They Mocked Her When Her Groom Arrived In A Farmer's Cart — He Was The Duke In Disguise
Chapter 13
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Victor, arriving at his wife's side with his usual polished smile, added his own contribution with the casual cruelty of a man who had never once considered consequences: "Perhaps Robinson can be persuaded to plow a few extra acres, and we might send Matilda a proper wardrobe as a wedding gift. Farmers' wives ought to dress the part, after all."Laughter rippled across the lawn. Matilda felt Callum's hand find hers, steady and warm, before she had even realized how close he stood."You owe cruelty no reply," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "Silence is not weakness, Matilda. It is simply refusing to hand them the satisfaction they came looking for."She held onto those words longer than she expected to, turning them over on the ride home, in the quiet hours before sleep, in the moments when Violet's laughter still echoed uninvited in her memory. Slowly, without quite noticing when it began, she found that Callum's steady presence had become the thing she reached for whenever the old wounds of Belgrave House threatened to reopen.He courted her in his own quiet way, with a patience that unsettled her precisely because she had never once been courted before.He brought her wildflowers gathered from the hedgerows, arranged with a rough, honest care that no London florist's bouquet could have matched. He noticed, without being told, the small tear in the ribbon of her bonnet, and mended it himself one evening by the fire, his large hands surprisingly deft with the delicate work, while she watched him and felt something in her chest ache with a tenderness she had no name for yet.He read to her from the worn, expensive books that lined his shelves: poetry mostly, verses about longing and distance and the particular ache of loving something one is not yet permitted to claim. And though he never once remarked on the meaning of the words he chose, Matilda began to suspect he chose them with great deliberation indeed.He taught her to ride, guiding her hands on the reins with a closeness that left her breathless for reasons that had very little to do with horses. His palm would rest briefly over hers to correct her grip, his chest a warm, solid presence at her back as he steadied her in the saddle; and each time, the contact lingered a heartbeat longer than instruction required, until neither of them pretended it was only about the horse at all."You are gripping as though the poor mare intends to bolt for London," he murmured once, close enough that his breath stirred the loose curls at her ear, his hands closing gently over hers on the reins to loosen her grip. "Trust her a little, Matilda. And trust me while you are at it."