Page 45 of Her Bear of a Duke

"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 westwing 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, andwhen 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.

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