Page 90 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
She reached for a sheet of parchment and dipped her quill into the inkwell. At least Damian made sure that she always had enough supplies. She didn’t often write to others, but she liked writing down her thoughts on paper.
Dearest Abigail,
I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for disappearing on you and Alexandra the other night. I understand that you were held by your father, who did not want you to worry about what happened to me. Yes, I truly do.
However, I also want you to know that I did not keep my distance on purpose. My heart is heavy as I tell you that I am currently confined to Greyvale. Because of the danger I have found myself in, my movements have been limited. It grieves me, but I also know the wisdom of it.
I miss your laughter and the wisdom and strength that you seem to carry with you. We are the same age, but I feel like Ineed more of your sunny disposition to carry me through these days.
If you can spare some of your time, I would greatly appreciate your company. Do not feel forced to do it, but I would like to see you. I wish I could do the same, but at the moment, you’ll find me only here in Greyvale.
Always yours,
Gwendoline.
She sealed the envelope, pressing a little too hard on the wax. With renewed hope, she summoned a footman to deliver the letter.
After what seemed like forever, she finally felt a little hopeful. She knew that there would be better days ahead, although she wasn’t certain it would be with Damian.
A mere two days later, the sound of a carriage rolling up the driveway reached Gwendoline’s ears. She had been waiting, after all. Her days were mostly spent by her window, wondering if Damian would come to apologize to her, forgive her, or reconcile with her.
She pitied herself, for she was willing to take any of those scenarios just to see him return.
It wasn’t Damian who arrived, however. It was Abigail.
Her heart leaped, and she tried not to scream like a little girl when she saw her friend stepping out of her carriage.
Abigail’s emerald-green gown was a stark contrast to the cold and gray backdrop.
Gwendoline had asked the servants to show her friend to the drawing room. She rushed there, excited like a little girl about to open presents. She was glad that she wore her silk yellow dress. They would look like two blooms against an icy plain.
Ah, perhaps she would begin writing poetry again, no matter how terrible. She giggled to herself.
When she finally entered the drawing room, tears formed in her eyes. She hadn’t expected to feel so emotional when her friend opened her arms to her.
“Abigail!” she exclaimed, rushing to embrace her.
Abigail returned the embrace with a reassuring firmness and rubbed her back soothingly.
There really wasn’t anyone else who could remind Gwendoline how it was before her mother and father died.
“Your Grace, you look like you have been locked in a tower! What is happening here? Did the duke do this to you?”
Even though Abigail’s tone was light, there was a seriousness in her eyes that Gwendoline was not quite used to.
Before Gwendoline could even respond, a guard stepped into the room. His presence was a stark reminder of her new reality—of how Damian had placed restrictions upon her.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed at the intrusion. “And who might you be?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.
“I’m here to guard Her Grace,” the guard replied, his jaw hard and his eyes stern.
“Apparently, Hannah was not enough,” Gwendoline muttered.
“Guard her?” Abigail asked sharply, glaring daggers at the man. “It appears more like imprisonment, dear sir. From where I stand, I can see that your mistress can barely breathe here—and Greyvale is already intimidating, at best.”
The guard awkwardly shifted from one foot to another but said nothing. Gwendoline knew that they were trained to guard her and not to talk back.
“That will be all,” she dismissed him gently.
