by Abigail Agar
It seemed the hugs, the laughter, the play—it seemed it would never end. That perhaps always, Marina would be a spectator of a life that wasn’t her own. Her legs fell asleep beneath her, yet she made no move to alter her position. She couldn’t allow anyone to have a reason to call her out or to say that she had to leave.
“Marina, come closer,” Lottie cried, waving her hand towards her. “Please. Come see his eyes. They’re so bright.”
There was a long pause, during which, Marina thought, the Duke remembered that Marina had been there the entire time. The Duke drew his eyes from child to child until they fell upon Marina, who immediately looked down. She felt that same tension she’d felt with him for the previous few weeks, except it was intensified, knowing that he saw her there. Saw her full form.
“Children, could you run back up to the playroom before dinner? I need to speak to your governess alone,” the Duke said, his voice low.
She couldn’t read his voice. Couldn’t sense if it held any level of pleasure, or pain, or intrigue. She tried to put herself in the Duke’s shoes. Perhaps she’d been imagining the attraction between them? Perhaps it had been nothing. And now, with his renewed sight, he would truly just want to have a conversation with her. One that would feel like a punch in the gut, without matching her emotions.
Marina hadn’t a clue what would happen next. She remained perched on her knees, while the children raced around her, their feet scattering across the floors. She felt such an ego before her, such a presence, that she kept her eyes upon her hands. The Duke stood from the rug, taking three steps to stand before her. It was very much she was praying at his feet, perhaps. And this made her feel endlessly foolish.
“Marina, stand up,” the Duke said, his voice soft.
Marina did as she was told. She shuffled to her feet, keeping her eyes down. She drew her hands across her stomach, aching to touch him. She’d never felt such a wave of desire, crashing against her chest. Where did all this emotion come from?
“I—I’m so terribly glad you’re getting well,” she murmured.
The Duke reached his cabinet, drawing out his violin. He dropped the body of the case on the desk, opening it wide to reveal the gleaming wood beneath. He let out a heavy sigh, drawing his fingers along the strings. He glanced towards her, humming. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since I saw this.” He sighed. “I envisioned it in my dreams so many times, you know. I ached to see her again.”
“Her?” Marina asked, chuckling slightly. Nerves rollicked up and down her body.
“Ha. And, you, of course,” the Duke offered.
“Me?” Marina asked, her voice soft. She remained in place, watching as the Duke brought the violin to his neck, then back down again. His eyes remained firm on her face, studying her.
“Of course, you,” he said. “I’ve dreamed about what you looked like, ever since you arrived.”
“I couldn’t have imagined myself in your dreams,” Marina whispered. “I would have never allowed myself that space.”
The Duke paused, drawing his hand across his neck. He chuckled to himself. Then, he placed the violin back in its case, walking closer to Marina. Marina felt absolutely intoxicated. Her nostrils filled with his scent, the musk of him. She longed to reach up and touch his face, to draw his lips against hers.
She knew the next few moments might change the rest of her life. So she waited, unable to breathe, hoping she wouldn’t fall to the floor in agony and expectation. How she’d always longed to be loved like this. And finally, perhaps, it would be so.
Chapter 29
The Duke felt strangely more powerful, with his sight. As he gazed down at Marina, at the glow of her brunette curls, at the way her skirt swirled around her, at her small shoulders and the curve of her cheek, he felt dominance, as if, for the first time in months, he was truly the man of this house. He could take whatever he wanted.
How he’d craved seeing Marina. Now, he couldn’t possibly reflect the image of her with the one Sally Hodgins had crafted for him. She wasn’t obnoxiously pretty like some of the women he’d spotted before in London. She had a cute, bright face, one seemingly eager to fold into laughter or break into a wide grin. Of course, with the tension in the room growing, her face was stoic, her eyes downcast. With each passing moment, the Duke was able to see more and more of the space around him—the colour, the shift of her hair from the slight breeze from the cracked window. He took another step forward, reaching for her shoulder. Immediately, when he touched her, she shook beneath him, and her lips emitted a slight whimper.
He felt it, too. The electricity. The shock that ran up and down his spine when they touched. He maintained his hand there, not wanting to touch anything else.
“Marina, you’re so young,” he breathed, laughing slightly.
“I’m only twenty, sir,” Marina said, allowing that smile to grow. “I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“You’ll always have a youthful spirit, I think,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine it any other way. And my goodness, my children absolutely adore you. Seeing them interact with you for the first time today, it nearly took my breath away.” For a moment, he was reminded of Marybeth with the children—not as quick with a laugh as Marina, but overzealous with her love—always hugging them, kissing them, lifting up Lottie and tossing her in the air.
Marina tucked a curl behind her ear. The Duke pointed to the open space near the fireplace. “Why don’t you give me a spin, Marina?” he asked. “It’s like our first introduction, all over again.”
Marina stepped away from his touch, turning this way and that in the firelight. She beamed up at him, her eyes catching the light from the fire. Her thin figure wafted this way, then that, and she brought her hands from side to side, flashing her fingers like a proper dancer. She giggled, saying, “I probably look terribly foolish, don’t I? But I suppose it won’t be the last time you see me acting like such a fool. My mother often told me that I moved like a clown.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” the Duke said. “From what you’ve told me, your mother, nay, your entire family never saw you for who you really were. Now that I do, in the flesh, I have to say that it was entirely their loss. You’re a portrait of beauty, my dear.”
Marina stopped dancing. She allowed her arms to fall to her sides, and she gazed at the Duke, pressing her lips together. She took a soft step, and then another, until she brought herself just before him. Her lips caught the light from the candle, and she licked the bottom one.
Without hesitation, the Duke brought his muscular arms around her thin shoulders, hugging her tight against him. He felt her pert breasts against his upper stomach; felt her fluttering heart beneath her ribcage, moving as fast and ferocious as a snare drum. Then, he drew her back just slightly and knelt down, closing his eyes and placing a kiss on her lips. Immediately, his stomach clenched, his blood pumped wildly past his ears. He felt a rush as if he was possibly floating with desire. And in his arms, for the first time, Marina loosened up, became less tense. She fell deeper into him, as the kiss itself continued. How he loved to have her flowery scent wrapped around him. How he loved to feel the fabric of her dress against his fingertips.
Their kiss broke moments later. Marina looked up at him, her eyes like huge reflecting pools. She opened her mouth to speak.
But it was then that reality hit the Duke like a crashing brick. For Marina’s eyes weren’t only her eyes. No. They were hazel, a strange mix of brown and green and glinting yellow. And remarkably, they were the exact eyes of his wife, Marybeth. He staggered back into the desk, dropping Marina so that she, too, fell back towards the fireplace. Immediately, her face fell. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. She reached up, trying to catch them, shaking her head back and forth.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “What is it?”
The Duke was uncertain if he could possibly verbalise what was happening in his head. For, with her eyes centred upon him, he felt terribly sure that
he was staring directly at Marybeth. He remembered everything so clearly, then: falling in love with her between the trees of the forest, holding her hand as the night darkened. Listening to her cry while she gave birth to their first child, to Claudia, and then holding her tight during the following years—watching her face change when they were in bed together, digging his lips against her neck and inhaling her scent. How he had loved her! And then, all at once, he had lost her!
Wasn’t he meant to be upholding her memory in everything he did? His blindness, then, had allowed him to dream of Marybeth as if she were real. He hadn’t touched Marina, hadn’t given in to his innermost animal desires. And now that he had, now that he’d dared kiss her, he understood that he was foolish, so terribly foolish, to think that he could possibly fall for anyone ever again. Love! It was a crippling debilitation. It was only something that would leave him bedridden and aching, a destruction to both himself and his family. He had to think of his children. He had to remember Marybeth, and uphold her over all things.
“I’m so, so terribly sorry,” Marina whispered, her voice a string. She retreated towards the door, her hand searching behind her for the handle. Her eyes weren’t able to escape his. She stared at him, studying him. It seemed that she thought if she stared long enough, she might decipher what had gone wrong. But the Duke knew that his innermost thoughts were too far from reality. Too lost in the dark chaos of his own mind. She couldn’t possibly ever know.
The Duke turned back towards his violin. His hands shook with a strange mix of rage and fear and sadness. He lifted the violin to his neck, placing the bow against the strings. He couldn’t possibly give Marina the answer she deserved. For what an imbecile he would sound like, saying it: I’m terribly sorry. You remind me too much of her. He couldn’t possibly.
Marina left just as the Duke tore into one of his favourite melodies—the dark and sombre violin tune he’d been playing that night he’d discovered Marina and the children outside of his study door. He forced the sound to pound from wall to wall, arching into a crescendo and then falling to a slow, angry whine. He heard Marina as she stomped down the hallway, towards the staircase. He felt as though he was falling down and down and down a well, into darkness, despite the fact that he could see—really see—for the first time in months.
How could he possibly love this girl? She was terribly young, a youthful woman with her entire life ahead of her. The Duke had already had his sunny love story. He’d already had his children. He was doomed to remain at his estate alone, with only the memory of Marybeth swimming in his head.
But what would come of Marina? He stewed with it, continuing to play. He imagined her upstairs, sitting at the edge of her bed, perhaps, listening as his violin music whirled through the crack in the window and snuck up towards her wing. He imagined the music as a kind of apology, as a symbol of the man he truly was, rather than the man he wanted to be.
It all became too heavy. He stopped playing the violin, huffing wildly and allowing both the violin and the bow to fall to either side of him. He let out a horrendous yell, one that shook his throat and his tongue and made him feel that his brain was oozing out of his ears. He no longer remembered his children, or the joy he’d felt at seeing them for the first time. He only ached for the present moment, as he felt time swallowing Marina, and leaving him with the darkness that was loneliness, forever.
Chapter 30
Marina tore up the steps of the mansion, her heart throttling and her legs shaking so bad, she staggered against the railing. She gripped the wood as hard as she could, pulling herself to her bedroom floor. The Duke was playing the violin again, an angry, wild roar that escaped through the hallways and made the window panes shake. She’d waited all the way down the hallway when she’d first rushed from the room, feeling that, perhaps, he might change his mind. That he might come after her. But now, she sensed that that was just a false hope. She had to abandon it.
But what exactly had happened? She marvelled at the events of the previous hour—the incredible range of emotions she’d felt. She and the Duke had been alone in the room, marching around one another with a kind of electricity between them. She’d twirled around like an idiot, in this stupid dress she’d sewn herself, and he’d laughed with her. And told her that she’d always been enough, despite her parents saying differently.
The kiss. Perhaps the kiss had changed everything. It had been Marina’s very first: making her eyes well up with tears, her throat constrict with passion, her legs feel weak. She wanted to be nowhere else but in his arms for the rest of her life. Felt that that kiss could have gone on forever, and she wouldn’t have minded. “Bury me in this moment,” she’d prayed, her lips pressing hard against his.
But when he’d drawn back, she’d seen the truth. She’d felt his hesitation and his doubt. She’d understood that the fantasy she’d been holding onto, one that involved her belonging to him and to the children, had been only a fantasy. How was it possible that the world could be so cruel? He’d looked at her, and he’d known she wasn’t enough for him. Perhaps he hadn’t even felt the intensity of the kiss. Could it have really been only one-sided?
She fell against her bed, listening as the violin music rushed across the top of the roof, filling her room. Darkness was falling around the house, an early, grey darkness. The children would be preparing for dinner soon. And, as if on cue, Margaret appeared at Marina’s doorway in just moments, her face wide and fat and eager.
“What do you reckon I should be cooking for the night?” she asked, rubbing her palms together. “It’s the Duke’s first dinner he’ll be seeing in a long while, and I want it to be special. I reckon you know him better than most, these days.”
Marina wanted to declare that Margaret was entirely wrong. That they’d all been wrong. The reality was the Duke and Marina didn’t know one another at all. They’d always been strangers, duet-ing in violin in the dark. The Duke now saw the light of his feelings, and he’d left her. He’d left her there, swimming in passion, all alone. Surely, she would drown.
But Marina spoke brightly, deciding to kick down her personal feelings, for the good of the family. She even smiled—a thing that felt so foreign to her, then. “Oh, you know what the Duke loves the most.” She sniffed. “He loves stew, and rolls, and steamed vegetables. He loves good wine and cheesecake for dessert. My goodness, you’re going to fatten him up, aren’t you? I can see how happy you are.”
Margaret allowed her eyes to roll back with excitement. “I just didn’t know if we’d ever see this day, Miss Marina.” She sighed. “I didn’t know if we’d ever know the Duke to be well again. Hearing his violin this afternoon, it’s been extraordinary, for I know the music is coming from a good place. He’s finally seen his children again. And Miss Marina, I know for a fact …” Margaret paused, biting at her bottom lip.
“What is it?” Marina asked.
“I know for a fact he must have loved to see you, as well,” Margaret said.
Marina forced her eyes to the ground, so as not to betray her true feelings. “Oh, Margaret, you couldn’t be further from the truth. I am the Duke’s employee and nothing more. But it was a marvellous thing, watching him see his children again. I could see the light coming into his eyes all over again.”
“Well. If you aren’t willing to discuss it,” Margaret said, tittering slightly. “I’ll let you off the hook, for now. But looking forward to dinner! See you there.”
Margaret whirled from the doorway, tapping down the hall. Marina clenched her fists, trying to imagine that dinner. She would be seated beside the children, listening to their raucous laughter, watching their father dig deeper into conversation with them. She imagined them gobbling up stew, cake; imagined the Duke pouring himself a second glass of wine, in celebration.
But, for whatever reason, Marina couldn’t imagine herself beside them. In fact, the thought of being there with them, and yet being so separate from the Duke, made her stomach clench so hard, she thought she might vomi
t. Without another thought, she flung herself towards her bag and began to toss her clothes into it, piece after piece. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unencumbered, now. And she let out a small, horrible wail.
Married? Children? That life wasn’t for her. She understood it, fully, now. She wasn’t enough for the Duke, and therefore, she would never be enough for anyone. She rushed to her coat, flinging it over her shoulders, and then clipped her suitcase together. After a pause, she grabbed her crummy violin, one she hadn’t bothered to use since the Duke had been lending her the nicer ones. But now, it was all she had.