Page 49 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“Uh, I’m sorry. I was merely surprised that you knew where the brandy was. I remembered that this used to be your home.”
“Yes, it’s only been months since my father died, but the place looks like it had been haunted for years—decades even. Memories are all that we have. This used to be my father’s room. I say this because my mother had been dead for the last three years, and he simply wasted away here.”
“Drinking?” Damian asked tentatively.
“Well, his brandy is some of his prized possessions. He is no longer here, so here we are, about to enjoy it,” Gwendoline said, pouring each of them a glass.
Damian eyed the brandy, glasses, and cigars in the cabinet.
“He didn’t lock it,” he observed as he took the glass from her.
“No. Not anymore. He used to. This room was locked after my mother passed. It was a shrine to her and my father’s other, uh, habits. I wasn’t allowed in here. When Timothy took over, it was also made clear that this place wasn’t mine. I had to obey him.”
“Just one drink,” Damian said as he sipped from his glass. “We need to stay alert. We must wake up early before Montrose decides to visit the estate.”
“Of course,” Gwendoline replied solemnly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as she sipped on her drink.
As they relaxed further, they settled on the thick rug before the fireplace. They sat in silence, nursing their drinks.
“My mother loved this room,” Gwendoline said suddenly, glancing at Damian.
He turned his head slightly, giving her his attention but remaining silent. He was prepared to listen to her all night long. He hadn’t given her this kind of attention, the one she truly deserved.
“She used to bring me here when my father was away. We’d sit by this fireplace, and she’d mostly tell me stories—fairytales.” Her voice softened as she reminisced. “Every fairytale was a lesson. It was her way of teaching me to be strong. I didn’t know she did that because she left me when I was still too young to understand. Yes, I was sixteen, but I was naive and had not yet been properly introduced to Society. I did have Alexandra and Abigail, but nothing more. I had nothing much, even before Father died.”
Damian’s expression didn’t change. He understood what she meant by ‘nothing much.’ It had nothing to do with wealth.
“You are strong, Duchess. Your mother had at least succeeded in that.”
“It is one of the happiest memories I have of her—she telling me stories as I listened even after I could read better and faster,” Gwendoline added. “She always seemed happy here. I can understand Father’s decision to lock up the room—preserve what’s left of her.”
She fell silent for a moment, and Damian could hear her grief. Her loneliness.
“It seems like she was a kind woman,” he said after a few beats.
“She was,” Gwendoline agreed.
Despite her loss, she could not help but smile whenever she thought of the happy moments she had shared with her mother.
“I like to think she’d have liked you.”
Damian let out a mirthless chuckle. “I doubt that.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, shifting his gaze to the fire. He had done so much that he now regretted—things that had solidified his reputation as a rake. He was never someone people called kind. He was merely a man who was pleasing to the people who were good to him, and he planned to exact revenge. Terrible revenge on Lord Montrose.
No, no mother would want him for her daughter unless they were fortune hunters. Gwendoline was not one. He also doubted that her mother had been one. The void she had left behind when she died was proof enough.
“Y-Your Grace, why are you so hellbent on taking revenge on my cousin? What did Timothy do to you?”
His expression darkened further, the goodwill from earlier quickly dissipating. “It’s not something I wish to revisit,” he mumbled.
Gwendoline frowned, scooting closer to him. “Then tell me about something else. A happy memory. Everyone has one, even though it may not seem like it when it comes to you.”
Damian sighed, his fingers tightening around his nearly empty glass. “My mother,” he began reluctantly. “Your story about your mother reminds me of her.”
“She must be wonderful,” Gwendoline murmured.
