Honesty. The word echoed in Samantha’s mind. Ewan had been brutally honest about his desire, but what lay beneath that hunger? When had they ever talked about anything deeper than mutual attraction?
The meeting continued for another hour, but Samantha’s attention kept wandering. Every comment about misunderstandings and second chances seemed to speak directly to her situation. By the time they were discussing next month’s selection, she was thoroughly unsettled.
“I believe that concludes our discussion,” the Duchess of Marchwood announced finally. “Thank you all for such stimulating conversation.”
The ladies began to gather their things, chattering about social obligations and upcoming events. Samantha rose to leave, eager to return to the relative safety of her carriage.
“Your Grace,” the Duchess of Marchwood called out as she reached the door. “Might I have a word?”
Samantha turned to find the Duchess of Westmere and the Marchioness of Knightley lingering as well, their expressions kind but knowing.
“Would you care to join us for tea in the garden?” the Duchess of Marchwood continued. “It’s such a lovely afternoon, and I thought we might enjoy some private conversation.”
Samantha hesitated. The last thing she needed was more well-meaning advice about marriage. But the alternative was returning to Valemont Hall, where Ewan would be waiting with those knowing green eyes and that maddening smile laced with seduction that she knew she would immediately fall for now that she’d had a taste of it.
“I would be delighted,” she said, her voice only slightly strained.
Anything to delay the inevitable confrontation with her husband and the chaos of emotions he inspired inside her.
CHAPTER 9
“Now then, shall we discuss what’s truly troubling you?” the Duchess of Marchwood asked, settling back into her chair with practiced ease.
Samantha felt her breath catch as she found herself seated in the garden with the three ladies, their kind but knowing expressions making her stomach flutter with nervous energy.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace,” she replied carefully, smoothing her skirts.
The Duchess of Westmere leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle. “My dear, we’ve all been where you are now. The uncertainty, the fear of trusting someone new.”
“Particularly,” the Marchioness of Knightley added, adjusting her spectacles with a small smile, “when that someone happens to be one’s husband.”
Samantha’s cheeks warmed. “I assure you, I’m managing quite well?—”
“Are you?” the Duchess of Marchwood interrupted softly, pulling her chair closer to Samantha’s. “Because, my dear, I was once exactly where you are. A confirmed spinster, suddenly thrust into marriage with a duke.”
The admission hung in the air between them, and Samantha found herself studying the duchess’s serene face with new interest.
“You were?” she whispered.
“Oh yes,” the Duchess of Marchwood laughed softly. “I was thoroughly convinced I’d spend my days with my dear grandmama, Lady Oakley. The idea of marriage was absolutely terrifying. I had given up entirely on the notion of love. But sometimes, my dear, life surprises us in the most wonderful ways.”
Samantha swallowed hard, unsure whether to trust these women with the chaos swirling in her heart. The rehearsed responses she’d been perfecting seemed inadequate in the face of such genuine understanding.
“I… thank you for the sympathy, Your Grace. Truly. But I’m still processing it all myself. Everything has happened so quickly, and I find myself quite …”
“Overwhelmed?” the Duchess of Westmere supplied gently.
“Yes,” Samantha breathed. “Exactly that.”
The Marchioness of Knightley and the Duchess of Westmere exchanged a knowing look, the kind that spoke of shared experiences and mutual understanding.
“It’s perfectly natural,” the Duchess of Westmere assured her. “Marriage is a significant adjustment for anyone, but particularly when it happens under unusual circumstances.”
“Has he been treating you well?” Lady Knightley asked directly, her expression kind but penetrating. “Your husband, I mean. We know his reputation wasn’t… pristine before your marriage.”
Samantha’s cheeks flamed as memories of Ewan’s heated kisses flooded her mind, the way his hands had framed her face, the desperate hunger in his voice when he’d spoken of wanting her.
“Yes,” she managed, her voice slightly breathless. “He’s been most considerate. More than considerate, actually.”
