He looked massive. He looked furious. "I am taking inventory," I said, holding up a heavily tarnished candalabra. Or trying to. This hasn't seen polish since the king's coronation, I imagine.
I did not ask you to come here and play maid, he growled, stepping into the room. I am not playing maid. I am playing duchess. There is a distinct difference. I set the candidalra down and picked up a ragged ledger I had found in a drawer.
I have spent the morning reviewing the household accounts, Nathaniel. Your bleeding money, and you have nothing to show for it but a cold house and idle staff. He flinched at the use of his Christian name, but I ignored it. If we were to be partners in this miserable arrangement, we would be equals. He crossed the room in three long strides, snatching the ledger from my hands.
These are not your concern. I live here. Therefore, it is my concern. I didn't back down. I stepped closer to him.
He was a foot taller than me, broad and intimidating. But I tilted my chin up and met his good eye. You brought me here to save your estate. How do you expect me to do that if I am barred from actually running it? You are here to provide an heir.
He snapped, his voice dropping low. A dangerous rumble. Nothing more. Really? I laughed, a short, bitter sound.
And where shall we raise this air? In a damp corridor? Will we swaddle the child in dust sheets? You cannot hide in the dark forever and expect the world to simply accommodate you. You know nothing about it.
He sneered, turning his scarred profile toward me as if to weaponize it. Look at me, Cecilia. Look at the rotting duke. The servants are terrified of me. The village thinks I'm cursed.
What makes you think you can fix this? I am not trying to fix you. I yelled back, the frustration finally boiling over. I don't care if you are scarred. I don't care if the village thinks you're a monster.
I care that my toes are freezing, that the food is stale, and that I was sold to a man who would rather wallow in his own misery than light a damned fire. The silence that slammed into the room was absolute. I breathed heavily, my chest rising and falling. I had crossed a line. Women didn't yell at dukes.
Wives did not yell at husbands. Nathaniel stared at me. His chest heaved once, a ragged breath escaping his lips. He looked down at the ledger in his hands, then at the smudge of soot on my cheek, and finally at the tarnished candalabra on the table. Slowly the anger drained from his posture.