He frowned in the direction of the tall windows. “You forget when my mother was duchess she was rarely in residence. I would think my father would not be the type of person to notice such a room.”
He was right, of course. The room had an air of femininity about it, and it was that which likely drew her to it.
“Would you mind so much if I used it?”
He gave a shrug. “Of course not. I’m not sure I knew it was here until Milton told me where I might find you.”
She could feel him tense beside her as if readying himself to ask a question he didn’t wish to. The sensation gave her pause, and she became acutely aware of his breathing.
“Louisa,” he finally spoke her name, his tone reluctant. “Should I be concerned about what you’re doing to my house?”
Relief flooded through her, and she even gave a small laugh. “I should think so. I believe no one has touched this poor house in ages. It needed a thorough renovation if there is any hope of it continuing into the next century of Waverlys.”
“You’re sending the bills to my man of affairs, I presume.”
“Yes, of course. Should I have done something differently?”
He tugged absently at the cuffs of his shirt. “No, I suppose not. Only—do you have any idea how much any of this costs?”
She finally turned to look at him. “Actually, I do.”
His glance was pointed and questioning.
“I believe one should be responsible in renovating a house of this size. There is so much history to preserve and so much lost to time that must be recovered.”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed again. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She placed a hand on his thigh in understanding. “I know this is all commotions and costs to you, but I assure you it’s important to keep the Waverly history intact.”
He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Is it, though?”
She patted his thigh. “It is. For instance, the house has a great number of important pieces of furniture. It’s only that they have been worn down with time and use. I’m having them refinished and repaired as I go room to room. There’s no sense in replacing such fine pieces, and I’m sure at some point or another there was a duke who acquired it through some important means.”
“I doubt it,” he scoffed.
But she only brushed his comment aside. “Oh no, I’m quite certain about this. Families collect pieces for a reason, and rooms hold the history of that family. I think it’s a great deal like how one might go about solving a mystery, uncovering the things a room has seen and heard.”
He stilled beside her again, and she wondered what he could possibly be wondering now.
Like an owl sweeping through the night, her words from that morning came back to her. Had he considered what she’d said? Had he made a decision? Were they to go back to leading separate lives? She might very well be carrying the heir now, and if that were true, he needn’t bother himself with marital relations until the outcome was determined. The thought sent an icy spike straight through her heart, and she swallowed, her eyes traveling to her husband sitting beside her.
“Louisa, I’m not…” His voice trailed off, and she realized he searched for a word, but still, she hung on the silence as though something truly awful were coming.
When he did not speak again, she feared the worst and steeled herself against it. But surprisingly, he took her hand, sending her stomach rolling.
“Louisa, I told you a secret I had not told anyone about my father’s death. I must ask you something now that I have no right to ask, but I hope you know you can trust me with anything.”
The unexpected course of conversation left her momentarily stunned. What was he getting at? She squeezed his hand to let him know he should continue, unable to form the words to tell him to do so.
“Do you remember anything of when your mother died?”
She had never heard such a somber note in his voice, and her chest tightened at the sound of it. It was several moments before she realized just exactly what he had asked.
“Why…” She licked her lips. “Why would you ask that?”
He turned to face her, the fabric of his coat rustling against the wall. “The morning of our wedding breakfast those women upset you. And not in the usual way family can be upsetting. You were honestly frightened by their mention of your mother’s funeral. I didn’t—”
His attention diverted to the ceiling as if suddenly exasperated by himself. The gesture was so unlike him it left her momentarily puzzled.
“Louisa, do you know before I met you I lived a perfectly calm and unexciting existence?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, which she’d never seen him do, before returning his gaze to her. “And now I upset myself over your reaction to a pair of exceedingly eccentric old women.”
His honest declaration left her warm and somewhat hopeful for an instant before she realized he studied her expectantly.
“I don’t like to speak of my mother’s death," she whispered, afraid of speaking more or at greater volume.
He turned fully now, taking both of her hands into his.
“I know you don’t. I know it, Louisa, because I went to great lengths to cover up the circumstances of my father’s death so I must never speak of it. But I think there’s something about your mother’s death of which you’ve never told anyone. I think it…hurts you.”
The setting sun poured through the windows, illuminating the planes of his face in oranges and golds. Sebastian. Her Sebastian. When had she fallen in love with him?
It was there all at once and all together, but she knew that wasn’t how it started. That wasn’t how love came upon a person surely. She loved him for the way he bantered with her sisters, for the way he protected his best friend, for the way he’d protected her, for his unfailing sense of loyalty and honor.
She loved him.
And it hurt so much more than she’d expected it to.
“I was so young.” Still she whispered, and yet, she willed herself to find the strength, the strength she had used for so many years to keep moving, to keep going, to take care of her sisters, to pay the price for her crimes.
“I know you were. Are there things that happened then that you don’t understand? That you don’t truly remember?” He swallowed, and it looked like it hurt. He closed his eyes against it, and when he opened them, she saw a rawness to him she’d never seen before.
The Beastly Duke cared.
About her.
It rushed over her all at once until she almost drowned in it.
But somewhere out of the depths of emotions, she heard herself say, “I killed my mother.”
* * *
Her words made no sense to him, but the way her eyes fluttered shut as if she could not contain the pain her revelation had caused, the way her shoulders slumped, her body coiling against itself as if in protection, he understood.
He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them tightly about her until she was tucked safely against his chest.
“Louisa, my darling.” He stroked her back. “Your mother died of influenza. I don’t understand what you mean.”
He thought she was crying as her shoulders shook against his arm, but he realized she wasn’t. Her body shook with tremors she seemed unable to control as she let him hold her. One hand clutched the lapel of his jacket, dragging the garment down until it choked him. He unlocked her fingers, soothing her hand with the stroke of his thumb along her palm.
Whatever she had kept pent up inside of her had been there for a very long time, and he’d suddenly released it with his careless words. Eliza had been right to worry over what Louisa may have remembered and what she didn’t. The loss of a parent was traumatic and life-altering. Louisa had been so preciously young and so incredibly scared. She must have been. How was a child so young supposed to understand what was happening? She’d probably been terrified.
And now, what was she saying about killing her mother?
&nb
sp; Slowly, he eased her away from his shoulder, holding her in place before him.
“Louisa, my darling, you must tell me what is wrong. Tell me what this is about.”
She heaved in his arms, her body bucking beneath the strain of whatever coursed through her mind. He searched her eyes, but they’d gone blank as if she’d slipped into a faraway time.
He set his forehead against hers, cradling her face in his palms.
“Louisa, you must tell me.” He set his voice low, coaxing her out of the abyss she’d fallen into. “Tell me the story just as you remember it.”
Her eyes had fluttered shut, the brush of her lashes a phantom against his cheeks.
“I just wanted to see her dollies.” Louisa’s voice had gone soft and childish, a plaintive note as if she were once more a child being scolded. “Mary was my friend. I didn’t think Mummy meant I couldn’t see her. And the dollies were so pretty.”
His mind raced, scrambling to put the pieces together.
“Where did Mary live, Louisa?” he asked, recalling what Eliza had said about their mother ordering them to stay out of the village.
Louisa’s face constricted as he felt her brow bundle against his. He leaned back ever so slightly but never released her face from the cradle of his hands. He stroked her cheeks gently, willing color to return to her skin.
“Mary lived in the cottage at the end of the lane. Mommy said we weren’t to go into the village, but Mary didn’t live in the village. She lived on the lane where the steward’s cottage was. I didn’t disobey. I didn’t.” She shook her head violently at these last words and he loosened his grip so as not to hurt her.
“Mary was your friend.” He spoke the words calmly, soothingly. “She was your friend, Louisa. You just wanted to see her dolls.”
Louisa’s eyes flew open, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at something else, something like the dolls of which she spoke.
“Her grandmother made them for her. They were knitted from the softest yarn and they had the most beautiful bows done in silks along their shoes and their dresses and in their hair. Peaches and pinks and blues, and they were so lovely. I just wanted to see the dolls.”
“Did your mother forbid you from going into the village?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Her eyes flashed at this, and he worried he’d said something wrong, but instead, it was the opposite. Color seeped back into her cheeks, and her eyes flicked back and forth over his face as if she saw him again for the first time.
“There was an outbreak in the village. Mother didn’t want us to go there for fear we’d take ill.”
“And you didn’t go to the village.”
Her eyelids slid shut. “I didn’t go to the village, but I went to Mary’s cottage.”
Realization struck him all at once, robbing him of breath. Very carefully, he said, “Louisa, do you think you brought the influenza into the main house? Do you think your mother became ill because of you?”
Louisa jerked her head from the cradle of his hands as she swung her gaze away from him, a sound tearing from her mouth that was anything but human and entirely of anguish. He was faster, though, and caught her shoulders, drawing her back to him.
“Louisa, you know you can tell me anything. I’ve proven my loyalty to you, haven’t I?”
For the first time in all of her weary tale, she looked at him, her eyes surprisingly dry and yet still haunted.
“I would never question your loyalty.” Her words were low and fierce. “It’s myself whom I do not trust.”
“What do you mean?”
When she looked away this time, he let her. Her gaze roamed the empty walls of the room as if seeing something there he did not. The sun had set now, and only a small pink light hung far up in the room, and they were left shrouded in darkness along the floor.
“It’s my nature, you see.” She gave a soft, painful laugh. “I’m impulsive. I’m always harrying off on a whim, and someone is always inevitably hurt.” She gave another laugh before facing him again. “I mean, look what I’ve done to you. I forced you into this marriage because I wanted to see puppies.”
He couldn’t stop the frown, his head jumbled with far too many things. He recalled she’d said the word that night he’d found her in the Lumberton drawing room, and still it made no sense that she should follow a man, alone, to these suggested puppies. But perhaps, that was the very thing of which she spoke, the danger of impulsiveness.
He touched her hand and gathered it into his when she didn’t pull away.
“I hardly think wishing to see a friend’s dolls or a litter of puppies is cause for a proclamation of such damnation.”
A line appeared between her brows. “It is when you endanger your sister’s happiness, her chance at a future.” She grew somber, her voice softening. “It is when you condemn a man to marriage.”
The agony in her voice was like a dagger in his chest, twisting until it struck bone.
“Marriage is not a condemnation. Especially not this one.” He spoke the words to her hands, unable to meet her gaze as he wondered at the feelings coursing through him.
Once he may have agreed with her that marriage was a punishment he did not deserve, but now he was not so quick to judge. Marriage to Louisa was…well, fine.
He knew that was not the stuff of bards, and if he’d actually spoken such sentiment aloud, Louisa would be more than disappointed. She would blame herself for his unhappiness, but that was not at all what he felt when he thought of their marriage.
In fact, he might even be so bold as to apply the word content to his current state of affairs.
That word alone, so innocent and neutral, sparked a fear in him he thought not possible. But he soon tamped it down, not wanting to allow it to vanquish the small bit of peace he’d managed between them.
She studied his face now as if to gauge the truthfulness of his statement, and he did not flinch under her scrutiny.
“Do you honestly feel that way?”
The wonder in her voice had his gut clenching.
“Of course, I do. I would not lie, Louisa.” He spoke the words more harshly than he’d meant to, and unexpectedly, a smile broke across her face.
“No, you wouldn’t lie.” Her voice wobbled ever so slightly, and he forced himself to look away, feeling the tenuous grip on his emotions slipping.
This was what love did to a person. It made them question their every action, pour themselves out to another until they were at their most vulnerable. He couldn’t stand for it. At least…perhaps not yet.
“Louisa, I think you judge yourself far too harshly.” He spoke to the fireplace opposite in hopes he could steer the conversation to safer ground.
She followed his gaze as she reclined once more against the wall, her shoulder brushing his.
“No, I don’t,” she said softly. “It’s difficult to carry the burden of your mother’s death for so long.” She turned, her hair rustling along the plasterwork at their backs. “Do you know I’ve never told another soul about what I did? You’re the first to know.”
He did look at her now, remembering the night he’d told her the truth about his father.
“Do you feel better for it?”
She gave a soft shrug. “Not really, but I guess it feels different now. Now that someone else knows. It still hurts me terribly.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap, and he discovered she was twisting her gown in her hands. Carefully, he slipped his hand between hers, capturing her warring fingers in his.
“It always will, I’m afraid.” The words rung through the empty room with a quiet solemnity.
“I suppose it will.”
Moments passed as they sat in silence, and he never let go of her hand. He let her revelation tumble through his mind, but it never quite sat well. Something wasn’t right.
“Louisa, I know it must be an awful thing to speak of, but your mother—you think she became ill because you went to see your friend’
s dolls.”
She gave a soft nod. “Even though I didn’t go to the village, I still must have brought the disease back with me to the house. That’s the only explanation. Mother forbid anyone, including the staff, to leave the house while there was an outbreak.”
She turned her head to meet his gaze, and when he saw her eyes, his heart cracked. She looked so scared, like a frightened child.
“Mother was so very worried one of us children would become ill. Some would call what she did drastic, but she just wouldn’t risk our health. And I—”
Her voice broke, and he pulled her back into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he tucked her head beneath his chin.
“It wasn’t your fault. You were only a child.”
“But that’s just it. It’s still my fault, and I was a child. I not only lost my mother, but I was the cause of it.” Her voice was strained now, and he could hear the first hint of tears.
He kissed her temples, her cheeks, her closed eyes. “Louisa, my darling, you mustn’t do this to yourself. You must let the past go or it will only serve to control your future.”
Her head snapped up at this, and when she opened her eyes, the fading light shone from the moisture there.
“Says the man who cannot love me.” The words were spoken with a ferociousness he hadn’t expected, and he dropped his hands futilely into his lap.
“Well, that’s…that’s something else entirely.”
“I see.” She wiped at her eyes with quick hands before sliding her legs underneath her. “We should get ready for supper. I’m sure Milton will be calling it soon.”
He helped her to her feet, their footsteps ringing in the quiet of the empty room. They stood facing each other for several seconds as he was unable to let go of her hands even after she proved to be safely standing.
The moon had begun to rise, and the beams of light struck her full in the face, illuminating the valleys and crests he found so fascinating. She glowed but not from the moonlight. She glowed from the weight of her secrets she’d carried for so long, from the fierceness with which she protected her family, from the love she kept held inside of her.
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