They Mocked Her When Her Groom Arrived In A Farmer's Cart — He Was The Duke In Disguise
Chapter 14
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"I am trying," she admitted, acutely aware of the warmth of his chest against her back, the steady thud of his heart she could feel even through the layers of her riding habit. "It is difficult to think of loose reins when every other part of me wishes to hold on rather tightly."He went very still behind her at that. And for a moment neither of them moved, the mare shifting patiently beneath them while the autumn wind stirred the hedgerows around them both."Then hold on," he said finally, his voice rough and low, "to whatever you find steady enough to bear the weight."She had turned her head then, close enough to feel his breath against her cheek, and it had taken every ounce of propriety she still possessed to look forward again rather than close the small distance remaining between them.It was around this time that Matilda first met the man who tended Thornwick's kitchen garden, a broad, weathered fellow who introduced himself simply as: "Old Harker does the digging hereabouts."She found herself within a quarter of an hour thoroughly confused by him. She came upon him one afternoon deep in argument with the village blacksmith over a matter of parish road repairs, and listened, baffled, as the supposed gardener corrected the blacksmith's understanding of how a private bill might pass through the House of Commons, citing procedure and precedent with the easy familiarity of a man who had sat through a hundred parliamentary sessions rather than a hundred seasons of turning soil."Beg pardon, Harker," the blacksmith said afterward, scratching his head. "But for a man who grows turnips, you do talk uncommonly like a lord.""Forty years among lords will do that to a man's tongue, whatever his trade," Harker replied smoothly, though Matilda noticed the faint color that rose in his weathered cheeks and the swift, apologetic glance he sent toward the cottage windows, as though hoping no one inside had overheard.She mentioned it to Callum that evening, half-amused, half simply cataloging one more small strangeness among the many she had gathered since her wedding day. Callum's mouth had twitched suspiciously close to a smile he did not quite allow himself."Harker has strong opinions on governance," he said. "It happens, I find, among men who have spent a great deal of their lives observing it rather closely."It was not an answer. Matilda was beginning to understand that very few of Callum's answers, given cheerfully enough, ever truly were.One evening, with the cottage quiet and Mrs. Ashby long since retired, Callum lit a single candle in the small drawing room and, without a word of explanation, began to play the piano that stood half-forgotten in the corner. His fingers moved over the keys with a skill no farmer could have learned in stolen hours, drawing out a slow, melancholy waltz that filled the small room like water filling a cup.