“I was tuning the violin,” she said with that same feigned tone of docility. “Did I disturb you? Goodness, I did not even think. Was the song not to your liking? I could play something else if you prefer.”
He clenched his hand into a fist and put on a tight smile. “I would prefer it if you chose another room for your amusements. You are the Duchess of Harewood—tell the maids to return later. Or play badly again and they will hurry out of their own accord.”
“Oh, I could not do that. I should hate to distract them from what they are doing,” she said, and though she tried to hide it, he saw the fleeting curve of a grin on her lips and mischief glinting in her eyes.
She knew exactly what she was doing, but with no way to prove it, he could not protest or argue. After all, he was the one who had told her he did not need her help, implying that she ought to find something else to entertain herself with.
“Very well. Play at your leisure. I think I might take a walk,” he said.
She set the violin down and hurried to his side. “Then, I shall take a walk with you. It is a beautiful afternoon. A touch cold, but nothing we cannot survive.”
“If you are walking, then I will return to my study,” he insisted, his brain itching with the infuriation of it all.
“Oh, then I will return to my playing,” she said.
It was the closest he had ever come to losing control of even the last thread of his patience, for he knew that no matter what he said, she would either be interrupting him, distracting him, or disturbing him in one way or another.
Perhaps, a walk will placate her.
“Let us walk then,” he said, offering his arm.
Caroline took it with an eager smile, practically pulling him out of the makeshift music room and down the stairs. But when they reached the front doors, she grabbed his greatcoat before he could take it, and put it on herself. It was far too large, of course, but she rolled up the sleeves and hitched up the length of it as if it were a ballgown.
“Did I not mention that it is raining?” she asked. “I do not have any of my cloaks—I have no notion of what has happened to them, but all of my belongings have been put away, and they are not there.”
Max closed his eyes, praying to the heavens for a dose more patience. “Why did you not say so? Mrs. Whitlock could have ordered some or could have taken you into town to purchase some.”
“I saw no need,” she replied. “I have been using your greatcoat for all of my walks. Although, I can see the inconvenience, now that we are walking together. You do not mind, do you?”
He expelled a slow breath. “Not at all. I am not made of sugar—a bit of rain will not hurt.” He opened his eyes. “You wear it, and I will have the cloaks sent for.”
“Oh, thank you.” She weaved her arm through his once more and pulled him out into the chilly drizzle of a not-so-beautiful afternoon.
They took the long way around the manor, passing through the crooked wooden gate that led into the ornamental gardens. They were not as neat and pristine as the walled gardens of Westyork, nor as charming as the gardens at Greenfield House, but he had come to like them very much during his time at Harewood Court. There was an ancient feeling and a wildness to these gardens that suited him, allowing him to separate his mind from his work whenever he strolled through them.
Barely anything was in bloom, but the enormous, gnarled, ancient apple tree in the center still bore a late fruit or two.
“Will you pick me one?” Caroline asked, approaching the tree with an expression of awe.
Max peered up at the extensive boughs. “The apples are too high. I will pick you one in the spring.”
“Of course,” she said, her voice thick with disappointment. “If you do not think you can climb that far, I understand.”
He knew he should not bite at the goading hook she was dangling, but he had spent his entire childhood climbing the trees of Greenfield House. Much of his adulthood, too. And the boughs were wide and thick and sturdy, thinning only at the very top. An easy climb, but not ideal with the rain slicking the bark.
He turned to her. “If I fetch you this apple, will you promise to stop disturbing me when I am at my work?”
“Disturbing you?” She looked genuinely bewildered.
So, she is a gifted thespian as well as a talented violinist, an exemplary artist, and a rather knowledgeable architect.
The last one still surprised him, for her annotations had been painstakingly thought out, including angles and diameters and necessary materials.
“Caroline, you said it yourself—I had no opportunity to ensure all my work was complete so that we might have a true honeymoon because I did not know I would be getting married. As such, I cannot afford to be distracted by constant interruptions,” he said, trying his best not to be gruff. “If I misjudge or make a mistake on one thing, there will be consequences.”
Her pretty eyes widened in horror. “For me?”
“No, not for you,” he replied wearily. “There will be consequences for the good folk who rent the cottages and the farmland, and for the household staff, and the estate as a whole. Everything I do is for this dukedom, and for the earldom that used to be mine. And I cannot do any of it if you are knocking on my door every half an hour.”
