Page 89 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
Wiping her tears, Gwendoline squared her shoulders and watched the fire crackling in the grate. Her body was not cold, but it was her insides that needed warming up. But she would keep on fighting.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
If the quiet of their London residence made her blood run cold, Greyvale felt still and suffocating without Damian. It was a strange realization that her arrival months ago, as the new Duchess of Greyvale, was a better homecoming than this one.
Even Cook and Mrs. Albright were too quiet during the whole journey. Gwendoline could see the looks of pity they tried to hide from her.
Hannah fidgeted next to her, letting out little whimpers from time to time. She was undoubtedly recalling what had happened the night before. She told Gwendoline that she had seen the blood and a little bit of the scuffle.
The imposing structure of Greyvale finally came into view. It made everything feel real.
Yes, Gwendoline was exiled. She should be happy that she was sent somewhere she felt she belonged, but somehow its halls felt empty.
Greyvale felt empty because Damian had made certain that she knew that it was some sort of punishment. She walked through the gilded cage feeling bereft. She could barely hear anything, except for the occasional murmurs from the servants performing their daily tasks.
Eventually, she had lost track of time. Days seemed to bleed into weeks, and she spent her time like she did during the early days of her marriage. She roamed the estate, always followed by Hannah.
“Did your master tell you to do this, Hannah?” she had asked no fewer than three times, and the maid would always give her the same answer even as she showed her disbelief each time.
“No, Your Grace. I can’t let anything happen to you. I may be small, but I’d fight them off as much as I could before they could hurt you.”
And the thing was, she believed Hannah. She believed that the maid would do anything for her.
Even inside the house, Hannah followed her everywhere. They remained quiet as they explored the rooms, a reminder of Gwendoline’s forced solitude.
But the solitude became all too real when Hannah stopped shadowing her. Both of them felt safer somehow. The days were dull and long, but it felt like a relief to be back to the usual humdrum.
Freedom.
Gwendoline had craved it so badly when she was still living with Timothy. She had a taste of it here in Greyvale, but now she no longer felt free. She felt as if every move she made would be frowned upon by Damian.
Even though he’d said so many hurtful things to her, she still wanted his favor. His love.
As she sat by the window of her chambers, she sobbed. Her eyes could no longer see the garden below. It was the same garden she used to admire. Even the sight of it filled her with grief. Even embroidery no longer gave her satisfaction. With the needle pricking her fingers so many times she believed she had lost all feeling.
Unbidden memories would creep up on her when she couldn’t find another distraction. She could still remember how Timothy had stripped her of her independence. She had lost everything with him—her father, her joy, her voice, and her sense of self. Somehow, what she was feeling today bore some resemblance to the despair and helplessness she felt back then. Except now she wanted to be next to Damian again.
A knock at the door mercifully pulled her out of her desperate thoughts. She quickly answered it, afraid that she would become so lost in her thoughts that she would no longer be able to get out of them. She thought of Damian’s mother, how she suffered through bouts of melancholy, only to kill herself in the end.
No, Damian must have cared somehow. He told her so many things that nobody else could ever guess.
“Come in,” she called, trying to sound cheerful, but her voice was too high-pitched.
Hannah entered with a tray of tea, smiling at her. “Your Grace, would you like me to pour you a cup?”
“Yes, please, Hannah,” Gwendoline replied gratefully.
The maid might have stopped shadowing her, but she was still concerned about her well-being.
Hannah gladly poured her tea. There was even a plate of her favorite biscuits on the tray.
Hannah opened her mouth, then closed it. Instead, she watched her mistress’s face for a brief moment, and she flushed when she realized she was doing it. She must have remembered that it was rude to stare, but Gwendoline knew that the maid didn’t mean anything bad by it. She was simply concerned about her.
Hannah bobbed a quick curtsy and walked out of the room, leaving the duchess alone once more.
Gwendoline didn’t know whether she liked it or not.
Sighing heavily, she turned to her writing desk. Embroidery was merely giving her jabs on her fingers. Perhaps it was time to do something less isolating, such as writing to her closest friend.
