VIII. Obligations

Nearly a month had passed.

Lecia stabbed a ripe strawberry from her plate and placed it on her tongue. It burst as she bit into it, sweet and wholly strawberry. As she finished the fruit, her fork found a place beside her dish and she frowned.

Light leaked in through the drawn curtains, daytime waking outside the palace. Though her back was to them, she could feel morning creeping up her neck from the windows, summer coming with it. Lecia hated the summer; it was far too hot, especially in the fashions of society.

Vaughan’s lithe footsteps developed from the door, and Lecia felt her heart leap a beat. He’d been off on business for the last week, and although the ability to sprawl across the bed and be free from the constraints of top sheets was refreshing, the loneliness was stifling. Until she’d heard him return, she hadn’t quite realized how fondly she thought of him; they were friends now, their conversations challenging and engaging. As a party companion, she’d never had a better one. Lisette had always been too awestruck by the luxuries that were out of her reach, and too enamored by the godliness of peers who, Lecia found, were lacking divinity. However, Vaughan was apt to whisper grievances in his wife’s ears, making her laugh, and he was—though Lecia was loath to admit it—a fine dancing partner.

“My lovely Duchess,” he said haughtily as she came into view. His tone was mocking, she could hear, but when she turned and saw how brilliantly he smiled at her, the enthusiasm was genuine. “What’s this?” he pointed to the furrow in her brow, close enough to touch her face; she hadn’t had the time to smile, his legs were too damn long.

“I don’t much care for strawberries,” she admitted with a laugh, swiping his hands away. Truthfully, she didn’t; Lecia didn’t like the taste of overly sweet things and much preferred the tartness of under ripe fruit and sour citrus.

“Good,” Vaughan said. “I’m allergic—not deathly so, but enough to get uncomfortable.”

He pulled open the drapes, Lecia squinting as she watched on. She realized that she had never seen him eat a strawberry, but also that she’d never paid much attention to his eating habits at all.

“And here I thought you were invincible,” Lecia gave a disappointed sigh. Vaughan laughed and sat across from his wife at the table. She grinned, taking a sip of water from her glass. “You know,” she said after she’d swallowed, “you never told me about your name.” He nodded and grabbed a grape from the breakfast spread between them.

“I do recall that I changed the topic quite cleverly,” he answered. “But I suppose it’s not all that arduous an explanation.”

Lecia pursed her lips, daring him to try avoiding the subject again. She’d let it go before, not really caring about it overmuch, but also because they hadn’t—she thought—been good enough friends to necessitate a response. Now, however, if the past few minutes were any indication, she was deserving of clarification.

“My mother named me Fychan Eachann Derfeal, Cantington obviously my father’s surname.” He was honest, though there was sorrow in his voice. “My mother was Welsh; she was a servant to my grandparents. When my father came home from university, they fell in love and married in a very unceremonious way. It was all very secret for a time; my father was very cowardly when it came to confronting his own father about the matter. However, when my mother realized that she was pregnant, there was a rush on the honesty bit. Grandfather found out and my understanding is that he threatened to have my mother killed if she didn’t return home with me.

“Tad, in his greatest display of strength, refused to disown me or invalidate his marriage to my mother. I can only imagine the extent of the gossip on the whole scandal. So, I was born and raised in Wales on my daid’s farm. Martis isn’t far from Gloucester, if you didn’t know, but to the west of the river there’s a small place called Itton where my mam grew up. Little wonder how she made her way to Martis…. The closeness made it easy to travel between the two for sixteen years; I didn’t start the back and forth until she died, and even then it was only for a few months on and off.” Vaughan cleared his throat after eating another grape. “Daid and nain passed the year after we moved into the palace. I haven’t really spoken Welsh since; I haven’t had a need for it. I’ve made sure to keep up the accent. Just the right amount of rebellion, you know.”

The Duke scratched the back of his head and leaned back in his chair. With a shrug he looked to Lecia who softly smiled her thanks.

“Daid and nain were your mother’s parents, I presume?” she asked carefully.

“Ie,” he nodded, sitting forward in his chair again. “They were fairly old world when it came to being Welsh; we spent a lot of time on the farm alone together, and unless we were in a place where our language wasn’t understood, there really wasn’t any English spoken. Mam taught me when she tucked me in at night, and when we were alone milking the cows. Daid didn’t understand that I was a future Duke—or, rather, he didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t provide for me the degree of luxury I was entitled to. He was a very proud Welshman, my daid.” Vaughan chuckled at the memory of his stubborn grandfather.

“I have a hard time imagining you as a child,” said Lecia.

“Better if you can’t,” he smiled. “Though, I was a good boy; I only became horrible after fifteen.”

“Ten years of terror, then,” she shot back, smirking.

“Absolutely,” he admitted proudly. “Now,” he got to his feet, “although that is a lovely dress, I think your habit would be appreciated in the park.”

Blinking, Lecia realized that he meant to take her out riding. She instantly stood and excitedly rushed off to get changed. Before she got too far, she doubled back; Vaughan stood waiting, as if expecting her, as she stopped, rose to her toes, pecked his cheek politely, and laughed.

“Hurry up, I have a surprise for you!” he called after her when she headed back.

The park was just about overflowing with guests. It seemed that the good weather had coerced everyone out to promenade. Though the sun was high, it wasn’t overly hot, for which Lecia was grateful (the breeze was a nice respite from the exertion of horseback riding). Vaughan’s surprise had, in fact, been a new mount that he’d brought back with him from his business in Germany. Lecia had just about died when he walked the colt out. She’d had her own horse at Lekenbourgh, a stocky pony: Daisy. Daisy was quite spirited and capable for being as old and small as she was, but Lecia had outgrown her size and potentials quickly, though she had been dejected for at least a few weeks after the pony died. The Baron moved them to London before there had ever been an opportunity to replace the old mare.

From his back, Lecia admired the way her new gelding’s bright bay coat shone under the sun. His black mane looked like strands of silk against the lacing of black and red hairs on his strong neck. For being only five-years-old, he was an incredibly supple mount, and Lecia realized that they would have many stimulating years together. Wicked Effulgence was his name, though she didn’t suspect he was wicked in any way; he was, however, bright in every sense of the word.

Noticing her grin, Vaughan walked his horse up beside hers; they’d been stopped to rest a moment after having been out over an hour.

“I see you hate the horse,” he sighed. His voice broke Lecia’s focus and she jumped when she noticed he was so close. The horse flicked his ears back and pawed the ground lightly, displeased but not spooked.

“No,” she said too quickly—at which Vaughan grinned wildly. “I adore him! Thank you.” She finished with an easy smile and a pat on the horse’s neck. “Wherever did you find him?”

“Well, business in Germany is always quite dull, so I shall not bore you with too many specifics, but news of an auction reached me the night before I left. One of the great Masters of Dressage, Gustav Steinbrecht, died recently. Apparently his successor wasn’t keen on taking on so many horses and much of the stock was auctioned off. I can appreciate a good steed when I see one—I did grow up on a farm, you know—and I saw this one, striking and with his great big innocent eyes, and I thought of you,” Vaughan said more sweetly than he’d intended. “Before I left we’d made a routine of riding each day and you’re just so very good at it, so, I thought, why not? The queen has nice horses, of course, but none of them truly did your beauty justice; this one is a perfect match. I knew the two of you would make a stunning pair.” Lecia blushed. “Don’t get embarrassed before you’ve realized that the entire city has been watching us—mostly you—all morning,” he chuckled.

“I fear I’m nearly as red as he is, now,” she whispered, ducking her head to stare down at the leather gloves holding the reins. Lecia knew she was an accomplished horsewoman, she’d told the Dowager such many weeks ago, but to hear such praise—in public—and be rewarded with such an expensive mount…

“You did deserve him,” he said tenderly. “For marrying me just as much as being an extraordinarily good rider.”

“You’re not so bad,” she admitted woefully, the rosiness gone from her cheeks.

“I should certainly hope not; what with showering you with ponies and dresses and prestige,” he replied, imitating affront.

For a moment Lecia reflected on all of the things she had been blessed with since their marriage. The gifts had started before their wedding and hadn’t stopped. She’d become a Duchess and was now more powerful than an innumerable amount of men, including her father; she had endless fortune and lived in the Queen’s palace for the time being. Vaughan had commissioned a personal couturier for her, to privately design and make her clothing, and now there was the horse. He had done too much already…

“And for abandoning me to attend the Great Spring Show with my mother, much to the dissatisfaction of every woman in London,” she chided. He winced. “When your wedding was front-page news, it’s quite embarrassing to attend social obligations without your husband.”

“I was wondering whether you’d bring that up; Ezekiel had written me that the affair had been rather dreary without me,” Vaughan said with a twinkle in his eye. He twitched his chin to suggest they move on with their ride; Lecia trotted off first.

As he caught up, she said, “It wasn’t so much that I missed you, but that the women who fancy being your mistress were mourning your absence while also rejoicing in it; because, as you know, you purposefully missed the engagement to spite me. Our whirlwind marriage has already become a tumultuous mess, since I’m just a conniving witch who dazzled you into matrimony with a flick of my wrist,” she ran out of breath with the drama of it all, actually flicking her wrist at Vaughan for flourish.

He fully laughed at her as she regained her composure. There were a few dozen onlookers to their rendezvous, all impressed by the ease of company and countless smiles. A gossip journalist had been watching, too, though the paper itself had never printed anything unsavory about the Duke and Duchess; when it came to the Queen’s favorite, he was far too powerful to provoke. So, the columnist noted their joy and would make a point to publish it; besides, the ton would rear at the news being so opposite of what they wanted to read.

“How incredibly childish of them,” he replied through gleaming teeth. “What was your response?”

“The truth,” she admitted dully. “Mother would have fainted if I had been the least bit improper. She was actually quite glad you’d gone; she’s been very disappointed in my unladylike behavior in public with you. When she sees you next, you’d best hide. She says that we’ve been ‘vastly inappropriate in our affections for one another and demeaning in our show of wealth and supremacy’,” Lecia imitated her mother. “I’m not altogether sure I understand what she means; I hate you.”

“And I you,” Vaughan agreed gravely.

Together they rode back through the park and returned to the palace without many more words. There weren’t always things that needed to be said between them, another characteristic that made them such fast friends. She had tried to hate him—and he had wanted her to—but it was not so easy to do. While Lecia chose not to dwell on it, satisfied that while she was free to do as she wished she wouldn’t be miserable if she stayed in her husband’s company, Vaughan was terrified. Not just that she might fall for him, but that he might come to love her. That had never been the plan.

A/N: THANK YOU FOR TAKING HUNTERS TO 1K! Please don't be shy, though, friends.