The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV) (17 page)

Fiona had yet to figure out why Robert
married her. Lady Joanna had said it was his duty to honor and
Fiona knew Robert was a man of his word. But why did he marry her,
only to annul the marriage? It made absolutely no sense. She was
sure he had not thought of the annulment until after the service.
Why then would he go along with his father’s threats?

He claimed he did not love her. For all that
aspect, he barely even liked her. Why keep her around then when he
could so easily dispose of her? Why treat her like a duchess in the
first instance? Wouldn’t it have been easier to settle the account
on her before they returned to London, sought the annulment in
private, and be done with it? No one need know especially his poor
mother, his friends, or his family. Why introduce her to Society at
all?

The man had become an enigma. Fiona decided
to ask him that night at dinner, the reason he married her. Perhaps
he would deign to tell her the truth.

As Robert and Fiona finished dinner, Robert
declared he would retire early.

“I am still not feeling well,” he said. “I’m
afraid you were right and I did take on a chill.”

Fiona rose and slipped her palm across his
forehead. “You are overly warm, my lord. You do indeed need to
rest.” She turned to a footman. “See that His Grace’s room has a
good fire. And a pitcher of water and glass for the night
table.”

She turned back to Robert. “Perhaps Mrs.
Hastings has willow bark in her apothecary cupboard for the
fever.”

Robert rose from the table. “’Tis nothing.
You do not have to hover as if I may die at any moment.” He gave
her a small smirk. “However, you may find that to your every
advantage. You would become a very wealthy woman.”

“Do not joke about the matter, my lord. I do
not wish you dead.” Fiona stepped away from the table and headed to
the door. She turned and said, “I shall speak with Mrs. Hastings
and meet you in your bedchamber.”

Robert lay half-frozen under his covers. The
fire blazed, he could feel the heat, but his body shook as if he
were laying outside in snowfall. Perhaps Fiona was right, he was
sicker than he thought.

There was a small knock on the door. He could
not manage to speak for his teeth chattering. Fiona entered the
room carrying a small tray with a large cotton bag dangling from
her arm. She set the tray on the night table, dropped the bag on
the floor, and began rearranging other objects on the table until
they were to her satisfaction. She wore what was obviously a
flannel nightrail, buttoned to her neck, with a long flannel robe
over. Did she plan to sleep with him wearing
that
?

She placed her palm across his forehead once
again. “Just as I thought,” she said to herself. She prepared a
concoction in the water glass and turned to face him. “You need to
drink this. Are you able to sit up?”

Robert managed a half-leaning position before
reaching for the glass. He took a sip and his lips puckered. “Good
God, you
are
trying to kill me. What is that?”

“Salicylic powder. Had I known you would be
such a baby about drinking it, I would have mixed it with milk as I
do for the lambs. Now drink. If you do not breathe, you will not
taste it.” She stood with her hands on her hips and watched as he
drank it all down in three gulps.

He handed her the glass. “I am not a baby. I
am ill.”

“You are a man, and all men are children when
they do not feel well. Now lay back under the blankets.” Fiona
rinsed out the glass and then dragged an armchair from the hearth
next to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Robert asked.

“I am going to sit with you.” She pulled up
the cotton bag from the floor and took out her knitting.

“Fiona that is nonsense. I am fine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I am
going to sit with you until you sleep, just in case you need
anything.”

“I shall hardly need anything if I am
asleep,” Robert mumbled.

She shot him another look and took up her
needles.

Slowly, Robert began to warm. He was sure the
fire was overmuch for his room, but Fiona did not seem to mind. He
glanced at her every so often, and her eyes would be on the brown
wool in her lap. The click of her needles never wavered, as if they
were part of her breathing, and it gave him a small comfort that
she would care to sit with him.

“Thank you, Fiona,” he said. “It is very kind
of you to stay with me thus.”

“’Twas in the wedding vow, my lord. In
sickness and in health.”

“Still,” he said.

“Close your eyes now and sleep. ‘Twill do you
no good to keep sneaking glances at me. I shall not be going
anywhere for quite some time.”

Robert closed his eyes. Whatever had been in
the glass allowed his body to relax, the chill to dissipate. He
felt his limbs grow heavy, and finally he sank into the dark abyss
of slumber.

He heard the click of the door latch and
opened his eyes. Fiona was not in the chair. He glanced at the
clock over the mantle. Half-eleven! The room was still in darkness,
though he thought he could see light behind the curtains. He’d
slept straight through the night and half the morning!

He raised himself to a sitting position.
Surprisingly, he felt quite well. The magic concoction Fiona had
given him last night obviously worked. Robert swung his legs out of
the covers and stood. He swayed and sat back down on the mattress.
Perhaps he needed to rise a little more slowly.

He walked to the water closet and performed
his ablutions, splashed cold water over his face, a comb through
his hair, and was heading toward the bed when Fiona entered the
room carrying another tray. At the sight of him, Fiona blushed and
looked away. He could not help the only covering he wore were his
drawers. She carried the tray to the night table and set it
down.

“I brought you breakfast,” she said.

“Smells like eggs.”

“That is because they are. Now back into bed
with you before you catch another chill.”

Robert slid onto his bed. “You do not have to
treat me as if I were a child, no matter how old you may think I
appear.”

“It is self-preservation, my lord. If you
should take a turn for the worse, I do not wish the blame to be
laid at my feet.” She smiled as she laid the tray across his
lap.

“I shall write a note forthwith, absolving
you of any repercussions, leaving the world to know it was my own
foolishness that did me in.”

Fiona stood with her hands on her hips. “I
shall retrieve the paper and quill immediately,” she said before
breaking out into peals of laughter.

Robert liked the sound of it, deep and
throaty. He’d never heard it before.

Still smiling, Fiona leaned forward and
slipped her hand across his forehead. “Much better. Perhaps I shall
even let you out of bed this afternoon.”

Swallowing his bite of egg, Robert said, “I
shall be out of bed within the hour. I have several meetings to
attend.”

“I took the liberty of rescheduling
them.”

Robert dropped his cup back on the saucer.
“You what?!”

“I took the liberty of rescheduling them.
Surely, you do not mean to go about after such a fever. You could
very well have a relapse and where would that leave me? Suffering
through another night sleeping in your chair. I am sure I must
protest.”

“Well, I am sure I must protest your meddling
in affairs where you have no business.” Robert set the tray aside,
swung his legs out of bed, and stood. And again he swayed and
hastily sat back down.

Fiona rushed around the posters to help him.
“See. There. You are still ill. Now get back into that bed, and
finish your breakfast. If you would have remained in a rational
manner, I would have told you, I rescheduled your meetings for
tomorrow and none of the gentlemen appeared to be inconvenienced in
the least. Mr. Hardcastle seemed quite relieved actually, said it
would give him the time he needed to go over his accounts once more
before he spoke with you.”

Robert looked up at her as she fussed with
the covers and replaced the tray across his lap. Her good eye held
the puffiness of too little sleep and the bruise he’d inflicted on
the other was shamefully grotesque as the color spread. Perhaps he
should take care of her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “As much as I hate to
admit it, I know you are right. I am not used to having people
hover over me.”

Fiona snorted. “You are the Duke of Cantin.
People hover over you all day long.”

Robert took a sip of weak tea. “Perhaps, but
not in such close proximity. I find your ministrations
disconcerting.”

“Well, I am sorry, my lord, but as I have no
other plans for my day, ministering to your every whim is high on
my list. Now eat. You must keep up your strength.” She spun from
his side, opened the curtains wide, and tied them back.

“’Tis a beautiful piece of land you have,”
she said.

“Yes. I often wonder if that was the
attraction my father had when he bought it. He always loved the
sea, but with so many estates to care for, he did not have much
time to spend here.” Robert tucked into his breakfast.

“That is a shame. I would love nothing better
than to spend all my time here.” Fiona came away from the windows
and placed two more logs on the fire. “In our library in Peebles,
my father had a landscape of a wild ocean. Rather dark I might add,
a huge ship breaking up over the rocks. It fascinated me. Before we
return to London, I should like to go down to the shore and feel
it.”

“Of course,” Robert said. “If you wish.”

Fiona walked to the chair still at his
bedside and placed her hand along its top. “Will you accompany me
then?”

Robert looked up. Her face held the look of a
child asking for a forbidden biscuit. “Yes. But you must dress
warmly. ‘Tis frightfully cold this time of year by the shoreline.
And I have no desire to remain here any longer than needs be if
you
should take ill.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Robert rattled his cup again. “Damn it,
Fiona. What is the aversion you have with addressing me by my given
name?” He watched her face flit from amusement to insecurity to
indignation in the span of mere moments.

“If I may speak freely…”

“By all means.”

“I respect you as the Duke of Cantin and all
that implies. However, I cannot respect you as my husband. Not yet.
Therefore, I do not feel the inclination as you do to address me on
intimate terms.”

He pondered her words. “I see.”

“Perhaps further down the road when we are
more familiar with each other I may be inclined to do so, but for
now, you shall remain ‘my lord’, whether that is acceptable to you
or not. It is that or I shall choose not to acknowledge you at
all.” She picked up the empty water pitcher from his table. “Now,
if you will excuse me, I will take my leave so that you may rest. I
shall have the footman come shortly and take up your tray.” She
walked to the door. “And I do expect you to rest. After all I went
through last night I should not like to have to wait on you again
this evening.”

“What do you mean, what you went through last
night?” What was she talking about?

She opened the door and turned to face him.
“My lord, you tossed and turned so violently I thought I should
have to restrain you. What little sleep I did acquire in the chair,
was exceedingly uncomfortable. I should like nothing better than to
take my own bed now, and I do not wish for Mrs. Hastings to inform
me you are thrashing about again.” With that, she walked out of his
room closing the door behind her.

What was she talking about? He didn’t thrash
in his sleep, he slept like the dead last night, or had he? Pushing
the tray to the side of the bed, he lay back against the pillows. A
fleeting memory of a woman’s low voice soothing him came from the
deepest recesses of his mind. Warm hands on his forehead, brushing
his hair back. Had it been Fiona? He thought it was a dream.

Robert’s business dealings kept him busy for
the better part of a fortnight. His fleeting illness disappeared as
quickly as it came and Fiona spent her time, either with Merry
walking the gardens, or with Mrs. Hastings in the kitchen. The old
woman’s aversion to Fiona had finally dissipated, along with the
ugly colors on her cheek. The housekeeper shared gossip, as well as
recipes, and stories about Robert’s father, Lord Stephen. When
Fiona’s bruise finally disappeared completely, Robert took her into
the village and returned the call the vicar and his wife had made,
and she and Robert hosted a small dinner party for the prominent
members of the little village.

This morning at breakfast, Robert had
consented to take her down to the sea before their return to London
three days hence. Fiona was overjoyed and changed quickly.

The rocks were slippery, and Fiona held
Robert’s hand with a firm grip. The half boots she wore had no
traction on the wet slimy rocks, and Robert did his best to keep
her from falling.

“I do not understand why you should not let
me carry you,” he said exasperated. “At this rate, it shall take us
until sundown to reach the water.

“My lord, if you let me take off my boots, I
do not believe I should be half so awkward.”

“Out of the question.” He grunted. “I do not
need the villagers talking of how I let my wife run naked down at
the shore.”

Fiona placed one hand on her hip and stared
at him. “Naked? I did not realize showing one’s feet would be
considered naked. And there is not another person for miles. I do
not see how anyone would ever know.” She took a cautious step, and
found herself slipping. Robert’s steady hands caught around her
waist and he lifted her from the stone.