Chapter 19
D orothy did not know what to say, other than to try and help her husband.
She was pleased that Catherine would have answers, and that she would know who her mother was, but she felt for Morgan immensely.
His brother had tried to stop their family uniting with the Blackwoods after what had happened, and now Morgan was going to always know that the little girl he so loved was undeniable proof that their families were once tied.
"What is it?" Catherine asked when they entered. "You are both looking at me strangely."
"We have found her," Morgan explained, and at once she came to life.
"Oh! Oh, how wonderful. Who was she? Can we go to her?"
Dorothy hated the pained expression in his face, but it had to be done. The little girl knowing the truth was more important than their comfort.
"We can, but not yet. I have to have things in order first."
"But you will take me?"
"Of course. Her name was, indeed, Elizabeth, and her last name was Blackwood."
"I like that name. I love mine, though. Will I have to change it?"
"Of course not," he smiled.
In spite of it all, Dorothy noted, her husband could not find it in him to be sad when in the company of his niece.
"Will you come, Dorothy?" she asked. "When we can go, of course."
"I–" she stammered, looking at Morgan who nodded at her, "I will, if that is what you want."
"Of course! You are my friend."
It was odd to have a small child proclaim that she was her friend, but Dorothy liked it. It was easier than being a mother or an aunt, especially when she had only just met her. She would be a good friend to her, the very best that she could be.
"That was easier than expected," she commented as they left for the gardens. "Then again, I suppose she has been waiting a long time for these answers."
"Indeed. I do not know why I expected it to be difficult."
"Because her aunt is the same lady you were engaged to," she suggested. "That will be painful no matter how much time has passed. It was a betrayal on your brother's part, and it is no surprise to me that you are reluctant to forgive him."
"But I should not care. She is not my wife. She was hardly my fiancée, and– this is not the sort of discussion one should have with his wife, is it?"
Dorothy laughed softly, and leaned against his shoulder.
"Morgan, you had a life before me, one that I was never privy to. It does not matter to me that you were engaged before, or if you loved her, or–"
"For what it is worth, I did not."
She pulled away, looking at him curiously. He looked at her in return with sincerity.
"I was never going to love her," he explained. "She was the sort of lady that would make a decent duchess, and the ton expected it. I thought that was the best thing to do."
"I suppose it was, or it would have been had she not met that other gentleman. Do you know if she ever did marry him?"
"I do not. Once the engagement was called off, I had very little interest in her.
It sounds callous, but after what she had done it was easier for the two of us to never cross paths.
She blamed me entirely for it, and I accepted that.
It was better, after all, that I faced scandal as a gentleman than she did as an unmarried lady. "
Dorothy considered that, and she knew that he had done a noble thing in accepting blame that was not his, but she wished it had not been so. With what had followed, it was of no surprise to her that he was seen as some beastly thing, a bear just as Lady Blackwood had claimed.
"You must not look so concerned," he chuckled. "Our reputation is perfectly fine, and wherever she is, she causes us no harm. She likely found some wealthy and well-to-do man and left for his stately manor. She is nothing to us."
"I suppose."
But there was a strange feeling inside of her.
Lady Blackwood, from what she knew, was not a kind lady.
She had debuted long before Dorothy, but there had been whispers about the Blackwoods, ones that she had always ignored but now wished she had not.
She wished she knew more about them, but she had never cared for vicious gossip about other ladies.
"Dorothy," he said gently, taking a hand in his, "I know that this has been a lot, and perhaps difficult to hear, but you and I are married. I am yours in every way that matters. That will not change."
Suddenly, that strange feeling was replaced by another.
Her heart fluttered at his words, his promise that they were what mattered to him.
She did not want to feel so strongly about it, as she so badly wanted their marriage to be simple, but she was complicating it and it felt good to.
She thought back to the kiss they had shared again, and how it had been her first act of defiance.
"Why did you kiss me?" she asked again, hoping that he would now explain himself.
"What do you mean?"
"The night we met, why did you kiss me?"
"Because you wanted me to. You did want me to, did you not?"
She felt rather disappointed with that.
"Well, of course I did, but I had hoped that you were not simply doing it for my sake."
"Oh, that was certainly not the case either. Why would you think that?"
She wanted to say that it was because she had never seen herself as anything close to desirable.
She was short and soft and round, nothing like the beautiful ladies that he could have taken.
There had never been a moment in her life where she had felt like someone that could be wanted and loved until that moment.
It was not love, she was not that foolish, but it could have been.
It could have been more than friendship, eventually, had he thought she was beautiful, but he did not.
"I suppose I thought you pitied me."
"Certainly not. I thought you were interesting, if anything, because not many ladies dare to rebel the way that you did.
I had hoped to see you for who you truly were, rather than the perfect little lady I assumed your father would have you play the part of when I visited. I wanted to see who you truly were."
"And what did you think of me?"
He was looking at her strangely, as though he did not quite know what to say. She knew why that was; he thought she was unassuming and unremarkable the same way every member of the ton did. She was nothing special, and even as a duchess she would not be seen any differently.
"Do not look like that," he huffed. "You do remember that I hardly saw you that night, do you not? It was dark out, and either your mask was on or my eyes were closed for the most part. One does not tend to keep them open when kissing, you know."
"Even so, you saw… you saw me; my– oh, it does not matter."
"It seems to bother you, so I would argue the contrary."
She willed herself to tell him. She tried to force the words to come, to explain that she had spent her life surrounded by young ladies that were better than her, and that she had never been able to compete.
She told herself that if she could just get it out, he would understand, possibly even refute her claims.
"I have just never seen myself as worthy of you. That is all."
"A kind and gentle lady such as yourself is absolutely worthy of me. Besides, who am I, exactly?"
"A duke."
"Come now, surely after our time together you know me better than that, yes?"
She did, of course. She knew the way the sunlight reflected in his hair, and how he had two freckles on his left cheek. She knew that he was slow to anger, and wonderful with children. He was a good man, and a patient one, and far better than she had ever hoped to find in a husband.
"You are kind," was all that she could manage.
It burned her not to be able to tell him the truth, that he inhabited her thoughts far more than she would have liked, but it would have been a foolish thing to say.
She knew what her marriage was, and so did he, and if she had to act as though that was all she felt then that was what would be done.
She enjoyed her new life far too much to jeopardize it.
"Scared," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"You seemed scared. You asked me what I thought of you when we first met, and it was exactly that. You seemed terrified."
"I suppose I was," she laughed. "I knew that life as I knew it would soon change, and though it was never perfect it was at least mine. It was known and predictable. A husband was not."
"It was more than that. You seemed frightened of making a mistake, even though it was what you wanted."
"It was the only time that I have ever done something like that. I thought that if I was going to be chained to a gentleman of my father's choosing for the rest of my life, I ought to do something for myself first. I do not regret it."
"Could you have said the same if it were not me in the gardens?"
She thought for a moment.
"Morgan, I do not think I would have done what I did if it were not you in the garden. I do not think I could have made myself do it."
"Then, if I may ask, why me?"
"Another excellent question," she sighed, "one that I do not know the answer to myself.
You were charming, I know that much. You also listened to me, and other than my friends nobody has ever done that before.
I suppose I knew that, if I was going to disgrace myself, it had to be with a gentleman that I would not mind being forced into marriage with. "
"That is to say you do not mind being forced into this one?"
"I believe you know my answer to that."
"Perhaps, but I should very much like to hear you tell me."
He was standing close to her, and she was uncertain of when that happened.
She was looking up at him, and she tried to conceal the hunger in her eyes.
He was a wonderful man, and excellent with Catherine, and after everything that had happened he was trying to be a good husband. She could not have asked for more.
"I was never forced into this marriage," she reminded him. "You gave me the choice to walk away, and I chose not to. I wanted this marriage, and I still do."
"As do I. You know, I never expected you to be so lovely when we met."
The word echoed. Lovely, lovely, lovely.
She had been called many names before, sometimes by her father and sometimes by the ladies in the ton, but never anything as nice as that.
She was always nice and kind, if she was called something good at least. Morgan, however, thought that she was lovely, even if he seemed uncomfortable with the fact that he had said it.
"I have an idea," he said suddenly. "Do you ride horses?"
"I have before, but I was never any good at it."
"Tomorrow, we shall do that. We have vast lands, and we might as well make use of them. I shall have two prepared for us in the morning."
"That sounds wonderful, though again I must say that I am not a skilled rider."
"You do not need to be. So long as you do not come flying off of it, it will be sufficient."
He laughed as he said it, but Dorothy was not as certain.
Regardless, morning came and as promised there were two horses that Dorothy could see from the window of her bedchambers.
The work had been completed in the household and at last her room was a place that brought her peace.
She adored it, and had she not been so eager to please her husband she might have remained there a few minutes more.
Stepping out into the gardens, she saw her husband preparing them. She thought it was strange, as the stablehands were nowhere to be seen, but only for a moment because she then looked at him properly.
He was skilled, guiding them to where they needed to be, and neither one objected in any way. He had large hands, but he was gentle with them. Dorothy froze in place as she watched, unable to take her eyes from him.
"Are you going to join me?" he called over, and she turned scarlet.
She had every right to look at her husband, yet it made her feel things that she did not wish to acknowledge. She did not want to think he was attractive, not when she knew that he could never feel such things for her.
"Of course," she called back, steadying herself.
She made her way to him, growing more and more timid as she saw how large the horses were. They were stallions, and it was clear to her that they had been expensive, and while not threatening they were certainly intimidating. They towered over her.
"I brought the smallest one I had for you," he explained, "but even so he is…"
"Large," she nodded.
"Dorothy, if you are not comfortable–"
"No, no it is perfectly fine. I will be fine."
She hooked her foot in and hauled herself up. Morgan helped to lift her, and she expected him to make some kind of noise to signify that it required a good deal of his strength, but he did not. It was effortless for him. When she was at last sitting on the horse, she could not stop smiling.
She was not skilled, not by any means, but she could hold her own. She had not wanted Morgan to expect too much from her, but if she were being honest she loved horseback riding and she would thoroughly enjoy her morning.
"Does Catherine not ride?" she asked as they made their way across the grounds.
"No, she is far too unwell for that. Should she recover, I will consider it."
"Should she?" she echoed. "Do you not believe that she will?"
"It is difficult to say. Her doctor believes it is from the coldness of the water all those years ago, and it simply does not seem to be leaving her."
"That is to be expected," she nodded, "for she was so small."
Dorothy turned back to the window, only to faintly see Catherine watching from her windows. Her heart ached to see her that way.
"She continues to be," Morgan agreed, "which is why I must protect her, at any cost."