My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 95: Mulled Wine

Chapter 95: Mulled Wine

Ale was the drink of rough soldiers, torn up by the battlefield with not much else to live for other than their drink at the end of the day.

Once it was cold outside, the soldiers would pretend to be festive by drinking spiced ale or mulled wine instead. Both drinks were heated and they pretended the coldness in their lives could be washed away by warmth inside.

When winter set in Montclair, Leonor had her first taste of mulled wine.

The first snow fell and Leonor was stuck to the windows all day as she watched the world she had been getting used to become blanketed in white. Her only experience with snow was in Magia, but Montclair winter was far more severe than she could have ever expected.

She thought it would be a light dusting to ease them into the season, but it was far from light.

The day after Desmond arrived from checking on the duchy, there was snow on the highest peaks behind their beautiful home. That should have been Leonor’s ease into winter but she didn’t take it as such. Once the snow started, it seemed to never want to stop.

Doors throughout the estate closed as maids tried to heat each room for their masters and everything felt darker. The hallways were constantly cold while the rooms in between were nice and warm as they waited for the duke and duchess to occupy each space.

As Desmond’s work for the season lessened, all that was left for him to do was respond to the occasional letters as Stephano or one of his aides updated him on the goings on of the capital.

With not much else to do, Desmond started reading in the library.

Rather than the walks the duke and duchess used to go on, their days were full of sitting in a mostly dark library with books sprawled out around them. The topics they enjoyed ranged from educational to entertaining.

One thing that remained as the days were short and the couple grew closer was that they were almost always together.

Desmond took full advantage of the dim light in the space. He wore bandages less often than he used to but his head was still always covered with a hood.

Leonor had experienced all seasons at his side and the hood always remained. Even though it had been less than a year, she wondered if he would ever be comfortable enough to take it off.

The closer they became to one another, the more she started to catch glimpses of his marred skin but it didn’t change her opinion of him. Although she didn’t know how to outwardly say such a thing.

One of the maids came in to tell them it was time to eat dinner and she asked if they wanted to get into mulled wine since the servants had permission to enjoy it as the world froze.

Desmond turned to Leonor who was already looking to him for an answer.

"Have you ever had it before?" he asked.

"We don’t have such a thing in Burien," she admitted. "It isn’t cold enough."

The duke contemplated it for a moment longer.

The last time Leonor had drank more than usual was on her birthday. That day, she clung to him as they said goodbye to Francia. It was a night when he struggled to settle himself down. The unfair hope that Leonor could love him the way he desired was too much for him to bear.

He thought of going through that again and how his life had become a constant yearning since Leonor had become more comfortable around him. He wondered when his breaking point was but he had to remind himself that he couldn’t have one. She would hate him if she found out the truth.

"If her grace would like some, then make it so," he finally responded.

Leonor’s questioning gaze instantly became a grin and he knew he made the right decision.

"I would," she said excitedly then settled back down once the maid had gone to prepare their meals in the smaller dining nook so that they wouldn’t have to heat an entire dining hall and waste supplies - a request of the needlessly frugal duke, of course.

Once they were able to get to dinner, they sat across from one another in a more intimate setting than they used to when the weather was warmer.

Leonor realized she preferred that setting over the large dining hall but she felt spoiled to admit something like that. He gave her everything and she would never complain about it.

"This is much better than I was expecting," she admitted about the mulled wine. "Normally I don’t have such a taste for wine but this has made it so much more delicious. With each sip, I can feel it all the way down my throat."

The duke had a secretive smile as he brought the brass chalice to his lips. He could tell she had drunk more than usual already, but he wanted her to have a good time if that’s what she wanted.

In a lapse of judgment, Desmond filled his glass another couple of times as well.

He normally made a point to remain sober while others had fun. It was always better to have at least one person sharp but he didn’t think there would be anything in the middle of winter that required his attention.

Days all felt the same during that season. He felt it was alright to let go just that once.

When their meal was over, he was shocked to see Leonor pick up her cup that had just been refilled.

"I’m taking this with me," she muttered. "I want to read some more and it’s making me feel warm on the inside."

He decided to follow her lead as he took his chalice as well. Their hands were warmed for once as they walked from one room to the other.

Since the maids didn’t expect the duke and duchess to return to the library, the fire was starting to burn out so Desmond decided to build it back up even though he hated having to deal with fire. Gideon was the only one in the estate who knew his reasoning for that.

He couldn’t be weak in front of Leonor so he did the best he could despite how much it made his heart race. The thought of being burnt again was his greatest fear.

When he returned to the couch he occupied before dinner, he downed the rest of his cup. That was enough drinking for one night, he decided.

Leonor, with a much lower tolerance than he, discovered that alcohol made her crave attention. Particularly that of the duke, someone who swore to never covet her openly.