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Chapter 5

Edward is not in my bedchambers when I finally make it down. I change quickly, fearing he will come in whilst I am undressing. Once I crawl into bed, I pull the blanket up to my chin and let out a heavy sigh.

I wait for the creak of the door opening, for the feel of the mattress dipping, and the sounds of his breathing as he settles in for the night. I wonder if he will scream again.

But the door does not open, and Edward does not come to my bed. My sleep is fitful, despite my desire to be alone finally being achieved.

By morning, I am once again exhausted and confused.

This time, I dress myself before going downstairs. The manor is suspiciously quiet, and I peer around corners, trying to find any of Edward's men who have been bringing such ruckus.

They are gone, and for a moment, my stomach drops out from under me.

Did Edward leave again?

I am of two minds about the thought of him leaving. On the one hand, I am furious that he would abandon me again without word, but on the other, this time I can hardly blame him. I have been less than welcoming, and I am sure he is aware there is a better life out there for him, one where he can find a wife who will not flinch from his touch.

I eat breakfast alone, and I am so torn over how I have driven Edward away, my stomach can hardly accept any food. In the end, I ask Angela to set it all aside for me to come back to later.

Instead, I make my way upstairs to Rosalie's room and help her and Charlotte pack up their belongings. Their annual summer visit has been far too short for my liking, but I know they have their own lives to return to.

It is a bittersweet farewell, though Rosalie reminds me that it will not be for too long, as I am still expected at the duke's castle for the ball and Charlotte's birthday.

I do not have the heart to tell Rosalie that I have frightened off my husband and will not have anyone to attend with me. It will only bring her more grief.

I kiss them both before helping them load into their carriage. Sweet Charlotte leans out the window and waves at me as the carriage kicks off, and I grin, waving back at her until they turn the corner on the road and disappear from my view.

An immediate and heavy silence settles over Rowanberry Manor, and I feel a slight chill run through me. The quiet is familiar to me—it is often what I prefer—so why is it so profoundly heavy now?

Feeling glum, I turn and head back inside. There are a few estate issues I must attend to this morning, but nothing overly taxing. I head into the conservatory, where I have a small writing desk set up and sit down to work.

A year ago, the duke bequeathed Rowanberry a rather profitable crop acreage. This year, the yield is expected to rise to almost double, and a decision is to be made about how the excess crop is to be used.

This should be my husband's decision, as lord of the estate, but since he has once again vanished, it is left to me.

I instruct the farmers to set aside as much as the stores of the Rowanberry Estate along with everyone living on it will need for the coming winter, before portioning off a percentage to send to the duke as an obligatory thank you for the land in the first place. With the remaining excess, I instruct the farmers to send it into the local communities. I write out a fair price to sell at, knowing that some of the small villages around us have not nearly the funds as we do. I would try to offer it for free, but I have been stopped before on such a quest. I see now the wisdom of a discount. The farmers are still being compensated for their hard work, and individuals within the villages are less likely to hoard and fight over the supplies.

When I am done with my instructions, I pull open a small drawer on my writing desk and remove the signet ring the duke sent for my husband shortly after his departure. It is far too large for me as it is not meant for my hand, but I have kept it tucked away safely for official use.

I pour a small measure of thick red wax then carefully lower the ring into it, pressing firmly. My eyes stay steadfast as the wax begins to cool. It is mesmerizing to watch something once so pliable become something so unyielding.

When the wax has dried, I carefully peel up the ring. Its indentation in the seal is there, clear and crisp, a lion on hind paws, with three lilies before it.

It is an echo of the duke's seal, a sign to show others that though Edward is a high ranking officer, he holds no title of nobility.

That we will always be under the duke's rule.

When the letter is finished, I put it aside to tend to the other needs of the estate. A report of taxes, another report on livestock and crop yield. I sign off on all the reports, glad that this season, there does not seem to be too many problems.

By the time I am finished, the hour is growing late, and I am thoroughly exhausted and famished.

I extinguish the candles and make my way into the dining hall, grateful for the continued silence. I take my seat at the head table, and Angela comes out with a pitcher of wine.

"Angela, sit and dine with me," I request. She smiles at me. It is not uncommon for me to ask her to eat with me. When I am alone at the manor, I often dine with the servants. The way I see it, there is no need to stand on decorum or propriety when we are alone.

"My Lady, I would love to join you," Angela says, tipping wine into the second goblet. "But I do not think My Lord would like it."

I set down my goblet, frowning at her. "He left," I point out. "I think it unlikely he will return."

"You really do think so little of me."

His voice is cold and angry, and it sends a chill racing down my spine. I twist in my chair, shocked to see Edward striding into the dining hall, dressed for supper.

"E-Edward," I choke out.

He takes the seat at the other end of the table, his eyes landing on me briefly before he looks away.

"You think I would leave without even telling you?" he demands as Angela scurries to bring him a goblet of wine.

I swallow my surprise and glare at him. "You do have a history of it," I point out. His eyes flash as he glares at me. He swallows the wine in a single gulp before setting the goblet back on the table. It lands heavily with a clank that makes Angela flinch. She refills his goblet, cowering away from him and his ire.

"Where were you?" I ask, trying to pull my temper under control.

He glances at me. "I had business to attend to."

He does not elaborate, and I do not ask him to.

"Where is the duchess?" he asks, leaning over the table to fill his plate. Not much food is located on his end of the table, and Angela sets the pitcher down before racing to help bring dishes to him. He nods to her in thanks as he fills his plate.

"She is returned home," I tell him, my voice stiff.

He glances at me. "Good."

I bristle. "Good?" I demand. "Was it so terrible to have my sister here?"

He looks at me. "I am sure it was as enjoyable to me as it was for you having my men here," he says dryly.

I want to spit venom at him. His men were loud and boisterous. Nothing at all like my gentle sister.

"My sister is a kind and giving person," I say, leaning over the table. "We would be lucky to host her for any amount of time."

Edward does not say anything, but the arch in his eyebrow says enough. He does not like my sister.

It is unfathomable and infuriating.

"And where were you all day?" Edward asks, bringing his goblet to his lips. His tone is almost admonishing, and the fury it ignites in me is as dark as a storm cloud.

"I was tending to the matters of the estate," I hiss, my fists clenching on the tabletop.

His green eyes lift sharply to meet mine. "That is my duty," he says, his voice cold.

"One has to actually be around to attend to the estate," I snap back.

I see anger in his eyes that matches my own. We both glare stubbornly at each other, neither willing to back down from this silent match we have found ourselves in.

"I have returned," he says, and his voice is like a winter breeze before a storm. "And as Lord of this estate, I will tend to all matters."

I lean back in my chair, more amused than angry. "Are you truly so arrogant to believe you can waltz in and take over?" He has no idea the careful peace I have had to broker between farmers, or the trade agreements negotiated with certain villages. He has no inkling that should he do or say the wrong thing, there will be a throng of angry villagers at our doors.

I know these things because this is what I have done with the last five years of my life. Rowanberry might belong to Edward, but its peaceful existence is owed to me.

"I can and I shall!" He snarls. For a moment, he is frightening. I see the strain of his muscles along his shoulders, see the power in his eyes that he wields. I am reminded that though I know what is going on and he does not, it in no way protects me, physically at least. Edward is twice as large as me, and we have spent less than a day together our entire marriage. He does not owe me anything, no surety of safety or comfort.

He quite literally holds my life in his massive hands, and should he choose to shut his fist too hard, I would be snuffed out like a candle.

The thought is sobering, and immediately the fight in me drains away until I am nearly cowering in my seat. I hate the submissive slump of my shoulders, but it is such a deeply ingrained part of me after suffering the years of abuse from Grandmother.

"Yes, My Lord," I whisper, eyes on my plate, hands in my lap. My body is trembling with fear and anger, none of which I can truly separate enough to understand.

Edward goes quiet, and though I do not look up at him again, I feel his energy receding. His anger ebbs from the room, and for the rest of the meal, the only sounds in the hall are the scrapes of utensils against our plates.

…

Edward does not come to my room again, though it does not allow me to sleep peacefully. Knowing he is near and could impose his will on me sends my mind to a number of dark places.

By morning, I am in a foul mood, my mind, body, and spirit heavy with fatigue.

Blessedly, Angela has brought food to my room, so I am able to put off going downstairs just a bit longer. I stow away, taking as long as I can to eat my morning meal. When I am full and out of excuses, I know I must go downstairs and face the day.

I dress simply again, silently daring Edward to argue about my inappropriate state of dress.

I secure slippers onto my feet, make sure my hair is reasonably tied back, and with one final inspection over myself, let out a breath and head downstairs.

Edward is nowhere to be found immediately, and I am relieved to have a few more minutes without the tension he brings.

Since he has strictly banned me from work of any sort in the estate's affairs, there is not much left to fill my day, and I find myself wandering around the manor, seeking a task.

Finally, I cannot take it anymore.

It is far too beautiful a day to be stuck inside, so I retrieve parchment and charcoal pencils that Rosalie had gifted me and find a sunny spot in the garden to sketch. I am not a gifted artist, but sketching brings me joy as I observe the world in quiet solitude.

A pair of finches decide to join me, and I watch in amusement as they flit about between rose bushes. Their sweet chirps are joyful and help soothe the tension in my body.

I am so entertained in the garden, it is nearly supper by the time I realize I have spent the entire day outside.

I head in, stowing my parchment and charcoal before washing up for supper. I did not realize how hungry I was until I came in, but now that I am aware of it, I am famished.

I head into the dining hall, grateful for the continued silence. It is shattered when I walk in to find Edward seated at the head of the table.

As has been our dance, I scowl at him and take the seat opposite him. To my great annoyance, I see a smirk work over his lips before it vanishes.

"You have made yourself scarce today," he comments, reaching for his goblet of wine. Angela must have already come through to fill it because I watch him take a long sip.

"I must find other ways of entertaining myself, now that I am of no use to the estate," I snap, my temper flaring. The fear that was sparked in me just yesterday has ebbed away again, leaving me in a foul temper.

I see his eyes narrow.

"Why do you do that?" he demands, his fist curling on the table.

"Do what?"

"Twist my words to use as daggers against me?"

I blink, confused.

"Was it not you who just yesterday told me that my service tending to the estate is no longer needed?" I demand. "Tell me, what am I to do now that I have been ordered to stop serving the people who live on this land?"

Edward's eyes are tight and angry as he glares me down.

"I told you I would take over," he says, his voice quiet. "And had you sense enough to listen to me all the way through, you would know I want your help to get to know the workings of the estate."

I sit back in my chair, glaring at him.

"That is not what you said yesterday."

I see his jaw click as his teeth grind together. "Yesterday you vexed me into forgetting." He grunts.

"You should learn to control your temper," I tell him.

His eyes lift to mine. "You should learn to be less antagonistic," he counters.

I do not know why, but for some reason, his words make me want to smile. No one has ever accused me of antagonism before. I have always been a burden, a lingering problem for those around me to sort out and place. I have never mattered enough to anyone to get them angry over my words.

Edward and I sit in silence, but I am surprised to find it is not so uncomfortable. It seems he too is fighting off a smile, and I feel the air lighten around us.

Finally, he shakes his head and turns to the food before him.

"Where were you today?" he asks, serving himself food.

"In the gardens," I say, quietly daring him to berate me for it.

He glances up at me. "You are red," he says, looking back down at his food. "You have had too much sun."

I scowl. "I shall take as much sun as I please."

"Have the cook slice a tomato," he says, turning to Angela, who is entering the room with yet more food for our table. "Keep it raw and unsalted. Your mistress will need it tonight."

Angela looks alarmed and glances at me in question. I have no idea what he is going on about. Angela dips her head and leaves the dining room. I look at Edward who is currently biting into a pork pie.

"I notice that there are trails through the woods," he says, glancing at me. I stay stubbornly mute. "Are they hunting or leisure trails?"

I swallow hard. He wants small talk?

"Both," I say finally.

He nods, taking another bite of the pie. Juice dribbles down to his beard, and he lifts a cloth to clean his face. I do not know why it surprises me to see him take such care of the mess he is making whilst eating. Most men do not.

"I think I should like to explore the grounds tomorrow," he says, looking thoughtful. "Do you ride?"

I am so off-kilter by this conversation. "Yes," I say slowly.

"Perhaps we can take a ride together? You can show me your favorite spots."

His suggestion surprises me, and for a moment, I do not know what to say.

Finally, I nod. "Yes, I would like that."

…

"What does he expect me to do with it?"

Angela looks down at the tomato slices and shrugs her shoulders, looking back at me.

"I do not know," she says, shaking her head. "Perhaps you are meant to eat it?"

I scowl. "Without any salt?"

I am picky about raw tomatoes, and if I must eat them, I prefer them to have salt to cut the sharpness of flavor.

"Perhaps My Lord will tell you when he comes to bed?" Angela suggests. I frown. He did not sleep in my room last night. Will he tonight?

"Set them on the table," I tell Angela. "And will you find him and ask what it is exactly he would like me to do with them?"

I am already changed into my shift, and if I can help it, I would like to avoid wandering around nearly naked.

Angela does as I bid, setting the tomatoes down before leaving my chambers. While she is gone, I pace in front of the fireplace. The fire stings my sun-burnt face, and I have to take several steps back. I should have sat under the shade of a tree, but the sun had felt so good on my skin.

A few minutes later, there is a light knock on my chamber door before Angela is slipping inside.

"Where is he?" I ask her, feeling anxious that he has not returned to this room.

"He has decided to sleep in the blue room," she says, her eyebrows dipping slightly. "He said something about giving you space."

It is surprisingly thoughtful of him, and immediately, I begin to feel guilty for how I have been treating him.

"He also said that you are meant to apply the tomato to your skin."

I look at Angela in alarm. "What?"

She shrugs and picks up the fruit. She motions for me to sit, and I take a cautious seat in one of the armchairs. Gently, she picks up a slice and brings it to my cheek. It is cold and makes me start in surprise.

"Apologies, My Lady," she says, yanking it back.

"No, it did not hurt. It is just surprising," I tell her. She nods and brings it back to my cheek. Gently, she rubs the red fruit into my skin. The tomato is surprisingly soothing and brings a coolness to my face that I did not expect. She works the fruit across my cheeks and forehead, paying special attention to my nose before she brings it down to swipe across my collar bones. When she is done, she sets the tomato back on the plate and steps back from me.

"How does it feel?" she asks, sounding skeptical.

"Cool," I tell her. "And a little sticky," I admit.

She smiles. "My Lord said it would ease the burn from your skin," she tells me. "You just have to let it rest until it dries."

I gently reach up, brushing a hand across my neck. My fingers catch a seed lingering on my throat.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing?" I ask her, feeling amused.

She shakes her head. "No, but my nan used to make a poultice with lavender. It drew the sun out of my brothers' skin when they would work the fields."

Angela does not talk often of her family, though I have given her more than ample opportunity to do so. I never push her to speak, and she is generally a reserved mind, so it is rare I hear stories from home.

"How many brothers do you have?"

She glances at me in surprise. "I had four," she starts. "One died when we were children. He caught ill." She frowns and I reach out to her, my heart aching for her. "Another, he died when he went off to fight for the king."

"I am so sorry for your loss," I tell her, truly feeling it.

She shrugs. "It was a long time ago," she says softly.

"What of your other brothers?"

"Joshua works for the duke. He is a valet." She swells with pride as she speaks about him, and my heart warms. "And Isaac is apprenticing with a blacksmith near the capital. He is gifted, and he hopes to one day be in service to the king himself."

She is animated talking about her brothers, and I cannot help grinning with her.

"They sound remarkable," I tell her.

She grins. "They are. They have been taking care of my mum since my da passed when we were kids. Send her home money. Joshua even got me this job," she explains.

I reach out to her, my hand landing over hers. "I am so very glad that he did," I tell her honestly. Angela has been my only friend over the last five years. I would have lost my mind long ago had it not been for her.

She smiles at me, covering my hand with her own.

"Me too, Mistress. Me too."