Chapter 16
M organ did not return to his home.
Instead, he found himself entering a strange place that was completely unrecognizable from the place he had lived in all of his life. The darkness that he had always seen was lifted into sugary pale shades, just like any other household in the ton.
It was precisely what he had given his wife permission to do, but that had been before he discovered that there was a letter to uncover.
He saw just how different his household was and felt great suspicion that the very thing he wanted to find had already been seen by someone else, and that terrified him.
"What have you done?" he repeated, at last looking at his wife.
He could see the confusion in her face, and he could not blame her for that. Dorothy seemed to have no reason to understand why he was acting like he was, which meant that she could not have found the letter. It was a start, but that did not mean there was not another person that had seen it.
"I have redecorated," she said gently. "It is precisely what I told you that I wanted to do."
"Did you go to the west wing?"
"Morgan, I–"
"Did you go to the west wing?" he bellowed.
He regretted it the moment he saw the fear in her eyes.
"No," she whispered. "Of course not."
His shoulders lowered, and he unset his jaw.
He felt guilt rising within him in an instant; he had nobody to blame for his behavior but himself, as he had been the one to keep so much from her.
He needed to tell her what was happening, and why she had been kept from the west wing, but he could not bring himself to explain it.
"Dorothy, I–"
"No, it is quite all right. I was going to ask you if you liked what I have done, but I can see how you feel already. I shall leave you be."
She left the household, and he remained standing where he was. He was torn, knowing that he had to find the letter but also wanting to follow after his wife and apologize. He heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see Mrs. Herrington.
"As far as greetings go," she said in surprise, "that was not the best."
"Enough, Mrs. Herrington," he sighed. "I do not need your pity."
"I was not expressing it for you. I was expressing it for your wife."
He looked at her in confusion. When he had left for London, his housekeeper hated his wife, but suddenly she was defending her.
"I shall show you what your wife has done," she continued, and he followed after her.
Everything, with the exception of the west wing, had changed completely. Light traveled easily through the hallways and made it far more comforting than it had ever been. Morgan could not believe that his home had always had so much potential, and that it had been done by his wife.
"She had friends with her," Mrs. Herrington continued. "There were three of them, one with child. She was a duchess, I believe."
"Yes, I have heard about her. My wife said she expected us to receive an invitation to dinner, but I refused. I said it was because I do not leave the household."
"I see, and how soon after that did you leave for London?"
"Too soon, I know. I plan to speak to her, to apologize, but I wanted to give her a moment. I also must tell you something, but you cannot tell anyone about it, not even the staff. Thomas left me a letter, and it is somewhere in this household."
"A letter?" Mrs. Herrington asked, eyes narrowed. "He never wrote letters."
"No, but he had one hidden away here for me. It contains the truth about Catherine, and it simply must be found. Please tell me that you have seen it before, and that it has been in my study all this time and I missed it."
"Your Grace, I apologize, but I have never seen anything hidden away. Your study is always immaculate, and so beyond rummaging around in there, there is not very much that I can do if it is there."
"Very well, then, you have my permission to look everywhere else. It must be found if I am to tell Catherine the truth about herself."
"And when do you plan to tell Her Grace about her?"
"Soon. I am waiting for the right time, and– what happened between the two of you?"
His housekeeper smiled sheepishly.
"I misjudged her," she said with a smile.
"I thought that she was some young thing that was excited to be a duchess and live a life of leisure.
I suppose that I also did not want to lose the power that I have to someone that had not, as far as I thought, earned it.
I see now that I was wrong, and I should have given her a chance.
She and I have truly seen eye to eye of late. "
"That is wonderful. I had hoped that you would see her the way I do."
"I do, and that is why I am going to tell you this: go to her, and apologize. Even if you are not yet ready to tell her everything, she deserves an explanation."
He agreed, and so bid her farewell and left for the garden. He found her in the glasshouse, which was also very different though not complete. He stepped inside, and she bristled at once.
"I have nothing to say to you," she said coldly, looking away.
"Very well, then I shall do all of the talking. I would like to apologize for what I have done."
She did not say anything, keeping her back to him and looking at the plants.
"The changes are wonderful. It is precisely what I have always wanted the household to look like, and I cannot believe that you have achieved it in such a short space of time. You have a talent for it, you know."
Still, she was silent.
"I should have told you that I was leaving for a while, I know, but I could not. I promise you that it will make sense one day, but for now it must be kept from you."
She laughed emptily, and he sighed.
"Please, Dorothy, say something."
"You do not want to hear what I have to say," she snapped, turning to face him.
"You do not want me to tell you that you have made me feel so lonely while I have been here, and that you had finally make me feel like a friend to you only to leave me without telling me why.
You still will not, and I will never understand why.
I have done nothing to make you distrust me, and yet you never tell me anything. "
"It has nothing to do with you."
"Then why can you not tell me what is happening? You will not tell me where you have been, you will not tell me why the west wing is forbidden, you will not tell me why you refuse to join my friends but are willing to leave for other things. Why are you doing this?"
"Because you would not understand. I want to tell you everything, but it is not as simple as that. I have tried so hard to make you happy, and done what I could to make you feel less alone, but as a duke I must sometimes do difficult things."
"Then do the difficult thing and tell me the truth. Until then, you should know that I do not wish to see you. I do not want a husband that refuses to speak to me when it is not easy."
She left, pushing past him. He chased after her, but she refused to stop. He knew that he had made a mistake, and that she had worked so hard only for him to trample over it, but he wanted her to understand that he had not hurt her deliberately. He would never have done that to her.
She did not come down to dinner, and he had expected that.
He considered leaving her be for a while, until she came to him, but he knew that she had meant what she said.
Until he told her everything, she would not see him.
If he wanted to have his wife back, he would have to tell her the truth.
Instead of going for a drink after dinner, he decided to see Catherine.
She had been so desperate to meet his wife, and if he had to reveal her to Dorothy then it would at least be a pleasant first conversation to have.
When he entered her room, she was lying on her side, facing away from the window. It was a strange way for her to be, and when he perched on the foot of her bed she looked at him with sadness in her eyes.
"This is all my fault," she whispered.
"Nothing is your fault. What is it?"
"I heard everything," she explained, sitting up. "I was by the window when you and your wife were in the glasshouse. I heard what she said. I never wanted to be a problem."
"Oh, Catherine, that is not your fault. She is angry, yes, but not because of you. It is because of me, as I have never told her about you and told her that she cannot come here. It is my own fault that that happened."
"But if I were not here, it would not be something that you had to say."
"And you are not here because of anything you did, either. I know that this has been unfair, and I apologize for that. I am going to tell her about you, and then you may meet her. Would that make you happy?"
She smiled, but it faded.
"I would so like to, but if she does not want me here then everything will be worse than before."
"Yes, which is precisely why I have not yet said anything, but that must stop. She will love you, I am certain of it."
She was not completely confident, but she seemed to be eased by it at least. Though intelligent and well-spoken, she was still a young girl and very willing to believe that the best would happen.
All that was left to do was speak to Dorothy, and that was where the difficulty was. She was kind and understanding, but every person had a limit, and a secret niece could well have been hers. He braced himself as he stood at her bedchambers. He knocked, and thankfully she opened the door.
"Your Grace," she sighed, "I have already told you that I do not wish to see you."
"Until I tell you the truth, yes. I have been a fool, and it is time that I tell you everything. I can do it now, or we can wait until morning. What would you prefer?"
She looked at him with uncertainty for a moment.
"If I ask you something," she said quietly, "will you promise not to laugh at me?"
"Of course. I would never laugh at you."
She opened the door fully, and he entered. She sat in one of her armchairs and took a deep breath.
"The day I spent time in the garden," she began, "I saw a figure at the window. I have spent so much time since then wondering if all of this has happened because there was a phantom of some sort here. I suppose what I wish to ask you is this: is this house haunted?"
Morgan sighed. His home was indeed haunted, but not by a phantom.
"There are no ghosts here," he promised her, "but I can indeed explain why you saw that figure."