Page 30 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he drawing room was too warm. Or maybe it was just the air, stale from being shut up too long, thick with the scent of violets someone had arranged in too-tight clusters on the mantel.

The curtains had been opened, but the light that filtered in was pale and grimy, smeared with city soot.

No soft hills here. No frost-touched gardens.

Just cobblestones, rooftops, and the heavy grey sky above. It was no Yeats Hall.

Anna sat beside the window with her mending in her lap, though she hadn’t moved the needle in ten minutes. The fabric lay slack between her fingers, the needle threaded but untouched. She told herself she would begin any moment, but the moment never came.

The house creaked with its age. Somewhere in the corridor, a footstep sounded, light, careful–and a second later the door eased open.

Heather slipped in, her hair braided loosely, her dressing gown pulled around her.

Her hair fell around her face in soft ringlets.

She was only seventeen, still a baby in so many ways…

sweet, earnest, untouched by the sharper edges of the world. Her innocence made Anna ache.

“You’re up," she said, voice soft and bright.

Anna looked up and managed a smile. “So are you.”

Heather moved across the rug and perched beside her. The morning light reached neither of them. It never did in this room.

“I waited up last night,” Heather said after a moment. “I thought you might come say something. You didn’t.”

“I was tired,” Anna said. Her voice was gentle, but flat. “The journey was long.”

Heather tilted her head, studying her. “You’re always tired.”

Anna paused, the needle still poised in her fingers. She didn’t look up.

“I missed you,” Heather said. The words were soft, but certain.

Anna lowered her hand. “I missed you too.”

Heather leaned in slightly. “You’re quiet. Even more than usual.”

Anna let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You’ve grown bold while I’ve been gone.”

Heather smiled. “Mama says I have opinions now. It’s worrying her terribly.”

“When did you develop them,” Anna didn't stop the laughter this time.

“In your absence,” Heather said matter-of-factly. “Someone had to take up the role of sharp observer.”

“You were always the better listener,” Anna said.

“But not the better liar,” Heather replied, more gently this time. “You came back changed, Anna. I can feel it.”

Anna looked away. “Maybe I’ve just grown tired.”

“Then let me be your rest,” Heather said quietly. “Even if I can’t help. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Anna’s throat tightened. She reached over and smoothed a loose strand of hair behind Heather’s ear.

“You’re not a child anymore,” she murmured.

Heather smiled. “Not to you, at least. To Mama, I’ll be eleven forever.”

“Be grateful for that,” Anna said. “The world outside this house won’t offer the same kindness.”

Heather was quiet for a moment, then she hugged Anna briefly.

“Then I’ll stay here a little longer. Just like this.”

That made Anna smile– briefly. But it faded too quickly.

Heather glanced down at the fabric in Anna’s lap and gently tugged at the hem. “You haven’t sewn a stitch.”

Anna looked. The thread was still loose. Her hands had been still for so long they had gone cold.

“I just... needed to sit,” she said.

Heather watched her for a moment. Then, in a quieter voice, “Did something happen?”

Anna opened her mouth. Closed it. A pause.

“No,” she said at last. “Nothing happened."

Heather didn’t press. But her eyes said she didn’t believe it.

Instead, she shifted closer and leaned her head against Anna’s shoulder. Her weight was light, familiar. Comforting. Like when they were girls and Heather would sneak into her bed during thunderstorms.

Anna sat still beneath the warmth of her. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

Downstairs, somewhere, the housemaid was laying out the tea things.

Their mother entered a moment later, wrapped in a heavy shawl, and seated herself with care beside the fire. Her movements were delicate.

Her hand shook as she picked up a letter from her basket, peered at it for a moment, then folded it again.

“So,” she said, voice thin but composed, “Lady Vexley is hosting a ball next week. I’ve sent word that we’ll attend. It’s important we keep up appearances, even now. Especially now.”

Anna nodded, her gaze still fixed on the street outside.

“Julia will be there,” her mother added. “That’ll be nice, won’t it? You’ve always found comfort in her company. And you’ll help me with the introductions, won’t you? I grow so forgetful with names these days.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Her mother gave a faint smile. “You’ve always been so dependable. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Anna didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened slightly on the fabric in her lap.

“It’s all changing so quickly,” her mother murmured. “When your father was alive, I never had to think about these things. Now, every invitation feels like a test. And Heather’s still so young, she’ll need you to guide her through it all.”

A vendor passed below the window, calling about ribbons or radishes. She couldn’t tell which.

A knock came at the front door, echoing hollowly off the walls. They all turned.

A moment later, the housemaid entered, brushing her hands on her apron. “A caller, ma’am. Lord Vaun.”

Anna’s fingers went still around her mending.

Her mother brightened. “Lord Vaun? Oh, how prompt. How polite. I told you, didn’t I? He’s serious. Respectable. This is exactly what we need…”

Anna said nothing.

Her mother was already smoothing her shawl, adjusting her hair. “I told you he’d call. He’s very steady. Thoughtful. Not dazzling, of course, but then, one can’t eat off dazzle.”

Anna stood slowly. Her feet felt heavy. “I’ll speak with him in the blue salon.”

‘Good,” her mother said. “Keep him waiting just a minute, not too long. And Anna?”

She paused at the doorway. “Yes, Mama?”

Her mother offered a mild smile, smoothing her skirt. “This could be a new beginning for us. A chance to finally move forward. Be a smart girl. Do make the most of it.”

Anna nodded. Not in agreement. Just acknowledgement.

Then she turned and left the room.

The blue salon had once been beautiful. The wallpaper had faded in the sun, and the rug was worn smooth along the path to the window.

But the chairs were still proper, and the mantel had been recently dusted.

A dish of lemon wafers had been set out on the tea table, untouched.

The fire had been lit, though Anna suspected it was more for appearance than warmth.

One side of her shawl kept slipping down her shoulder, and the cushion beneath her was too thin, the wooden frame pressing into her spine.

Anna sat very straight in the chair nearest the hearth, as if good posture might keep her from unraveling. Everything about her posture was composed. Except her hands, which gripped the arms of the chair too tightly.

The maid had only just announced him when Matthew entered. He entered with the confidence of someone who believed the outcome was already decided.

“Lady Anna,” he said with a mild smile, smoothly inclining his head.

“Lord Vaun,” she said, rising.

“You look well,” he said, eyes scanning her face. “London agrees with you.”

“I’ve only just arrived.”

“All the same,” he said, “there’s a calmness about you now. A certain... clarity.”

Anna resumed her seat slowly, carefully. She didn’t touch the tea tray.

Matthew looked around the room, his expression composed. “I’ve always liked this house. Modest, but tasteful. You’ve done well to keep it.”

“We do what we can.”

“Indeed.” His eyes returned to her face. “It must be strange, after such a full season. So many impressions made. So much promise to sift through.”

“I’m quite used to it.”

He walked to the settee across from her and sat down without invitation, one leg crossing over the other. His gloves rested loosely in his hand. She caught the faint scent of starch and pomade.

“Still,” he said, “you must feel the pressure. So many eyes on you now. Expectations.”

Anna looked at him, unblinking. “Was there something you wished to say?”

Matthew smiled. “You’ve never liked being handled, have you?”

“No,” she said. “Nor threatened. Nor claimed.”

He leaned back. “This isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity.”

She went still.

“I wondered,” he said, “if you expected I wouldn’t call.”

“No,” Anna replied. “I knew you would.”

“Good. Then we understand each other.”

“Let's get on with it then,” Anna rubbed her thumb against the rough feel of the arm of the chair.

He smiled. “You thought I wouldn’t mention him. But of course I would. He’s the shadow in every room you walk into now. The one you tried to step around.”

Her stomach sank.

“You made quite the impression at Yeats Hall,” he went on. “Duke and damsel. The whispers haven’t stopped.”

“Then perhaps you should stop listening.”

“But they’re all saying the same thing, aren’t they?” he said gently. “That he looked at you like a man already caught. And you looked back like a girl still waiting to be rescued.”

Her breath caught. She adjusted the cuff of her sleeve to keep her hands busy.

He leaned forward slightly. “But he’s gone now. Isn’t he? And you’re here. Exactly as I said. I told you you'd come back.”

He gave a small exhale through his nose, subtle, pleased, like someone confirming a bet he never truly doubted. “It was only a matter of time. You got swept up in the fantasy. It happens. But fantasy burns off in daylight.”

Anna lifted her chin. “Is this your idea of an opportunity?”

“This is my idea of realism,” he said. “You’re not a fool, Anna. You didn’t come back from that house thinking you’d be a duchess.”

She looked away. The tea tray blurred in her vision.

“I admire you for it,” Matthew said. “You’ve proven yourself steady. Practical. That’s what makes you so different from the rest. You, listening to the voice of reason, shows there's still hope for you.”

He leaned back, pleased with himself. “He might’ve touched your cheek like it meant something. Whispered some sentimental line about feeling safe with you.” His voice dropped mockingly, “He made you feel special– was that it?”

You make me feel safe… Her stomach twisted. The room seemed too warm all of a sudden.

She could still feel it, Henry’s hand against her face, the tremor in his voice when he said those very words. He had meant them. She knew it.

Her eyes burned. One tear broke loose and slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

“And what exactly is it you think I’ve proven?” she asked, her voice tight.

“That you know when to let go.”

She looked at him then. “Is that what you think I did?”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t you?”

No, she thought. I was pushed. I was discarded. And yet here she was. Sitting. Listening. Choosing.

“You don’t need to love me,” he said, voice softer now. “I’m not asking for that. But I can offer you certainty. A name. Protection.”

From Stenton. From poverty. From the shame of being left. From the ache in her chest that still whispered Henry’s name every time she was alone.

“I don’t believe you’re offering protection,” she said quietly.

He smiled faintly. “No. I suppose I’m offering inevitability.”

A silence fell. The mantel clock ticked too loudly in the corner. The fire crackled softly but brought no real warmth. The air in the room felt too close, as if it had been waiting to press down on her.

“Anna, I've come to offer you something clear. Steady. A future.” He gestured loosely with one hand. “No more doubt. No more guessing who’s watching or whispering. You deserve that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

She looked down at her hands. “You’re asking me to let you court me.”

“I am,” he said. “Not out of pity. Not out of pressure. Because it makes sense.”

Anna didn’t respond right away.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “All right.”

That made him pause– just briefly. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

“No questions?” he asked. “No protest?”

She looked up at him then. Her gaze was steady, unreadable.

“What would be the point?”

He said nothing for a moment. Then he stood. “I’ll speak to your mother. She’ll be pleased.”

She simply said, “Very well.”

Matthew studied her face for a beat longer, perhaps hoping to see gratitude. Or regret.

But there was nothing.

He bowed. “Until next time.”

He left without another word.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Anna remained standing, one hand resting on the back of the chair. She stared at the fire, willing the sting in her eyes to fade.

But it didn’t.