Page 62 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“Yes. I am your wife. Ours may not be a love marriage, but I do want to know more about you. I’ve told you what it was like to suffer at Timothy’s hand. So, it’s fair that I know why he has made your life miserable.”
His nostrils flared. He set the glass down on the table next to him, mirroring what she had done earlier.
“He happened to Levi and Mary,” he began, pain etched on his face.
There it was. It was the moment Gwendoline was waiting for, and yet a part of her was afraid of what it would do to him.
His eyes flashed with fury, shutting out the world. His walls were up again. His jaw clenched, and his whole body stiffened. He became more like a cage than a man. Then, just as quickly as he caged himself, the walls seemed to crumble.
Gwendoline didn’t want to think of it as proof of defeat. No, it wasn’t like that. It was more like resignation. He knew he had been keeping her at arm’s length.
“Levi,” he continued, his voice rough, “was more than a friend. He was like a brother.”
Gwendoline’s heart ached at the raw pain in his voice. She leaned forward to show him that she wanted to hear every painful word or syllable.
“And Mary?” she prompted, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Who was she?”
“Mary was Levi’s sister. So, she was, in essence, a sister to me. Montrose destroyed them both.”
Gwendoline had heard vague stories of betrayal during her daily explorations of Greyvale, but none of the servants wanted to elaborate. They were afraid of their master’s wrath. They had seen his pain and knew when to step back. Now she would learn what had transpired, and it would make everything too real.
She clasped her hands together and swung her legs over the chair to rest her feet on the rug. It drew her closer to him. Shewanted him to know that she would be there for him if he needed her.
“What happened to them?”
“I’ve always expressed my distaste for Montrose’s treatment of women. Of you. Of many women he may interact with regularly—or not. But he did something to Mary… something unforgivable.”
Gwendoline didn’t say a word. She wanted him to continue, even as she felt her palms grow clammy. Despite that, she didn’t rub them together. She didn’t want to distract him.
“She loved him, but she was merely an object to him. When she found out she was with child, he refused to marry her,” Damian scoffed. “He was fortunate enough to win her love, and he had the gall to refuse?”
He paused, his chest rising and falling quickly.
He seemed in distress. So, Gwendoline rose from her armchair and padded toward him, before resting a hand on his shoulder. She could feel his ragged breaths as he tried not to cry. She wanted to tell him that it was all right for a man to cry, but she didn’t. She would show it instead, by listening and just letting him be.
“Damian, Timothy is a terrible person. He would do that to anyone. Mary deserves better.”
“Deserves?” he echoed. “Mary is long gone, Gwen. She was sent by her relatives to the countryside. She gave birth there. Perhaps if she—” He broke off.
“I heard that giving birth in the city isn’t quite as great as people make it out to be. The fresh air of the countryside would be better for a woman with child,” Gwendoline said without thinking.
She realized her error when she felt Damian tense under her hand.
“Better? Her family hid her because of their shame. Her being with child was doomed from the beginning, with her constantly crying in despair about what happened to her. Levi tried to find the best physicians and midwives for her. In the end, nobody could arrive in time. Even Levi couldn’t arrive in time. He was looking for someone to help her give birth safely. She died alone.”
“I… I am sorry, Damian,” Gwendoline whispered. She could feel his sorrow seeping into her soul.
“That was not even the end of the chaos that Montrose brought to Mary’s and Levi’s lives. Levi left to join the army. I knew then that he wouldn’t have done it if not for Mary’s death. He would have stayed with her. He would never have left her.”
“I know. I know,” Gwendoline soothed as she sat next to him.
“He died, Gwendoline,” he sobbed. “He died months after his sister died. I lost Levi, Mary, and her baby.”
“Years ago?” she asked tentatively.
“Five years,” he confirmed.
Five years. Gwendoline couldn’t imagine holding on to so much rage for so long. She had lost her mother. The grief was overwhelming, but she couldn’t imagine harboring rage and a desire for revenge, as well.
