Chapter 25 #2
It was an unexpected touch, and he seemed not to notice the contact; however, every nerve ending in her flared. Her exposed skin prickled with goosebumps; not from any chill in the room, but from anticipation of when next their skin might meet.
Marce had no plans for another touch between them, and she chastised her body for betraying her. This was her opportunity to finally put an end to everything between them, to gain a measure of satisfaction and closure before walking out the door for good.
“May I offer you a refreshment?” He nodded at the sideboard, heavy with decanters filled with spirits of varying hues ranging from clear to amber. “Perhaps a glass of sherry?”
She remained rooted to her spot, just out of reach of the hearth’s warmth, but also a location that afforded a clear view of Rowan as he knelt before the sideboard and rummaged through the cabinet below before standing once more, a glass bottle held high in triumph.
It was difficult to hide her grin when Rowan saluted her in a rare moment of boyish abandon.
Not for the first time, Marce was confused by the change in him.
His mask of the arrogant, severe lord had been cast aside just as Marce’s cloak had been laid upon the table after entering the study.
His every move was no longer measured and expected, but at ease in a way she’d thought impossible.
As if all that hung between them was no longer of consequence or something that drove them relentlessly apart.
Marce nodded, and he made quick work of opening the bottle, pouring her a glass and heading in her direction. It did not escape her notice that he did not collect his tumbler. Needing warmth, Marce took several steps toward him, and they met closer to the glow of the fire.
Presenting her with the glass of rich, deep red sherry, Rowan bowed slightly as if it symbolized a peace offering. Could there be any peace between them after everything they’d been through? After all the insults they’d hurled at one another?
A part of her, a deep, nearly hidden part of her, wondered if the possibility was there. Perhaps she even longed for a measure of peace between them.
The glass was cold and heavy in her hands, but she took a small sip.
A burst of sweetness exploded on her tongue as the aroma of fruit drifted to her nose.
She rarely drank sherry—and never before had she enjoyed such a fine glass.
The fondness women of the ton had for the drink was no longer so foreign to her.
Rowan’s brow rose at her silent approval. “Tobias is stellar at many things; however, his superb taste in sherry and scotch are known across the countryside.”
“I didn’t know that about him,” Marce mused, swirling the sherry in her glass.
“Yes, it is fabled that he once sent a letter of recommendation to the king himself, and now the entire court drinks only Del Coix sherry from Spain.” He returned to the sideboard, and she thought he’d pour himself another tumbler of scotch.
Instead, he picked up the bottle of sherry and filled a glass for himself.
“I do not believe the fables, mind you. And I assume Tobias, the scoundrel, started the stories himself—or at the very least, let the morsel of information slip before a servant known to have a loose tongue.”
“I am not here to speak of Lord Cresthaven.” Watching his expression, she noticed the way his jaw clenched.
He took a swallow from his glass, the deep red staining his lips before he spoke. “Then why are you here?”
“This thing between us”—She motioned to him and back to herself with her free hand—“it is at an end. I shall not be keeping Craven House, as it rightly belongs to you.” She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting, but his lips were pressed tight, and she realized, for likely the first time, that he was allowing her the opportunity to say all she needed.
“Within a fortnight, I will have secured a new home for my family, and you will not have to worry about our paths crossing again. I am leaving London. For good.”
“And if I say this is all unnecessary?” His chin dipped, and he held her stare.
She glanced away, not wanting him to see the hope that shone in her eyes.
“I would politely disagree.” She shook her head to show the finality of her decision.
“I have thought of nothing but this moment for years—since you barged into my home eight years ago—and it is best I give the property up and start anew. This new home will be solely mine, and no one can take it from me…ever.”
His eyes narrowed, pinning her in place. “You think I want to take your home?”
“Of course,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Is that not what you’ve wanted since we met?”
“I would just as soon have the place burned to the ground than step foot in it again.”
“It is a completely acceptable house, Your Grace,” she argued. “A fine foundation and thick walls with a sturdy roof, though it is on the fringes of a proper neighborhood, I think you can sell it for what is owed by my family if that suits you better.”
His shoulders stiffened as the ease from a moment before seemingly fled him. His grip on his glass whitened his knuckles, and Marce feared she’d misspoken. Perhaps her family owed the dukedom far more than she suspected.
He moved to a chair before the hearth and lowered to sit, not offering her a seat.
“Do you know when I learned of my father’s infidelities, Lady Marce?” Rowan’s words were issued through clenched teeth.
She would not admit to speaking of the delicate matter with Tobias while at Hadlow. They’d had no right to delve into the duke’s past nor share secrets that were Rowan’s to tell—even if they impacted her as much as they did him.
When she remained silent, he glared at her where she still stood, glass clutched in shaking fingers. She hadn’t come to speak of the past, only the future… their separate futures.
“I was a lad of fifteen, home from school for the birth of my sibling…siblings,” he whispered, turning his stare to the glass in his hands.
“After several disastrous attempts, my mother and father were finally having another child. The duchess was quite large, and it was assumed that the babe would come at any time. I paced the halls of my family’s townhouse for days, though it felt much longer.
” He paused to take a sip from his glass.
Was it courage Rowan sought? “Finally, the time came. It was early evening, and a light rain had started, not uncommon for London. When the midwife and doctor said it was time, I went in search of my father, but he was not at home. I’d thought he was at his club or mayhap dining at a friend’s home.
My mother had taken to her private chambers over a month before, and so, my father was free to do as he pleased, to eat and find entertainment without worry for her. ”
“But you were worried?” The words rushed out of her on a sigh.
“With all that’d gone horribly wrong in the past, and my mother’s precarious health?
” he asked. “Of course, I was. I was terrified of losing her, yet my father seemed oblivious to the risks they took. Our driver said he would take me to where he’d dropped the duke earlier in the afternoon.
I readily accepted the offer. The babe was coming fast, and my mother screamed for my father. ”
“The coach ride took us out of Belgrave Square and into a less proper area of London—a neighborhood I’d never set foot in, let alone thought my father would journey to.”
It was then that the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She’d never heard this story, but she was certain she knew the night he spoke of.
“Imagine my surprise when the driver pulled to a halt in front of a large house with a sign proclaiming Craven House. I hadn’t any notion why my father would be there, of all places, nor was I certain the driver remembered the directions correctly.
When I asked, he said that this was where he dropped my father several times a week—and returned before first light to collect him. ”
Marce held her tongue—and her breath—waiting for him to continue. She wanted the story done and over with…she knew the ending as well as Rowan.
The Duchess of Harwich lost not one but two babes that night—twin girls. Identical in birth and death.
It was one of the first things Marce and Leona had bonded over. The duchess had lost twin daughters, and Marce had twin sisters.
“Why would your driver bring you there if he knew what you’d discover?”
“Charles—the same driver I have now—and all the servants loved my mother.” It was not a fact that needed to be said, as the Harwich servants were exceedingly loyal to the duchess.
“They loved my mother then as they do now and were tired of the way my father abandoned her nearly every day. And so, Charles made certain I learned of the duke’s infidelity. ”
“Did you and your father quarrel?”
Rowan chuckled—a deep, wounded sound. “Heavens, no,” he said, shaking his head.
“I never spoke of that night to him, nor paid any attention when he disappeared each night. He was a man above reproach in my youthful eyes. A man I adored. The man I emulated. And he was a fraud. I couldn’t bring myself to ask after any of it—it would only have hurt me more, and it wouldn’t have changed anything.
Instead, I lavished all my time and energy on my mother, especially after she was sent to Hadlow and her sickness grew worse.
“I stood before Craven House in the rain and watched through the window as my father read a bloody book to a gathering of children who were not his, as his own offspring perished before they’d even taken their first breath.”
“Oh, Rowan, I did not know.” Marce started for him, but his narrow-eyed glare halted her in her tracks before she’d taken even three steps. “I swear, my siblings and I never knew that Julian had a family. And after my mother died, he rarely visited. I never thought much about the man after that.”
Rowan’s glare swung toward the flames in the hearth. “By the time I made my way home—on foot, I’d bid my driver to leave me outside your home—my sisters were gone, and my mother was near death’s door. And my father, he was in the arms of another woman.”
Marce had nothing to say. It was a pain she did not know, nor one she could ever fully understand—the love of a boy for his father shattered so violently. And then to live all these years without speaking of it? It was enough to bring Marce to her knees with the imagined pain of it all.
“You—your family—were the only one left to exact atonement from.”
“But we were innocent in it all. Even you, Rowan.”
“Do you not think I know that now?” he snapped. “But that does not repair anything…my mother’s abandonment, and my…”
His words trailed off, and he closed his eyes tightly, rubbing his forearm across his face.
“Hurt,” she said for him. “It is past time you accepted that it also wounded you, Rowan. It is a pain I cannot fathom, but I do not lack compassion.”
His reasons for doing as he had after his father’s death had always been a mystery to her. Yet now, with each word he spoke, Marce understood his need for vengeance and retribution, even if it was misplaced.
“What now?” Marce was clear on her next move, the path she’d decided on for herself, but what of him? “Leona will be hurt by your—our—deception.”
No matter what happened between her and Rowan, it was Leona who would be devastated by the outcome.
“Why?” It was the burning question she’d longed to ask since he walked into her mother’s office at Craven House. “Why did you demand I act as your wife when we both knew it could come to this?”