Page 11 of The Duchess’ Second Chance

We had that in common—the anticipation. The understanding that we lay in one another’s futures, and that once he returned from the war, we would be able to focus on getting to know each other. He was excited about it, just as I was.

That was a good thing to know. She was glad the duke had told her.

“And it was in all that time that he made you promise to marry me?” She still struggled to see how they could have reached that point.

“Well, he worried, you see,” the duke said. “There were many times when we would see horrible things happen to the men we were with. Many of them lost their lives. I don’t think any of us could help imagining what might happen if we were the next to die, and that was a question that hit some harder than others. George told me that the thing he would worry about most of all would be his wife, because he was afraid you had nowhere else to go.” He paused. “He thought you might be turned out of his house if he was killed.”

“Well, he was right about that,” Amanda said quietly.

The carriage fell silent once more. The two of them rode along without speaking. Every now and then, Amanda glanced up at him.

He was watching her.

The entire time they rolled along, he was watching her. He never looked away. And after a while, it began to unnerve her. His eyes were so penetrating, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was going on behind them. What was he thinking right now? What was he deciding about her? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how she could do it without giving away the fact that she had been watching him. It was embarrassing enough to have him watching her.

She raised her eyes to him again.

He didn’t look angry. That was a good thing. It wasn’t as if she’d done something to upset him. It looked more like he was curious, actually. That was still frightening, because it meant that he was probably learning things about her right now, just by paying attention to her. It meant she didn’t have control of what he might think of her. But anger would have been worse.

“Why do you keep looking at me that way?” he asked quietly.

“Looking at you what way?” Her voice shook a little as she answered. She hadn’t meant him to notice.

“You look like you’re afraid,” he said.

He really did see far too much. Her stomach turned over, and she looked away from him quickly.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked her.

“No,” she said. “I have no reason to be.”

“You don’t,” he agreed. “But you do look as if you’re…wary. You keep looking at me and then looking away.”

“You’re staring,” she told him.

“I want to see how you react to me.” It was as blunt as could be. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure what to think,” she admitted. “I don’t know you yet, Your Grace. How could I think anything at all?”

“You should call me Sampson,” he said. “I’m your husband, Amanda.”

“I…didn’t know that was your name.” How little she knew of this man!

“Now you know,” he said.

“All right, Sampson, then,” she agreed. My husband, Sampson.

“And you aren’t afraid of me?” he prompted her. “Because, you know, many people are. Ladies especially, but even gentlemen aren’t immune. My face frightens them. They see these scars, and they don’t know what to make of me.” His hand came up to his face and traced along the scars that marred his cheek.

“You were at war,” she said. “I understand the scars. I often considered the possibility that George might return with scars, or worse. I thought it was possible he might lose a limb. I considered whether I would be able to remain a good wife to him in that circumstance, and I was ready to do it. The only thing I wasn’t prepared for was what did happen.”

She stopped talking again, not sure why she was opening up so quickly to this man she hardly knew. She didn’t want to tell him about the way she had refused to allow thoughts of death into her head, as though by thinking them she might somehow make them real. She had told herself that it couldn’t happen. Soon enough, George would be home, and someday they would laugh together about the fact that she’d had any fears at all.

Scars would have been nothing. Of course, scars don’t frighten me. How could they, when I know full well how much worse fates people can suffer?

“I’m not afraid of you, Sampson,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I was frightened of Lord Oakwell. But not of you.”

“Well, it’s just good sense to be fearful of that man,” Sampson grunted. “Anyone can see what an abysmal character he is. Of course, you wanted nothing to do with him. George would have hated him too.”