Page 18 of Duke of Pride (Sinful Dukes #4)

CHAPTER 18

Letters

I t was so strange for Victoria that the world kept spinning, that the sun rose and set no matter what. How could a houseful of people go on with their lives, while hers was ruined? And she didn’t have the luxury of mourning in private, wallowing and allowing herself to come to terms with what had happened.

She stood at her bedroom window, watching as the household stirred below. Maids carried fresh linens, footmen polished silver, and somewhere in the gardens, laughter floated on the morning air. Life went on. Even hers.

Stephen proposed. Victoria laughed bitterly at that. It was too bold to assume that whatever it was that Stephen made was a proposal. She hadn’t harbored any girlish fantasies about proposals growing up, but she was sure that wasn’t her ideal proposal.

“As a man of honor, I can no longer in good conscience continue our acquaintance without offering you marriage.”

So detached as if he were requesting the latest news on horse riding and was wishing that there was none. Each word was a mockery as Victoria kept replaying it again and again.

A man of honor.

What honor was there in a man who had touched her with such hunger, only to reduce it all to duty? Who had made her feel things—wild, desperate things—only to stand before her like a stranger reciting a decree? Who had pushed the boundaries again and again with his smothering looks and that demanding voice, only to pull back coldly?

And that word, acquaintance, it lodged in her chest like a shard of glass. That was all this was to him? After what they had shared together, she was merely a lady he knew? After he had kissed her until she forgot her name, she was reduced to a mere acquaintance to be managed, a social obligation to be discharged?

Good conscience.

Victoria was sure that he had slept soundly last night. That he had done his “duty” and upheld his “honor,” and that was enough. He wouldn’t care about how his words made her feel.

“I am such a fool!” She collapsed on the seat of her vanity.

She stared at her reflection. Her reflection was staring back at her, pale, hollow-eyed, ruined. That was the face of a fool. A sob threatened to break free, but she choked it back, her nails digging into her scalp. How could she?

How could she fall in love with a man like him? A man who imposed silence in his home, who would have his mother trapped in loneliness. He was so cold and calculating and distant. Unfeeling. Worse than the mechanical wonders she had seen the stupid wound toys perform again and again, without a real soul.

No.

She was not that great of a fool. There had been moments when she saw the crack in his cold mask. He had thanked her and acknowledged everything she had done. He had saved her from being run over. He had listened, truly listened, to her. And his touches…

She couldn’t be such a fool. She could tell that what they shared affected him, too.

Victoria knew why it hurt so bad. Why her heart broke in pieces. If it were because he was just a heartless man, she would feel anger, rage. Not this desolate, forlorn emptiness, this desperation, this bleeding. The truth was that between whatever it was he felt for her and duty, he had chosen duty.

“Victoria?” Annabelle was knocking on her door.

Victoria gritted her teeth. She had missed breakfast, and for sure, kind-hearted Annabelle would check on her. She would never worry her.

“Coming!”

Victoria wiped the tears that she pretended she didn’t shed. She checked herself in the vanity mirror. She looked respectable and believably sick, as she would claim to be.

She opened the door to her friend.

“You didn’t come down for breakfast,” Annabelle noted.

“I felt under the weather. You shouldn’t be here, Annabelle. What if you catch?—?”

Annabelle tilted her head. She knew Victoria was lying.

Annabelle was quiet, but she was no fool. Her soft demeanor was often mistaken for weakness, but she was anything but weak. She was observant, and she had probably noted that in all the time they had known each other, Victoria had never been ill. Denying it would raise the question as to why.

“How are you, Vicky?” Annabelle asked.

“I have been better,” Victoria answered sincerely.

She knew her friend. Annabelle would never ask directly. She would never pry. She would listen.

Victoria would never reveal to a living soul all the incidents, affairs, episodes, and ruins she had been hoarding like a crazed collector. But unloading some of her inner turmoil…

She wanted that.

“You can talk to me.” Annabelle took her hand in her own.

Victoria smiled at her sweet friend, the one who was by her side when she entered this new world she didn’t know. The sister of the man who?—

“There are so many things,” Victoria admitted. “Everyone insists that marriage is the only option we have. I am not sure I want that.”

“And there is my brother pressuring you to do that.”

Victoria gritted her teeth. She would never tell Annabelle that one different word and they would have woken up sisters today. That she could have accepted the proposal and she would have been a duchess, her sister-in-law. Kind-hearted Annabelle would have been so happy. And Dorothy…

“Yes,” Victoria scoffed. “Both our brothers have one-track minds.”

“Have you received news from Maxwell?”

“Some letters. You know how we parted.”

Annabelle nodded. “Maxwell loves you,” she said, rubbing her huge belly. “And Stephen…”

Victoria’s eyes widened. Did Annabelle know? Could she tell?

Annabelle looked deep into her eyes. She would never expose her friend like that, even if she had seen them with her own eyes.

“Stephen is not a bad man, Vicky.”

No, he is not a bad man. That much I can admit.

“But he is too strict, too much like our father. Unyielding like a metal rod.”

Victoria’s heart clenched. She needed to deflect, dispel the heavy atmosphere, and let go of any foolish thoughts.

“Exactly like a metal rod.” She smirked as best as she could. “Which he had swallowed.”

Annabelle snorted indecently and smiled at her. Victoria plastered a smile on her face and decided to let go. Her heart would surely mend. She just needed time.

* * *

At some point, mostly to keep Annabelle happy, Victoria had to get out of her room. She had steeled her face and heart and soul to face Stephen, but he did not leave his study all morning. At least he had that much empathy to give her space.

She went through the motions. She participated in the activities she had programmed and was glad she managed to do so with enough gusto to keep her facade intact. She made small talk, took care of the details, coordinated the staff, and spared some time to check in with Mrs. Charlotte about some household matters.

She would do a thousand things more, make herself busy all day. It kept her mind off him, drowned the pain in menial tasks, and gave her a fake sense of calm. As long as he remained away. She knew well that all this elaborate illusion would crumble the moment she looked into his eyes.

“Miss Victoria.” Blackwell came closer to her. “I trust that you feel better. You were missed at breakfast. I confess it was dull without your sparkling wit.”

That was the last thing she needed. Another man making rash advances. Though he did not give her the usual flirtatious look, but a mischievous one. He could be a good distraction.

“I am sure you survived breakfast without me,” Victoria countered. “After all, you have enough wit for the both of us.”

“Yes, but just barely.”

Victoria smiled weakly. “How do you find the house party, Your Grace? I never had the chance to ask you.”

“It has been surprisingly pleasant. Given Colborne’s reputation for being… How do I say this without scandalizing your delicate ears?”

“You forget that I am not noble-born,” she pointed out, gauging his reaction.

“How could I forget?” Blackwell blinked slowly, taking her in. “That is your best attribute.”

Victoria remembered how her lowly lineage was the thorn in Stephen’s side.

“It is, of course,” Blackwell continued, “the reason this party is such a success. All this fun and creativity! Colborne is not known for his… sunny disposition.”

Victoria’s blood ran cold. She eyed him firmly. He had a smirk on his face, but it was not a menacing one. Just amused.

“I would like to return the favor,” he said in a low voice, “and invite you to a private dinner.”

His eyes darkened. This man was not one for duty, honor, and integrity. He was one for fun, indulgence, and freedom. And yet her skin crawled under his look.

He pulled back instantly.

“But Colborne would have my head if I even mentioned that,” he said casually, backing off to take his place for the card games on the lawn. “He seems overly protective of you.”

Victoria was stunned by his words, so nonchalantly thrown like a bomb. She fluttered her fan, needing to do something with her trembling hands.

What a position she was in. The house party was nearly over, and the month she had agreed to was coming to an end. And where would she go? She couldn’t stay here, that was for sure. The plans to marry her off like a prized cow failed. She had only one option and?—

“Miss Victoria.” The butler came to her with a silver tray in hand. “A letter for you.”

Victoria took the letter and immediately recognized Maxwell’s handwriting, that calculated, clear way he did most things. She retreated to a bench away from prying eyes.

My dearest Victoria,

I trust this letter finds you in good health.

I write to inform you that my business in India has concluded far sooner than anticipated. The ship docks in London soon, and I will arrive at Walden by midday.

I am aware that we parted on uncertain terms, but I hope you understand that Walden will always be your home, and I will always be your brother.

Maxwell.

Victoria read the letter again and again. A tear fell, smudging the familiar letters. She wiped her eyes and let out a deep breath.

No matter what, her brother would always be there for her. He might have done so in the wrong way, but he always had good intentions, and to him, she was family.

Not some acquaintance.

She got up and went to her room to get ready. It was time she went back home.

* * *

After lunch—which, thankfully, Stephen had in his study—Victoria looked for Dorothy. She found her in the small drawing room, going over some details for the next day, the last day of the house party.

“Ah, Victoria, just in time. I am working on the brilliant idea you had to give our guests a little bit of Colborne House to remember their time here.”

Dorothy picked up a small linen sachet. The scent engulfed Victoria. Lavender. It flooded her senses—sweet, herbal, calming. Exactly what she needed.

Victoria sat across from her at the little table. A basket of pouches filled with lavender plucked from the grounds was between them. Dorothy was writing the name of the estate and the occasion on a lilac card.

Lilac .

A memory flashed through Victoria’s mind, tightening her throat. Them arguing over a lilac tablecloth that day in London. Stephen took her to lunch to express his gratitude. He was so relaxed, smiling, teasing, and seemed sincere when he?—

Stop this.

Victoria bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

“Let me help you out.” She smiled at Dorothy.

She took a stack of cards and started writing, too. For a while, there was this comfortable silence between them. The one they had shared for a year, just the two of them, two women in a bad place, finding love and support in each other.

“My brother wrote to me,” Victoria revealed.

Dorothy looked up and smiled at her. “I trust he is well.”

“He is. He will be back in Walden tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh.”

“I am going too.” Victoria looked down at the card she was writing on.

“You are leaving Colborne House?” Dorothy seemed devastated.

Victoria dropped her quill and pulled her chair closer to Dorothy. She took her hands in her own.

Her heart ached. She was leaving a sanctuary, a good friend. Dorothy accepted her exactly as she was. And maybe Dorothy thought that Victoria was the one helping her overcome her grief and sadness, but Victoria knew better. She, too, had been healed by Dorothy’s presence.

“He is my brother, Dorothy. No matter what, I love him, and I know he loves me.”

Dorothy nodded.

“Running away from each other won’t solve anything. This time apart has done us good, but we are still family.”

“You are right. Will you talk to him?”

“If I want to have a true relationship with him, there is no other option. I must try to make him understand who I truly am, that I am not the little girl he always needed to protect. That I do not need to listen to him.”

“I wish you never had to go, Victoria,” Dorothy said as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I am happy to see you go. So grown, so mature.”

The two women got lost in a warm embrace, the scent of lavender engulfing them. Victoria struggled to stop the tears from falling. She didn’t want to worry her friend further.

“When are you leaving?”

“After dinner. So I can be there in time and make sure the estate is prepared for them.”

“You must be missing your nephew and your niece,” Dorothy said in a happy tone.

Victoria finally smiled genuinely since this morning. She did miss the babies, who must be so grown now. They were the only thing that sweetened her inner turmoil.

“We must tell the cook to prepare some of his infamous biscuits so you can take them home with you,” Dorothy added. “And I just had a big order of lemon drops delivered. You can take some and be declared the best aunt in the world.”

Victoria laughed with her whole body. Dorothy had magic inside her.

“The sure thing is that Annabelle’s baby will have the best grandmother in the world,” Victoria said earnestly.

Dorothy’s face lit up at the thought. Then, she hesitated and looked up at Victoria. “Have you told Stephen?”

Victoria dug her nails into her palms. She looked out the door of the drawing room to the end of the hallway. To his study.

* * *

“Miss Victoria, everything is ready.”

“Thank you. I will be right down.”

It was the middle of the night, and all the guests had retired. Victoria looked at the room she had called her own over the last month. She threw her cape over her shoulders and closed the door behind her.

She moved through the darkened halls of Colborne House like a ghost, her boots soundless on the polished floors. The moon cast a silvery light through the windows, painting her path as she slipped from room to room, memorizing the shape of the shadows, the way the air smelled of beeswax and lavender.

She saw his room up ahead. The room that had been hers for a whole year. His room. Her mind went to that night when their bodies collided in the dressing room. Fire erupted in her veins, but grief got hold of her heart and squeezed.

Her hand rose to the round, ornate doorknob. One push and she could step inside. One word and she could wake him. But what would she say? Goodbye?

Her fingers curled into a fist, before she let it drop.

As silently as she could, she ran out of the house. The cold night air hit her like a slap as she slipped through the servants’ entrance. The carriage waited, the horses stamping impatiently. She climbed in. The door clicked shut.

The first sob tore from her throat before the wheels had even begun to turn.

It will all go away. It will go away.

And yet she knew well that this pain would be wedged between her ribs forever.