a way to do that at Clivemoore.’
It certainly didn’t feel as if she would be able to do that at the moment. She had spent only a few weeks at Clivemoore while she was married and she had found the old house rather dark and gloomy. It wasn’t the kind of place that inspired happy thoughts. It certainly hadn’t felt like home. And it was a far journey from Clivemoore down to London or to Aunt Clara in Bath. She had never bothered to learn much about the gentry in the area. Would she even have things in common with any of them?
‘I’ve spoken with Sherman, my man of affairs, and instructed him that I’d like to use the money that I inherited to purchase a small town house in London and use the income from Clivemoore to support me.’
‘Why is this the first I am hearing of it?’
‘I’ll tell you more about it on our way to Bath. I’d like to take a short look around to see what else he has changed before we leave. I can think of no reason I will ever be invited to return. I only wish the last time I had seen this place hadn’t been in the middle of winter with all the snow on the ground. I would have loved to walk one final time through the gardens when everything was in bloom.’
Her only solace was that she wouldn’t be seeing Mr Alexander again.
Lizzy walked through the public rooms of Stonehaven with a heavy heart. She would miss this place. Peeking into them felt as if she were saying goodbye to an old friend. Short of chaining herself to the banister of the main staircase, she couldn’t think of one thing to do that would make Mr Alexander understand how much she wanted to live here.
She had considered asking to sit down with him to have a rational conversation to once more suggest they switch houses, but she knew he would view her need to live here as somewhat irrational. He was a man. If she discussed her desire to reside close to her family and friends it would sound like sentimental drivel to him and she was not about to let him know how truly alone she was feeling since her sisters had got married. She was a duchess. Sharing her feelings with him was beneath her position.
As she walked along the corridor of the first floor of the house past the rooms that held so many memories, all was quiet and still. It was as if the structure was waiting to be filled with the sounds of laughter and excited chatter. Those were the sounds that had reverberated around these walls when Lizzy was there with her sisters and Aunt Clara.
When she entered the library, she sat on the window seat that her younger sister, Juliet, would often curl up on to read on rainy days during the years she lived with Lizzy after their parents had died of consumption. In the breakfast room, she ran her fingers along the round table where she would often share meals with Aunt Clara and Juliet. In the silence of the room, she could still hear her aunt’s voice explaining the virtues of a strong cup of tea to start the day. And when she entered the conservatory, she still felt the pain in her heart from the time she held her older sister, Charlotte, in grief as she told Lizzy that she received word that her husband, Jonathan, had died during the Battle of Waterloo. They were everyday memories and some life-changing ones, as well, but they were the times that reminded her that in her horrible marriage without love she wasn’t completely alone. There were people who loved her and cared about her and valued her. Now she would no longer walk these halls and enter these rooms to be reminded of that.
She trudged further down the corridor and stopped at the closed door of the Duke’s study. Her husband had very rarely spent any time at Stonehaven. He would customarily visit the house twice a year to meet with his steward and inspect the house and grounds for himself. When he was in residence the door to his study would always be closed. All other times, the door to the room was left open. Even though she knew that Mr Alexander was probably inside with Mr Finley, the sight of the closed door made her muscles tighten as if she was anticipating Skeffington throwing it open and berating her for some minor faux pas. She could still picture his wrinkled lips, his yellowed teeth and the spittle that would form in the corners of his mouth when he would yell. The only consolation to leaving Stonehaven and finding a new house in London was that she would never have to look at that door or be inside that room again.
The next room was the Blue Drawing Room. When she tried to turn the door handle and go inside, she was surprised to find the room was locked. Why would he bother locking it? There was nothing of real value inside. Did he fear she would steal a deck of playing cards on her way out of the house? Or perhaps he believed she was inordinately fond of the Meissen dogs that lined the carved cream-coloured mantel of the fireplace?
The man really was a mystery. All that she knew about him was what she had been told by Lord Liverpool and Mr Nesbit. After Skeffington had died, they had informed her that his nephew, who was his presumptive heir, had also died two months prior in a riding accident. The ducal seat was to go to a distant cousin of her late husband and it had taken great pains to finally track Mr Simon Alexander down somewhere in Sicily. She didn’t know why he had been there, or how long he had been staying there. No one really seemed to know.
What she did know was that he had not returned to England for almost six months after Skeffington had died and the delay meant that for almost six months she was a woman without a home—until the will was read and she learned the remainder of her life would be lived out in the far north of England, away from everything that was familiar to her.
When she reached the armoury, she was relieved to discover it had remained unchanged. As she walked inside, she immediately recalled the sound of Juliet’s laughter the summer they decided to take fencing lessons with Monsieur LeBatt. Skeffington had decided to spend that summer at his ancestral home and there was no chance that he would be venturing down to Dorset in the heat. It felt like a form of rebellion to take the lessons and she found they helped to release some of the anger she felt towards her husband and towards her deceased parents who had arranged the marriage.
The four suits of armour that had belonged to Skeffington’s ancestors still stood sentry in the corners of the red room, gleaming in the late afternoon sun that was streaming in through the long windows. Ancient broadswords and ceremonial swords were hung on the great expanse of wall opposite the fireplace and the small