Page 37 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 37
“ D id you hear about Lady Morrison?” Joanna waved her fan excitedly as they sat in her mother’s prized rose garden. “She was caught in Lord Rutherford’s conservatory with his brother! And not examining the orchids, if you get my meaning.”
The late spring morning was perfect—roses nodding heavy heads in shades of pink and cream, a light breeze carrying their perfume across the elegant stone benches where the ladies sat. Dew still sparkled on the carefully manicured lawn, and somewhere a thrush was singing its heart out.
Alice barely noticed any of it.
“How lovely,” she murmured, staring unseeing at a climbing rose that in happier times would have caught her eye with its unusual copper tint.
“Lovely?” Joanna’s fan stilled. “Alice, I just told you about the scandal of the Season. Lady Morrison is married! And you think it’s lovely?”
“What? Oh.” Alice blinked, pulling herself out of her dark thoughts. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t… What were you saying?”
“Never mind what I was saying.” Joanna set down her fan, studying her friend’s pale face and the shadows beneath her eyes. “You look absolutely wretched, darling. Are you eating at all? Mama says that you barely touched your breakfast.”
“I’m not very hungry these days.” Alice smoothed her skirts, noting vaguely how they hung looser than before.
“You’re not very anything these days.” Joanna scooted closer to her, taking her cold hands. “Tell me. What did that impossible Duke say to make you look as though all the light has gone out of the world?”
Alice’s throat tightened. “He said… he said that he never thought our time together would be permanent. That he was sorry if I had developed expectations.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Expectations. As though I were some silly debutante dreaming of fairytales instead of his wife.”
“Oh, Alice.”
“I was such a fool, Joanna.” The words spilled out like poison finally drained from a wound. “I let myself believe that our marriage might become real. That all those tender moments, all those times when he looked at me as though…” She trailed off, pressing her fingers to her lips. “But it was all just duty to him. Obligation. A convenient arrangement to save my reputation.”
“I don’t believe that.” Joanna’s voice was fierce. “I’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks no one is looking. No man looks at a mere obligation that way.”
“Then why?” Alice’s voice cracked. “Why push me away? Why treat me like a stranger in my own home?”
“Men,” Joanna said darkly, “are creatures of profound stupidity when it comes to matters of the heart. Particularly proud, aristocratic men who think they must handle everything alone.”
“He’s not alone.” Alice stared down at her wedding ring. “Or at least, I thought he wasn’t.”
“All my dreams,” she continued softly, touching a rose petal only to watch it fall, “they were like morning mist. Beautiful while they lasted but destined to vanish at the first harsh light.”
“Your dreams aren’t the problem.” Joanna wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “His fears are. Something must have happened at Thomas’s wedding—something that frightened him enough to retreat behind his ducal mask.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else.” Alice leaned into her friend’s comfort. “One moment he was mine— truly mine, not just in name—and the next… it was like watching a door close and being left in the dark.”
“Men often mistake silence for strength.” Joanna’s voice held unexpected wisdom. “They think they protect us by keeping secrets, never realizing that uncertainty wounds deeper than the truth ever could.”
“I would have faced anything with him.” The admission hurt, like pressing on a bruise. “Whatever demons haunt him, whatever shadows he’s fighting, I would have stood by him. If only he’d let me.”
“Then perhaps that’s what truly frightens him.” Joanna pressed a handkerchief into her hands. “The possibility that you might be strong enough to share his burdens.”
Alice dabbed at eyes she hadn’t realized were wet. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s made his choice.”
“Has he?” Joanna’s tone turned sly. “Or has he merely made a colossal blunder that he’ll soon regret?”
Before Alice could respond, a maid appeared at the garden gate. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Lord Drakeley has called. Your mother asks that you both join them in the drawing room.”
“Gregory?” Joanna’s cheeks pinked slightly. “How… unexpected.”
Despite her misery, Alice managed a weak smile. “Unexpected? He’s called three times this week.”
“Purely social obligations,” Joanna sniffed, though her blush deepened. “Now, dry your eyes. We can’t let him see that you’ve been crying—men get terribly uncomfortable with tears.”
“Heaven forbid we make Lord Drakeley uncomfortable.”
But Alice found herself making an effort to compose herself as they headed inside. If nothing else, watching Joanna and Gregory dance around their obvious attraction to each other might distract her from her heartache.
The drawing room was awash in late morning light when they entered. Gregory stood up as they appeared, his bow perfectly executed, though his eyes lingered on Joanna perhaps longer than strictly proper.
“Your Grace.” His voice held genuine concern as he took in Alice’s appearance. “I trust you’re comfortable here?”
“Quite comfortable, thank you.” She mustered a genuine smile. “Though I suspect I’m not the main reason for your visit.”
Gregory’s glance at Joanna was almost comically guilty. “I assure you, Your Grace, my concern for your welfare is entirely genuine.”
“Of course it is.” Joanna’s tone could have dried the Thames. “Just as your sudden interest in Mama’s horticultural society is completely sincere.”
“I’ll have you know that I find the cultivation of… of…”
“Roses?” Alice supplied helpfully.
“Precisely. Roses. Fascinating things.”
“Indeed?” Joanna’s eyebrow rose. “Then you’ll know all about the new variety Mama is cultivating. The one with the unusual thorns?”
“Er…”
“I thought not.” Joanna’s lips twitched as she rang for tea. “Perhaps we might take a turn about the garden? Since you’re so interested in horticulture.”
“That would be…” Gregory’s face lit up before he caught himself. “Most educational.”
Alice fell into step behind them as they made their way back to the garden, maintaining a discreet distance while still fulfilling her duties as chaperone. Though they kept a proper space between them, she couldn’t help but notice how Gregory and Joanna seemed to lean toward each other as they walked, like flowers turning toward the sun.
“Mama is particularly proud of her new variety,” Joanna was saying, though the slight flush in her cheeks suggested that botany was the last thing on her mind. “The one with the unusual thorns.”
“Fascinating,” Gregory murmured, clearly more interested in the way the breeze played with a loose curl at her neck than any discussion about roses. “Though I find that some thorns add character to a bloom’s beauty.”
“How poetic.” Joanna’s tone was arch, but her smile held a softness Alice had rarely seen. “And here I thought you considered me—that is, considered roses—rather too sharp for your taste.”
Alice watched their careful dance of words and glances, feeling like a ghost haunting her own life.
She and Dorian had played such games once, their barbed exchanges masking their growing affection. Until the game had ended suddenly, leaving her alone with an empty victory she’d never wanted.
Still, duty demanded that she maintain a proper distance as Joanna showed Gregory the garden’s paths, close enough to preserve propriety but far enough to allow them some semblance of privacy. It was the least she could do for her friend, even if watching their budding romance made her heart ache with memories of her own.
When Gregory finally took his leave, he lingered a moment with her in the entrance hall while Joanna spoke with her mother about some household matter.
“Your Grace,” he said quietly, his usual playful manner turning serious. “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, but I’ve known Dorian since our Cambridge days. He’s not himself lately.”
“His mood is no longer my concern, Lord Drakeley,” Alice replied, keeping her voice steady despite the way her heart clenched.
“His father was a harsh man,” Gregory continued, as though she hadn’t spoken. “The former Duke believed that affection was weakness. The things he put Dorian through…” He shook his head. “Sometimes when Dorian is most afraid of losing something precious, he pushes it away first.”
Alice’s fingers twisted in her skirts. “If that’s meant to excuse his behavior?—”
“Not excuse. Explain, perhaps.” Gregory’s eyes held genuine concern. “He’s absolutely miserable, you know. Though he’d rather drink poison than admit it.”
“Then he should have trusted me enough to tell me what troubles him,” Alice said firmly, though her resolve wavered at the thought of Dorian unhappy. “Instead, he made his position quite clear.”
“Did he?” Gregory’s smile turned knowing. “Or did he do what he always does—try to protect everyone by shouldering burdens alone?”
Before Alice could respond, Joanna returned. As she watched Gregory make his final farewells, his eyes lingering on her friend, she pushed aside the uncomfortable truths his words had stirred.
Let Dorian be miserable. He had chosen this path.
Still, that night as she lay awake in her bed, Alice couldn’t help but wonder what demons from his past drove him to push away those who cared for him. But wondering would change nothing. If Dorian wanted to fix what he had broken, he would have to take that first step himself.
She would not go begging for crumbs of affection from a man who claimed that their connection was merely convenient.