“Right,” he said. “Right. There is much judgment. Pray, does it bother you that I have such a background?”
“Oh no,” she said. “I have no desire to separate people by whatever faith they might carry. I think we are all the same. We all have the capacity to be good or bad. We all come from the same place, and to the same place we all shall go. What we do in between ought to be up to us. I find it dreadful to read these tales of people burned at the stake for praying to what the monarch at the time perceives to be the wrong God.” She pressed her lips together, and her eyes grew large. “Forgive me, I have?—”
“No, not at all,” he said, feeling another wave of relief wash over him. “I feel much the same. Not because of my background, but simply because—it is how I was raised. In any case, it can be quite difficult having the background that I do. It is good to know that you do not judge.”
“Not at all,” she said. Then she paused, and the tip of her tongue poked out as she wetted her lips. “Pray, may I ask—is this why you wished to get married? To remove yourself further from your heritage and to bring in a new generation?”
That was not how he would have put it. He had, in truth, married to conceal the past—but more than that, he had married because she held the key to that past. Not because he had hoped she might usher in a new era for him. Yet he could not tell her that, could he?
“I suppose, in a way,” he settled on saying.
She pressed her lips together, her expression unreadable. “I see. I only wish you had told me. I only wish I had not been drawn into this scheme of yours in such a manner. I may not have opposed it had you simply approached me and explained. As it stands, I find it very difficult to trust you, for you did not tell me the truth.”
He wanted to close his eyes, for, of course, she could not trust him. How could she, when the truth was that he had not told her the truth yet? And now, he never could. Not now—less than ever—for now, he had lied to her even more. The longer they knew one another, the more tangled the web became.
“I understand,” he said at last. “But I do hope you will forgive me—and accompany me this weekend to?—”
“I would never deprive the children of the estate of meeting Ambrose and Hector simply because I am hurt,” she interrupted. “I will say this—I am glad we have spoken openly at last. I hope that from now on, we might move forward in honesty. And perhaps, in time, we may build a friendship. We are to spend many years together, after all.”
“Indeed, we shall,” he agreed, lifting his wine glass. “Shall we toast to that? To many years of friendship.”
She raised her glass and clicked it lightly against his. “And honesty,” she added.
He forced a smile and nodded. “Yes. And honesty,” he echoed. But he could not quite bring himself to meet her eyes, for no matter how much he wished to believe his own words, he knew the truth. He could never be honest with her. And the promise he had just made would have to be broken, no matter how much he wished to tell her everything. Alas, some secrets were too grave to share with anyone and had to be protected. No matter the cost.
CHAPTER20
Charity
Sunday arrived with the swiftness of lightning, yet also at a pace as slow as a snail. Charity had spent the three days since the arrival of Ambrose acclimating herself to her new environment. She took a seat with Mrs. Frames to deliberate on the week's necessities and to compose a menu, feeling a sense of accomplishment once it was finished. To her astonishment, she and Eammon shared many cherished meals, though he had not formally divulged this to her. Instead, she gleaned this information from Mrs. Frames. They both loved white soup and plum pudding, and preferred fish over meat.
Aside from becoming familiar with the estate and servants, she devoted much time to Ambrose, escorting him about the meadow and instructing him to circle whilst on his lead. It was paramount to her that the children enjoyed their time, yet she also sought to ensure that he was not frightened by the presence of others, for it had been quite some time since he had served as a mount for children. Thus, she’d engaged the stablemaster’s grandchildren to take turns riding, much to their delight.
Each evening, she conversed with Eammon, their discussions remaining cordial, albeit mostly fixated on their expectations for Sunday. He recounted the various families within the estate, and she found herself quite impressed by his extensive knowledge of his tenant farmers. Her own father had been rather uninvolved in that aspect of land ownership. Their steward had maintained contact, while her father seemed merely distant. Not so Eammon, who took a keen interest in those on his estate.
Once, she went into town to see her mother but Lady Pembroke’s endless gushing about her new son-in-law left Charity fatigued and she’d departed after seeing Eleanor and promising to return for a luncheon soon. Preferably after her mother’s thrill at having a duke for a son-in-law had worn off.
That Sunday, she arose early and called for Jean, who arrived swiftly, equipped with her basin, wash jug, and the wash ball, which bounced on her chest.
“Which gown would you prefer, Your Grace?” she asked whilst washing Charity’s face.
“A simple one, it must be. One I may easily move about in whilst assisting the children on horseback. In fact, I pondered that perhaps I ought to wear a riding habit. We shall arrive by carriage, I believe, yet if I am to lead Ambrose round in circles, it may be prudent.”
“Indeed. Are you quite eager to venture into the village with His Grace?” Jean inquired.
Charity looked up. Was she? It was true that she longed to see the village and to meet the tenants, for she was their duchess, after all. However, a small part of her felt trepidation. Ever since she'd discovered his secret, she found Eammon less of an enigma. Yet it had appeared, when they'd spoken of it, that he wished she had not uncovered it. Naturally, no one desires the revelation of their secrets. Still, she was relieved to possess this knowledge, as it clarified much regarding his behavior.
“I suppose, a little,” she admitted noncommittally.
Once she was attired in a simple light blue day gown made of muslin to keep her from being overheated, along with a bonnet and a little leather reticule which dangled from her wrist in just such a way to not impede her movements, she ventured downstairs to find him already dressed and prepared. He was clad in a simple pair of trousers, a crisp white shirt under a blue waistcoat, and his leather shoes poked out from his trousers, which had been tailored to allow them to be on display. She could not deny that he was quite handsome indeed.
“Charity,” he said on seeing her, inclining his head slightly. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” she responded, awaiting a compliment on her attire. However, none came, and she bit her lip, struggling to conceal her disappointment at his lack of acknowledgment of her efforts.
He proffered his arm, and together they proceeded into the sunlight, entering the awaiting carriage. This carriage was quite different from the one they had traveled in after their wedding breakfast; it was open-topped and most grand.
“Is it this an old barouche?” she inquired.
