Chapter Nine
Cora wept in those hours after Phillip—His Grace—had left. Slowly, she gathered what remained of her composure and prepared to face whatever awaited her at the tavern.
She cursed herself for a damned fool for letting herself be seduced—by a duke, no less.
Her intuition had never before led her astray.
When it came to Phillip, it had never warned her of the dangers, instead urging her to proceed with caution.
She took every step with measured awareness, using the time to observe and assess.
Never had she imagined that it would lead her down this path toward—dare she say it—love.
The walk into the village helped to clear the grief from her mind, but it also allowed her time to consider the situation without pressure.
One thing had been true: Phillip had ruined her in every conceivable way.
Not only had he shown her pleasure unlike anything she had ever known, he’d allowed her to reciprocate in kind. Their night of passion had unleashed something feral inside of her, something she dared not examine too closely. Waking in his embrace had been the perfect end to their time together.
Only for it all to be ruined by his confession. A confession that had come months too late and left her with a hole in the pit of her stomach. A bloody duke!
Cora kicked the loose stones along the path, the soft dirt squishing beneath her boots. A sinking helplessness surrounded her. After raging against him, battling the anger and disappointment inside her at his betrayal and the sudden void caused by his departure, Cora realized her mistake.
She cared for him. Deeply. And his lies cut straight to her soul like a well-honed blade.
Omissions of the truth were just as dangerous as lies. Often fed with the best of intentions, they left Cora with an ache deep in her chest and a solitary regret. She should have listened to that still, small voice in her mind telling her not to indulge him.
Although devastated by the turn of events, Cora pushed through the pain and pasted a pleasant smile on her lips as she entered the village.
The moment she’d stepped into the tavern, she felt the weight of his loss.
Forcing the unwelcome emotions aside, Cora set to work. She lost herself in the monotony of her job and idle conversations with patrons. Hours passed, but the haunting memory of his presence remained.
Near dusk, Mrs. Mackenzie entered the tavern with a basket on her arm. She strode straight into the room, her gaze fixed on Cora.
Panic flooded her. Cora fidgeted with the hem of her apron but greeted the woman with a kind smile. “Mrs. Mackenzie, what a pleasure to see you. What brings you to the village this evening?”
“I have come to deliver a message.” Mrs. Mackenzie dropped her voice low so it carried only between the two of them. “His Grace asked me to relay his apologies and asked that I deliver this letter to you tonight.”
“You knew, and yet you said nothing.” Cora took the letter and slipped it into her pocket.
“He instructed both my husband and me not to reveal his presence or his identity. Forgive me, love. I had no choice.” Her round face softened in sympathy.
“If I could have, I would have warned him of his folly, but he was insistent on keeping it a secret.” She clucked her tongue. “Although I now see why.”
“What do you mean?” Cora asked, her curiosity piqued.
Mrs. Mackenzie’s smile grew in brilliance.
“Surely, you know.” She tutted when Cora shook her head.
“His Grace had only recently inherited the title when he first arrived, and his presence here had only been to ascertain whether to keep the holding or sell it. He has had quite generous offers from several interested parties.”
“He could have sold it?” Cora asked, confused. “Why keep it? Why continue to return month after month if he had no intention of selling the estate?”
“At first, I wondered the same thing, but now I know why he remained steadfast in his decision to keep the manor.” Mrs. Mackenzie arched her brow.
Cora swallowed the lump stuck in her throat. Surely, she could not be implying the duke only retained the property because of her. But it held a ring of truth.
“I do not know what happened between ye, my dear, and I do not wish to interject where my opinion is not wanted nor warranted.” She paused. “But if I were keen on gambling, I would wager the duke found something in our small village worth keeping.” The older woman winked.
With a soft cough, Cora shifted the subject. “W—Will he return?”
“I do not ken.” Mrs. Mackenzie gestured to the letter in Cora’s hand. “Perhaps he has explained it in his missive.” The kind woman smiled. “I must be off. Dinner will not make itself.”
With that, she vacated the tavern, leaving Cora standing in the middle of the room wearing a strange expression and clenching a letter in her fist.
Trembling, Cora retreated to the kitchen and sat on a barrel near the back door. Carefully, she opened the letter and read.
My dearest Cora,
Forgive me. I have been a fool. You were right to be angry with me. I should have been honest with you from the very beginning of our acquaintance.
Truth is, I did not wish for my title or status to influence your opinion of me. I wanted you to weigh your judgement purely on me, as a man, and nothing else.
I pray you can forgive me.
There are things I must attend to in London. I promise I will return, although I am unsure when that will be. Until then, I will write to you—every day if I must—in order to assure you that my affections have not waned but grown over time and distance.
I do not regret a moment of our time together, and I wish it could have lasted forever.
Until I return, I remain sincerely yours.
Phillip
Cora tucked the letter into her pocket and wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes.
Her heart ached. A letter, so sweet, so thoughtful, she almost forgot the injury he’d caused her with his purposeful lies.
Phillip. She closed her eyes, and his image filled her memory—the passion they’d shared.
Cora could not help but love him. But he was not the man she believed him to be. He was no solicitor or common man with means and drive. Phillip was the Duke of Tolland. A man so far removed from her daily life, only an act of God could bring them together.
A duke would never marry a widow of no means and low status. She could never be anything but an indulgence—a mistress used for pleasure at his leisure. And Cora wanted nothing to do with such an arrangement.
She rose from her seat and wiped away any remaining tears before returning to work. Try as she might, she could not purge him from her thoughts.
But the next day, another letter arrived. Then the day after that—another. And so it continued, day after day, week after week, month after month. Each letter a testament to his dedication and devotion.
Slowly, her hesitation melted away and uncertainty cracked her resolve as a new tenderness blossomed deep inside her heart. But could she trust it?
Could she trust him?