Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
A fter Damian revealed his secret to his wife and made love to her all night, peace settled over Greyvale. On the surface, yes, but internally, no.
A small weight seemed to have lifted after Damian told Gwendoline why he hated Montrose. Some tension lingered, of course, since the bastard was still somewhere, doing God knew what. However, their intimacy had given him peace.
The afternoon sun filtered through the high windows, illuminating the drawing room. Golden streaks danced across ornate wallpaper and polished wood. Gentle conversation and the rustling of paper were the only sounds as Damian focused on his work.
It felt like a domestic scene, something he wouldn’t have imagined to be part of when he was still focused on revenge. But here he was, working outside his study, while Gwendoline sat in a corner with her embroidery hoop.
Damian didn’t mind being distracted by her. In fact, the rhythmic movement of her needle gave him a sense of comfort. Her maid, Hannah, stood nearby. She was arranging flowers in a vase, humming happily to herself.
It was undoubtedly an idyllic scene, one that Damian wished he could hold on to.
A knock sounded at the door. It was rhythmic, only disrupting the bliss for a moment. It almost blended with the serenity in the room even when the door opened, and a footman stepped in with a neatly wrapped package tied with a ribbon.
“A delivery for Her Grace,” he announced politely, placing the box on the table closest to Gwendoline.
She looked both curious and delighted. She glanced at Damian, expecting him to say that he had the package delivered, but he only gave her a quizzical look.
Gwendoline looked at the package. Then, she quickly undid the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapper. A little card was stuck under the bow.
“Listen to this, Damian. It says, ‘ A sweet treat for a sweet duchess .’”
Damian frowned. Who would have the nerve to send his wife a gift with that kind of note?
“How kind,” Gwendoline added, her hands running over the lid.
There was a little bit of unease in her eyes, though, as she looked at him as if asking for permission.
At this point, Damian was already on high alert. He rose from his desk and approached the footman, leveling him with a sharp look.
“Who delivered it?” he demanded. He softened his voice, aware that his loyal footman had nothing to do with whatever he suspected.
“It came with the usual correspondence, Your Grace,” the young man answered.
“Thank you, Andrew. You may take your leave,” Damian said, his voice low. Then, he turned to his wife. “Leave it for a moment.”
Gwendoline turned to him, surprised. She blinked once. Twice. “Surely, it must be harmless. You don’t think anyone would want to give me a nice gift?”
She asked the question lightheartedly, but Damian knew her well enough by now to detect a hint of insecurity.
“It’s not that, Gwendoline. Many would gladly shower you with gifts, but we must be careful. Does it at least have a name? A signature?”
Damian had already approached his wife with a determined look on his face. Gwendoline pushed the package toward him, and he removed the lid with the utmost precaution. They found a delightful assortment of sweets wrapped in pink tissue paper. The chocolates were undoubtedly sweet, judging from the aroma that wafted up to them.
“Ohh.”
Gwendoline inhaled the sweet aroma, a pleased expression on her face. Damian only wanted to see it in his bedchamber. Not here. Not because somebody sent her a box of sweets.
He could see that his wife’s trepidation had quickly faded. Her hand reached for one of the confections, but he was well-prepared. He gripped her wrist as gently and firmly as possible.
“Don’t,” he ordered in a rough voice.
The room suddenly felt stuffy. The silence was no longer peaceful. Instead, it was heavy and tense.
“What is going on, Damian? They’re just sweets,” Gwendoline complained, looking a little hurt.
“We must be sure,” Damian insisted, his eyes focused on the box.
Then, he turned to Hannah, who was no longer arranging the flowers but looking at them nervously.
“Hannah, bring the apothecary immediately. Isn’t he here today?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid nodded. “I will go right away.”
Soon, Hannah came back with a man in his early fifties, with gray hair and startling blue eyes that danced with excitement. Damian sighed. He didn’t use the man’s services that often.
“What do you think?” he asked as the apothecary sniffed the sweets. He brought some of them so close to his eyes that Damian wondered if he had weak eyesight.
“S-Surely they’re just ordinary sweets,” Gwendoline stammered, but her hand almost covered her mouth.
Hannah shuddered when the apothecary touched one of the sweets with his finger and sucked that same finger into his mouth. Even though Gwendoline wanted to believe that her gift wasn’t poisoned, she almost shuddered as well.
“Are you certain that’s safe?” Hannah asked.
“No. But it’s one of the risks I must take,” the apothecary said. “I have a strong stomach, my mother says. Anyway, the candy has arsenic. I can smell it. I tasted it even though I only rubbed my finger over the surface.”
“Arsenic? Why?” Gwendoline looked devastated.
“Think about it, Gwendoline. I didn’t want you to try anything from an anonymous sender, not when someone might not want you alive!” Damian could not help but raise his voice. He was shaking. “Someone wants you dead. Yes. Don’t look at me like that, Gwendoline. It’s Montrose!”
“Timothy?” she whispered, her face paling.
Damian quickly stepped toward her and grabbed her arms to steady her.
He nodded, holding her tightly. “Yes. We are getting closer. Now, he’s trying to hurt me by hurting you. It’s him. This can’t be a coincidence.”
“Why would he…?” she trailed off. “I thought he simply wanted to humiliate me. To use me as leverage. But to kill me?”
“Montrose is capable of much worse. We’ve seen the documents. We’ve seen some of the worst that he could do,” Damian said. “Listen to me, Gwen. He’s desperate enough to do terrible things. He might not even want to hurt you. He wants to hurt me , Duchess.”
Gwendoline looked up at him, surprised at the tender way he reverted to calling her Duchess. His Duchess.
“Will it really hurt you if something happens to me?”
The surprise in her small voice caused his heart to flip. What did she think he thought of her? Did she believe that he was capable of treating her like a pawn, like Montrose did?
Damian’s touch was warm and steady. It was reassuring, or at least it was meant to be.
“I never thought he would go this far,” Gwendoline mumbled, her eyes fixed on his. He could hear the shock and disbelief in her words. “I thought that marrying one of his investors would be the worst of it all.”
“I didn’t expect this either,” Damian admitted. “Believe me, sweetheart, I thought you would slap me after eating your chocolates. I wanted to be proven wrong. What we can learn from this is that we need to be more vigilant.”
“What happens now, Damian? Am I supposed to live in fear, wondering if the next meal I have will be poisoned or if he’ll find another way to harm me?”
“No,” Damian said firmly. “You’ll live, and you’ll live safely and happily. I’ll see to it.”
“Are you certain?” she asked, looking up at him with earnest eyes.
“Yes. As long as I’m alive, I will not let anyone hurt you,” he promised.
However, he could see that even his resolute words could not assuage her fear. She was trembling, so he rubbed her arms up and down.
“How? He’s out there, Damian. He’s plotting. You’re right. He can do more than just humiliate me. The secret you told me reminded me that he is callous. He has no conscience.”
“I will find him. If you like, we will find him. Evan is loyal. He is the oldest friend I have left. He will do anything for us,” he said, surprised at how easy it was to confess some truths to his wife.
“You can’t protect me every minute, Damian. You know that. And you—you can get hurt, too. If he wants to hurt you, he might just find a more direct way of doing it.”
“I can try. I realized I could do anything when I set my mind to it,” Damian declared, kissing his wife on the forehead before hugging her tightly.
Her body had become as familiar as his own, molding to his. Even as he tried to push away these thoughts, he couldn’t help but think that she was made for him, and he for her.
“I will do whatever I can to keep you safe, sweetheart.” Then, he turned to the apothecary. “What would have happened if she had ingested the poison?”
Damian knew of worse methods, such as forcing servants or animals to taste first. He didn’t like the barbarism of such actions, but he didn’t want his apothecary to die trying to help him.
“It can kill easily, Your Grace. A small dose, however, can cause vomiting, diarrhea, weakness, and dizziness. The symptoms may seem similar to other diseases, as well. Arsenic, after all, is used to treat various conditions, such as psoriasis or syphilis.”
Gwendoline wrinkled her nose at the thought.
“I would have eaten a lot of the candy,” she admitted.
“Even those who ingest arsenic in small but frequent doses can develop some serious conditions. It could be devastating for a woman with child.”
The information quieted Gwendoline. She gently pushed Damian away and sat back next to her embroidery hoop. She picked it up, seemingly meaning to return to what she was doing.
Did she want children? Damian remembered the joy that lit up her face as she played with the children in the village.
It made him wonder if he’d ever feel ready to consider having children. Montrose was out there, and it looked like he wouldn’t give up without a fight.
The atmosphere in Greyvale became gloomier in the days that followed. It might be Gwendoline’s imagination, but the estate seemed colder and quieter. The sun seemed to set earlier.
Winter.
Yes, it was almost winter, but it was more than that.
Damian had become more vigilant, having servants inspect every package carefully. The apothecary was tasked with looking for more poisoned food. A physician was paid to spend his days and nights at the estate. They were fortunate to find a young physician who was yet to marry. So, he was willing to devote his time to looking after the duke and duchess.
Gwendoline complained about the extreme measures, but both Damian and Evan told her they were all necessary. The security was not only for her but also for them. She realized that the two of them knew exactly how to convince her.
She attempted to engage in her usual activities, but she could not help but think about what happened. If Damian had not been there, she could have already finished half of the box before anyone figured out that something was amiss. The thought that her cousin wanted her dead gnawed at her insides.
What was Timothy thinking?
The box of sweets felt like an attempt on her life and a taunt.
“Oh, look. Fat Gwenny still loves to gobble her chocolates.”
Gwendoline had grown in confidence as a woman. The only person who could make her remember the pain she experienced among other children—cruel children—was Timothy.
She could tell that Damian was genuinely affected by the incident. He tried to keep up the stoic facade, but he was failing miserably.
Up close, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. His jaw was perpetually tense. Clenched. Grinding.
He had made good progress in opening up to her, spending time with her in the drawing room. But these days, he spent long hours in his study just like he did before, poring over the documents with Evan.
Gwendoline was certain that they were planning their next steps fastidiously. There was a greater urgency, now that they knew what else Timothy was capable of.
“We can’t let him control our lives like this,” Gwendoline said one night as they lounged in the drawing room. “He’s now controlling our lives. Isn’t that a win for him?”
“I’m doing everything I can,” Damian gritted out, his hand gripping what looked to be his third glass of brandy or rum—or a mix of both.
Gwendoline was dismayed when she realized he was falling back into old habits.
“I know you are,” she murmured. “However, you are shutting me out. Can’t you see that? He’d be happy to see us suffer. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. Isn’t that worse?”
“You’re right.” Damian sighed heavily after downing his third glass. “We can’t let him win.”
Gwendoline felt a kindling of hope, but she knew the road to justice wouldn’t be easy.