Page 115 of The Good Duke
Silas on the other hand? She’d like tothinkhe’d not divulged his and Persephone’s love affair.
Whywouldn’the? Silas had proven himself faithless and fickle and cruel. He’d never truly loved her. Everything had been a game to him. She’d been a servant and mere diversion for the master’s son and heir, and the moment he’d tired of her, and she’d become ardent in her professions of love, he’d had his father send her away.
Yes, he’d always cared about his own pleasures and own self-interests more than he had Persephone, but he’d not been deliberately cruel or malicious. Until he was.
One of the reasons she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with him had been because of the love and care he’d shown his siblings. A charming rogue, who also happened to be a devoted big brother? Persephone had been young and innocent, and that alone won her heart…at first.
Bracing her chin atop her hand, she stared blankly out at the quickly passing scene that was a mere blur before her.
In the immediate aftermath of Silas’s betrayal, Persephone assumed all his displays of brotherly affection had merely been another part of his façade to get closer to Persephone so he might easily seduce her.
She’d believed everything about Silas, now the Marquess of Bute, had been a lie. She’d been so very convinced of it. Until yesterday, when they again crossed paths, and she’d found him in the presence of his youngest sister, Lady Issy.
One fact, however, remained.
Whether he was a cruel former lover who’d taken a sinister delight in sharing the truth about Persephone with Simon, or a dedicated brother who’d protect his sister’s reputation at any cost, the outcome would invariably be the same.
Simon would sack her.
And Persephone, who was no longer naïve and unworldly, could never blame him for that. Unmarried women who gave their virginity away to a dashing rake just couldn’t live in the home of a bachelor; at that, a bachelor who’d only returned to London so he might find a suitable—and more—respectablebride.
If the truth came out, no respectable household would hire her.
Dread knocked around Persephone’s chest and she bit the inside of her cheek hard until the metallic tinge of blood filled her mouth.
Silas wouldn’t say anything.
Hecouldn’t.
Not if he supported a match between Lady Isabelle and Simon—which, given the walk in Hyde Park and impending dinner party—he clearly did. After all, it was in Silas’s best interest tonotspread Persephone’s sins around society.
That did nothing to ease her panic.
For Silas would, however, undoubtedly speak privately to Simon and insist on Persephone’s dismissal, if for absolutely no other reason than to ensure Lady Isabelle remained untainted by Persephone’s past.
The absolute best she could hope for, and it was not an at all unreasonable possibility, was that Silas would allow Simon to provide Persephone references and let her slink off with her past transgressions a secret between them.
That should bring Persephone some peace of mind.
Instead, an even more terrible, pressing, and unbearable ache settled upon her chest like the weight of a thousand bricks.
Simon would marry Lady Isabelle.
She’d be the Diamond he’d hungered for. And Lady Isabelle, stunning in her beauty where Persephone had always been plain, would have Simon—in her arms. In her bed. In her life, in every way.
Persephone knew so very clearly how all of it would play out.
She closed her eyes tightly. She didn’t want to think about any of this, but Persephone proved as powerless to control her thoughts as she was powerless in her actual life.
Simon, who’d vowed to leave the moment he’d settled his affairs in London, would linger. At first, he’d only do so to consummate his union and carefully instruct his duchess on her new responsibilities. He’d plan to do so quickly so he could be on his merry way.
But the more time spent with the vivacious beauty, and the longer he stayed in England, he’d fall deeper and deeper under the lady’s spell.
Simon would end up staying forever with his wife in England. They might travel together and see the world as he’d longed to do and only recently begun to do. He’d read his beloved wife The Great Bard’s works and pen poems of Lady Isabelle’s beauty. They’d have beautiful tow-headed babes and be a joy-filled, loving family in the way Persephone used to, herself, long for.
The unwelcome sting of jealousy pierced her veins and spread like a slow-moving venom through her being, and she was powerless to ebb its flow.
Persephone wanted those things for Simon. He deserved happiness and a happily-ever-after, the one usually only reserved for grand fairytales and otherwise rarely attainable to people outside of those fictional stories.
