Page 71 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

“He sounds like a remarkable man,” Adam said, his voice gentle.

“He was,” Rosaline replied, her voice catching. “The most remarkable man I ever knew.”

She closed her eyes, the image of that night burned into her memory. “We were returning home, the carriage swaying violently in the storm. Michael spoke about prospective brides, about how he would choose his wife.”

She chuckled, the sound bittersweet. “He said, ‘I am the earl; prospective brides and their mothers seem to find me no matter where I hide. Even freshly in our grief, they came calling. I only attended the party tonight so they would stop accosting me in our home’.”

“Your mother, I presume, disagreed?” Adam inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, she did,” Rosaline replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “She said that the ones who came calling uninvited and un-introduced were far too forward to make an appropriate match.”

She paused, the memory of her mother’s gentle smile a fleeting comfort. “We were all laughing, enjoying the warmth of the carriage, the anticipation of returning home. And then…the storm struck. Genevieve’s carriage slipped off the road. I heard their screams.”

Rosaline’s voice trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.

Adam reached out, his hand gently covering hers. “Rosaline,” he said softly, “you don’t have to…you don’t have to relive it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I…I need to,” she whispered. “I need to tell you. It…it changed me.”

She took a deep breath, the memory of the shattered glass, the screams, the blood, flooding back. “Our horses must’ve gotten spooked by the sudden crash. I heard our carriage driver try to regain control, but…” she sobbed. “We crashed into Sophia’s carriage.”

Adam squeezed her hand.

“I was thrown to the side. When the carriage stopped, I saw them. My mother and brother. They…they were already gone.”

She pulled her hand away, self-consciously covering her arms.

“All I have left is these dreadful scars to remind me of that horrible night. Of how disgustingly ‘fortunate’ I was to survive.”

“Rosaline,” Adam said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with concern. “Look at me.”

She slowly raised her gaze, meeting his.

“I cannot offer you much comfort. I am sorry about your family. It is a dreadful thing to lose someone you cherish too early. But, I want you to know that the scars,” he said, his voice gentle, “they are a part of you. They show your strength, your resilience.”

He reached out, gently tracing the scar on her cheek with his finger. “You are beyond courageous, living with such a burden of grief.”

Rosaline felt a lump forming in her throat. No one had ever spoken of her scars with such…tenderness.

“I…I was afraid,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “Afraid of what people would think. Afraid that they would…be repulsed.”

“Repulsed?” Adam scoffed. “By you? You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

“The ton,” she continued, her voice trembling. “They said I was cursed. That I was…a blight.”

Adam’s eyes hardened. “Do not let their inane superstitions define you.” He pulled her closer, his arms encircling her. “You are strong, Rosaline. You are brave. You are…extraordinary.”

Rosaline felt a wave of emotion wash over her. He believed in her. He saw beyond the scars.

She leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his warmth, his strength.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for…for understanding.”

Adam held her close and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Wear your scars with pride. You are a survivor, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Rosaline smiled, wiping her tears away, and gripped him tighter.

“Thank you,” she whispered and nuzzled her head in his chest.