Page 22 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
Theresa herself now had a mother and a father, although she was still a little appalled at the swiftness with which they had married her off to the Duke of Blackwell. She did hope and pray that they would find their daughter, Hope.
Hersister.
She sighed as she stepped into the suite reserved solely for the Duchesses of Blackwell and wondered if Hope ever regretted running away from the marriage the Queen herself had arranged for her.
But if she had not, then maybe Theresa would have never known a world outside of the nunnery. She would have lived all her life confined in that dark place, bound by rules that chafed far worse than shackles on her wrists and ankles.
She absently rubbed her wrists and then stopped herself.
Mother Superior and Sister Mary are no longer here to punish me.They cannot do anything to me now.
But would her husband—and the rules he had insisted she adhere to—be more of the same? Had she somehow just swapped one devil for another?
“A penny for your thoughts, my dear?”
Theresa turned around to find the Dowager Duchess smiling kindly at her.
Despite her advanced age, her spine was still ramrod straight, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence. She conducted herself with such regal grace that Theresa could not help but wipe her hands on the back of her dress.
“I… His Grace told me that this was to be my room,” she stammered, feeling like a complete and utter fool before her husband’s grandmother.
What does one say to a dowager duchess? And was she supposed to curtsy?
“Ah, yes. The Duchess’s Suite.” The Dowager Duchess looked around the room with a smile.
They even name their rooms here.Perhaps because the whole manor itself is large enough to require its own mailing address.
Theresa’s lips twitched with amusement.
“I used to stay in this very room myself when I married Aaron’s grandfather.” The Dowager Duchess smiled wistfully as she walked into the room. “And then his mother after me, when she married my son.”
“It is quite lovely,” Theresa admitted, biting her lower lip as she followed her inside. “And awfully…”
“Massive? Ridiculously opulent?” The Dowager Duchess supplied with a grin.
Theresa nodded. “It feels so spacious and empty, and in turn, I feel smaller than a speck of dust inside it.”
The Dowager Duchess shook her head. “My dear, if you were a speck of dust, the staff would have gotten rid of you with a good swipe of their feather dusters.” She reached out and gently cupped Theresa’s cheek. “I understand that it can all feel so overwhelming at first—marriage can be like that. Just remember that you are the Duchess of Blackwell now, and you have a strength and kindness within you that this manor has long needed.”
“I… I am not really sure I am whatanythingneeds, Your Grace,” Theresa murmured.
“Grandmama,” the Dowager Duchess corrected her. “It is what Juliette calls me—and your husband, too, when he was much younger or when he needed something.”
Theresa smiled a little. “It is hard to imagine His Grace ever needing anything from anyone.”
“Oh, he does—that one I can assure you!” The Dowager Duchess winked at her conspiratorially. “And more importantly, he needs you, although he is too obtuse to admit it.”
“His Grace needs me?” Theresa nearly burst out laughing.
Her husband always seemed so arrogant. So self-assured. Like a man who knew his place in the center of the world and reveled in it.
Aaron Lennox, the Duke of Blackwell, was not the kind of man who neededanyone.
“Oh, my dear.” The Dowager Duchess smiled mysteriously. “But it is the ones who look so strong that need saving most of all.” She pressed an affectionate kiss to her temple. “This old woman has kept you from your rest long enough, when I simply came by to show you the wardrobe my grandson had us put together for you. If there is anything else you need to help you feel right at home in Blackwell Manor, please do not hesitate to let me know.”
The ‘homes’ Theresa had been to in London were all magnificently empty. They were not homes by any stretch of her imagination, more like grand mausoleums where one could hear their own footfalls echoing in their skulls day in and day out.
And she could not live the rest of her life like that, listening to her own footsteps and her own voice. Not if she could help it.
