Chapter 22
“ J efferson,” William began, his voice calm, though a familiar unease always settled upon him when discussing the practicalities of running Pemberly without his full sight. “With winter approaching, what preparations are being made? Are we sufficiently stocked with fuel and provisions?”
He heard the familiar rustle of Jefferson’s starched collar as the butler straightened his posture. “Indeed, Your Grace. We have already begun the process of arranging a substantial supply of coal and firewood. The larders are filled with salted meats, root vegetables, and flour. We anticipate no shortages this year.”
“Excellent,” William murmured, a small measure of satisfaction settling within him.
He had come to rely heavily on Jefferson’s meticulous management of the estate, a trust that had been earned after noticing the butler’s commitment to his duty. It filled William with no small relief that he could depend on not just Robert, his steward, but also Jefferson to keep things running smoothly.
“Ensure that the tenants are also seen to. Those who require assistance with repairs to their cottages or additional supplies should be noted.”
“Of course, Your Grace. That is already being seen too…” There was a slight pause, a subtle shift in Jefferson’s usual measured tone that William instinctively picked up on. “Furthermore, Your Grace, with one less chamber requiring consistent heating throughout the winter months, a slight adjustment to the heating budget can be made, freeing up resources for other necessary expenditures.”
William frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “One less chamber? Whose rooms will not require heating, Jefferson?”
He had not been made aware of any departures amongst the staff, and certainly not any of the inhabitants of the main house.
The silence that followed stretched for a fraction too long, a beat of hesitation that sent a prickle of unease down William’s spine. Then, Jefferson spoke, his voice carefully neutral, yet the words themselves struck William with the force of a physical blow.
“Her Grace… Preparations are underway for her to depart Pemberly estate.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. William’s breath hitched in his throat, a cold wave of disbelief washing over him, quickly followed by a surge of intense anger and a profound, disorienting confusion.
“Depart? What in God’s name are you talking about, Jefferson? Where would she be going?” His voice, though kept low, vibrated with an intensity that betrayed his outward attempt at composure.
“I… I was made to understand that arrangements were being made for her to leave, Your Grace,” Jefferson replied, his tone becoming slightly more hesitant as if treading on precarious ground. “I was informed that she intends to establish a residence elsewhere.”
He offered no further details, and William could sense the butler’s own discomfort with this unexpected turn of events.
“Why am the last one to hear of this? Did my steward know as well?”
Jefferson inhaled sharply. “I do not believe so, Your Grace. By my understanding, Her Grace only told a select few who were to assist her in preparation for the departure. I doubt Robert would have been included in that selection as well.”
Livid, his mind a maelstrom of unanswered questions and a rising tide of possessive anger, William pushed himself to his feet, the abrupt movement scraping his chair against the polished floor. “Summon the duchess to my study. Immediately, Jefferson.”
His voice left no room for argument and seconds later, he heard the butler’s footfalls leading away from him and out of his study.
Moments later, Prudence stood before him, her blurry lax form bearing a mixture of polite calmness and a subtle wariness. He could sense her presence, the faint floral scent that always clung to her, the quiet stillness that often preceded her sharp wit.
“You wished to see me, Your Grace?” Prudence asked, her voice even, betraying none of the turmoil he now felt raging within him.
William had given some deep thought to what he wished to say. He had so many questions – most of them turning out to be queries of whether or not the butler had spoken the truth. But now that she was here, he could not seem to put forth any of the immense turmoil soiling his insides.
“You are leaving,” William stated flatly, his sightless gaze fixed in her general direction as if he could somehow pierce the veil of his blindness and see the truth in her eyes.
It was not a question. It was an accusation.
Prudence’s composure wavered for the briefest of moments, a flicker of surprise causing her body to jerk slightly before she regained control.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone surprisingly calm. “I believe it is the most… sensible course of action.”
“Sensible?” William scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Sensible for whom, Prudence? Certainly not for Melanie. She has grown incredibly fond of you.”
“Melanie will be well, Your Grace,” Prudence said softly. “You and her are finally forging the bond you should always have had. My presence is no longer essential for her upbringing.”
“And what about me… us?” William demanded, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You reside in my home, Duchess. You cannot simply pack your things without letting me know,” the possessiveness in his voice surprised even himself.
“I cannot impose on you any longer, Your Grace,” Prudence countered, her voice firm. “Our situation is… complicated enough as it is. To continue living under the same roof, with the undeniable… tension between us, will only make things worse in the long run.”
“Tension?” William repeated, his mind flashing back to their shared intimacies, the stolen kisses, the charged moments that had left them both breathless and wanting. “Is that all you feel, Prudence? Tension?”
He heard her exhale sharply. “It is… unwise to dwell on such things, Your Grace. I have made my decision.”
“And I have not accepted it,” William retorted, his voice rising. “Melanie needs you here. You have begun to establish a place for yourself, made connections… You have a life here.”
“My life here is not one to be proud of, Your Grace. And my connections are now primarily through your household,” Prudence interrupted gently. “And as for Melanie, her true connection lies with you. I believe it is time for me to step aside and allow that to flourish without my… interference.”
“Interference?” William scoffed again. “You have been nothing but a positive influence on my daughter. You have brought joy and laughter back into her life. In mine as well.”
“And now it is time for me to find my own joy, Your Grace,” Prudence said, her voice tinged with a sadness that tugged unexpectedly at William’s chest. “I need to build a life for myself.”
“Then I will help you,” William declared, his mind grasping for a solution, any way to keep her from leaving, even for just a little longer. “If you are concerned about your future, about securing your position, then I will find you a suitable husband. A man of good standing, who will appreciate your worth. It is the least I can do for you, given all that you have done for Melanie and Pemberly.”
Prudence fell silent for a moment, and William could sense her surprise at his offer. Then, she spoke, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness.
“And who, Your Grace, would ever want to marry a woman whose past and current reputation is as murky as mine? The Black Widow ? Surely, no one would dare, not even as a joke.”
“We have been through far too much for you to continue to address me formally. Call me by my name. and… they would be fools not to,” William said fiercely, his own somewhat scandalous past momentarily forgotten in his desire to convince her. “Any man with eyes to see and a brain to think would recognize your intelligence, your spirit, your… your brilliance.”
There was another pause, longer this time, and when Prudence finally spoke, her words struck William with an unexpected force. “Then why do you not, Your – William?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and charged with unspoken emotions. William’s breath caught in his throat.
Why did he not? The answer was a tangled mess of past hurts, lingering fears, and a deep-seated reluctance to risk his heart again.
“Am I not worthy enough to stand as your bride? As your duchess?” she asked quietly, striking William’s heart with more pain.
“That is not – it is not you. You are not the one unworthy. I am,” he said in the same tone she had used.
“What do you mean?”
He turned away, the memory of his first marriage, a disastrous union born of obligation and resentment, flooding his senses.
“My first marriage was…” he began, his voice low, the words heavy with the weight of the past. “It brought out the worst in me. And it cost me nearly everything I had ever had, everything I had built. All I ever wanted was to be a musician, to lose myself in the beauty of melody and harmony. But my father… he would not hear of it. It was beneath the dignity of a future Duke, he said.”
William’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the bitterness of years past rising in his throat. “I practiced in secret, pouring my heart into every note, every composition. But he found out. He smashed my instruments, one by one, shattering my dreams. He told me I would be a businessman, secure our family’s standing, or my mother would suffer for my disobedience.”
His voice grew thick with emotion as he recalled the years of his father’s tyranny, the constant fear that had permeated their household, and the way his mother had withered under the weight of his father’s cruelty until illness finally claimed her. A part of him had always blamed his father, and his own forced compliance, for her suffering.
“As I grew older, the expectations of the ton, the suffocating pressure to conform, felt like a cage,” he continued, the resentment still raw after all these years.
Disappointed and disillusioned, William had done the unthinkable; he had left England, abandoning his title and his obligations to pursue his dream in the burgeoning artistic scene of New England. He had found success, wealth, a measure of the fulfillment he had always craved.
“Then I met her,” he said, the memory of his late wife tinged with a complicated mix of guilt and regret. “A singer. Passionate, volatile… When she became pregnant, I did what I believed was the honorable thing. I married her, even though there was no real love between us. But Melanie… I loved Melanie from the moment she was born. She was so small, so spirited, and precious. And I did not want her to grow up in a household filled with the same bitterness and resentment that had defined my own childhood. So, I told my wife that we would separate, for Melanie’s sake.”
His voice dropped to a near whisper as he recounted the devastating events that followed. “She would not accept it. In a fit of rage, of vengeance, she set fire to my instruments, my compositions… everything that represented my past, my dreams. The fire spread. I managed to save Melanie, but… I lost my sight. And she… she perished in the flames.”
The silence in the study was heavy, filled with the weight of William’s painful confession. Prudence had listened intently, her initial anger and confusion replaced by a profound sense of sympathy for the man who stood before her, stripped bare of his defenses.
“I understand, William,” she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. “You have endured a great deal of pain.”
“And you see why I cannot… why I am hesitant to…” William trailed off, unable to articulate the fear of repeating the mistakes of the past, the fear of inflicting more pain on himself or another.
The vulnerability he felt at having revealed so much left him raw and exposed.
“I respect your decision, William,” Prudence said gently but firmly, the sudden closeness of her voice to him startling him a little. “But I cannot continue living under the same roof as you. The… the undeniable attraction between us, coupled with your understandable reservations, creates an impossible situation. I cannot be your mistress.”
His heart skipped a beat as her arms wrapped around him, holding him in her embrace for a moment before she slipped away.
Prudence then walked to the door, hesitating slightly with her hand reaching for the door handle, her heart heavy with a mixture of sadness and a resolute determination. She had to leave. For both their sakes.
But before she could escape, William’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around her wrist with surprising strength. He pulled her back, and before she could fully react, his lips crashed down on hers, a desperate, almost bruising kiss filled with a raw intensity that both startled and ignited a familiar spark within her. It was a kiss that spoke of fear and longing, of a desperate need to connect despite the chasm of their circumstances.
She responded instinctively, her own buried desires momentarily overwhelming her better judgment as her fingers clung to him desperately. In that moment, she wanted to accept it all, his tongue, his affection – though hesitant and complex, and his warmth.
But as the kiss deepened, as the familiar heat flared between them, a wave of despair washed over her. This was wrong. This would only make leaving harder, and would only further complicate the already tangled web of their relationship.
She pulled away, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and a desperate plea.
“Please, William,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Please do not do this to me. Do not make this any harder than it already is.”
With a final, tearful look at the man who had unexpectedly captured a part of her heart, Prudence wrenched her wrist free and fled from the study, leaving William standing alone in the silence, the weight of his past and the stark reality of her impending departure pressing down on him with crushing force.
The weight of his regret forced the words he had been too dense to say out loud further down his throat as he realized how utterly foolish he had been.
He… he was in love with her. He wanted to marry her, make her the mother of his daughter.
But instead of saying all of that, he had dismissed his opportunity and lost her forever.