Page 41 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)
The sight of her like that again hurt him greatly and he could not help but raise his head.
“Of course.”
Joan stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Maintained a few feet of distance between herself and his desk, as though she was reluctant to get too close to him and her actions left him confused by her intentions.
Was she here to end things between them once and for all? Or perhaps request for another chance? He really could not say.
“I wondered… would you consider accompanying me outside, for a bit?” Joan said, her voice gaining slight strength though she still could not quite meet his gaze. “There is something I wish to show you.”
Graham’s brow furrowed in confusion. What could she possibly wish to show him that required leaving the house?
“Am I allowed to enquire about the nature of this… thing ?”
Joan’s hand came down to her sides to clench the fabric of her dress between her fingers, a nervous habit she shared with Sophia.
“It would be easier to show you than to explain. Please, Graham. I know I have no right to ask anything of you after… after what I said, but I am asking nonetheless.”
There was something in her voice — a note of desperate hope mixed with fear — that eroded his resolve to stay away from her. Despite his anger, despite the hurt that still burned more than the wound caused by the bullet that was shot at him, Graham found himself rising from his chair.
“Do not be ridiculous. You can always ask me for whatever it is you need or want,” he said, moving around the desk to stand before her. “After you, Duchess.”
Relief flickered across Joan’s features and he couldn’t help but smile at how open she was now. Before, it had taken him numerous guesses — and a quick prayer — to correctly assess her expressions but now, he could tell his just by looking at her.
He did not know what it meant or if it would serve their marriage in any way, but he felt it had to count for something.
Graham followed her without any fuss as she led him through the house, the silence between them not as awkward as he imagined it would be. And before he realized it, she had led him to the garden, weaving through the hedges and rose bushes seamlessly.
He followed her closely, even as she began to lead him down a path he was not familiar with.
The hedges in those parts were a little taller than the others and gave a maze-like effect to the area. Moments later, Graham understood why she had brought him there.
A blanket had been spread upon the grass, along with some cushions and on the other edge of it there was spread some food and a bottle of wine, besides to wine glasses. When Graham realized her intentions, he turned to her and noted the deep blush across her cheek.
“Joan,” Graham began, his voice rougher than he had intended, staring at the elaborate setup with something akin to bewilderment. “What is all this?”
Joan moved to stand beside the blanket, her hands twisting nervously in her skirts again. “I thought… I hoped we might share a meal together.” She gestured helplessly. “Away from everything except ourselves.”
Graham continued to stare at the picnic, his mind struggling to understand what he was seeing. Joan had arranged all of this for them? After everything that had passed between them, after the harsh words and wounded silences, she had gone to such elaborate trouble to create this intimate setting?
“You know… doing this might only further confused me about what your intentions are for us,” he said quietly, though he found himself moving toward the blanket despite his confusion.
“I hoped to clarify a few details about all of that, actually,” Joan replied, her voice gaining strength. “I needed to do this. Graham, there are things I need say to you — things I should have said long ago. Things I pray I am not too late to express.”
Something in her tone made Graham’s chest tighten with unwilling hope. He settled himself carefully on the edge of the blanket, leaving plenty of space between them but close enough to see the slight tremor in her hands as she busied herself with serving him.
When he had a plate laden with little finger sandwiches and dessert in his hands, she moved closer to him.
“I have thought about this quite a bit. While I do wish we had talked that night… when you said you loved me, I appreciated the day that followed because allowed time to think properly. About you, about Sophia and me. What you said… it made me realize that I know almost nothing about your heart. Your thoughts, your fears, your dreams for our future—I have been so wrapped up in my own insecurities that I refused to let myself truly see you.”
Graham set down his untouched plate, his full attention focused on his wife’s face. There was something different about her today — a resolution in her bearing that had been absent during their recent strained interactions.
“What are you saying, Joan?” he urged gently.
Joan drew a shaking breath, her hands clenching in her lap. “I am saying that I have been wrong. So terribly, completely wrong about everything.”
The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Graham waited, barely daring to breathe, as Joan struggled to continue.
“When you told me that you loved me,” she said, her voice growing stronger with each word, “When you said that you had searched for me all those years, I thought… I convinced myself that you were merely being kind. That you were saying what you believed I needed to hear in order to make our marriage more comfortable.”
Graham’s jaw tightened. “Why would you think such a thing?”
Joan’s eyes filled with tears, though she did not let them fall. “Because I have lived my entire life believing that no man could truly want me for unselfish reasons. My uncle made that quite clear from the time I was barely more than a child.”
The mention of Benedict Brooks sent a familiar surge of rage through Graham, but he forced himself to remain silent, to let Joan speak freely without interruption.
Now that she had begun to bare her heart and soul to him, he did not want to do or say anything that would discourage her.
“Uncle Benedict’s… his thoughts and feelings for me were never about affection or genuine desire,” her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
“They were about power, about control, about having something that belonged to him to do with as he pleased. I was only the replacement for my mother, who he did not get to keep by his side forever.”
Graham’s hands clenched into fists against his thighs. Even now, days after Benedict’s official arrest, the cretin still filled Graham with such loathing and he wished he had ended the man’s life when he had the chance.
“When you found me that day in the park, I believed that your discovery of Sophia would lead you to want to monopolize her,” Joan continued, “And when you proposed marriage to me at the ball, I convinced myself that it could only be about Sophia. That you wanted our daughter close to you — which was perfectly natural and right — and that you were willing to tolerate my presence to achieve that goal. At least long enough until you had won her affections completely and could do away with it sending me away.”
“Tolerate,” Graham repeated, his voice flat with disbelief. “You thought I was merely tolerating you. And you believed —”
Joan nodded miserably. “It seemed… logical. Practical. What else could explain your interest in a woman of no family, no fortune, no social standing? I told myself it was enough — that I could be content with a marriage of convenience if it meant security for Sophia and myself.”
Graham felt as though she had struck him physically. To know that she had been thinking such things, believing such lies about his motives, while he had been falling deeper in love with her each day…
“But I was wrong,” Joan said, her voice suddenly fierce with conviction. “So completely, utterly wrong. You have spent months showing me in so many different ways that your feelings were completely genuine, and I... I was too frightened to believe it could be real.”
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes still holding back tears somehow, but also filled with something that looked like hope.
“You have broken every wall I built around my heart, Graham. Every defense I put together to protect myself from disappointment and pain. You have been patient with me when I gave you no reason for patience, kind when I responded with suspicion, generous when I offered you nothing but wariness in return.”
She paused, clearly struggling with emotions that threatened to overwhelm her composure.
“For months now, you have voiced your feelings to me, have done your best to show how much you care for both Sophia and me. In return, I have questioned your motives, doubted your sincerity, and finally accused you of the most mercenary behavior imaginable.”
A tear finally escaped to roll down her cheek, and Graham felt his resolve break and he reached out to wipe it away, distressed to see her looking so sad.
“I have been such an ignorant fool,” Joan whispered. “I let my uncle’s poison infect my thinking so completely that I could not recognize genuine love when it was offered freely. I nearly destroyed the most precious gift I have ever been given because I was too afraid to believe I deserved it.”
The silence that followed was heavy with years of misunderstanding and carefully hidden pain.
Graham stared at Joan, taking in every detail of her face—the way her lower lip trembled despite her efforts at control, the brightness of her teary eyes, the vulnerable set of her shoulders that spoke of a woman laying herself completely bare.