Page 187 of The Good Duke
A tired, empty laugh escaped Lady Isabelle.
Persephone drew back and settled her hands firmly on the other woman’s slender and so very fragile shoulders. “Itis notyour fault. You are not responsible for your brother’s sins. Nor your father’s. Not anyone else’s.” She squeezed slightly. “Do you hear me?”
“I don’t deserve your grace,” Lady Isabelle whispered.
Suddenly, the young woman’s swollen and bloodshot eyes locked on a point beyond Persephone, and her shoulders tensed under Persephone’s hands.
Persephone followed her gaze and stilled.
The Marquess of Bute, immaculate as when he’d arrived for the dinner party, stood there a moment with Simon close behind.
Silas lingered his gaze briefly on Persephone before he moved it almost reluctantly to his sister. Then, giving his head a slight shake, he started over and stopped above them.
Persephone stood first.
This time, the marquess kept his eyes locked on Lady Isabelle. He made to help the young woman stand.
Lady Isabelle’s eyes flashed with hate and fire. She angrily shrugged off his touch. Without a backward glance or word for any of them, she started a slow, dignified march.
Her heart hurting for the pain Lady Isabelle knew, Persephone burst out, “My lady?”
The young woman and her brother instantly stopped—only Silas looked back.
Persephone ignored him. “It is real, Isabelle,” she called to her. “I’d have you know that, and you will have all those…dreams you carry. Trust that.”
The only indication the other woman heard Persephone’s assurance was in the slight inclination of her head.
The moment Lady Isabelle resumed her long walk, the Marquess of Bute followed suit and continued to give his sister the space she both desired and deserved.
Soon, they were gone, and Persephone and Simon were at last alone together.
As Lady Isabelle and Lord Bute’s footfalls faded to a faint and then non-existent echo, Persephone and Simon remained adjacent of one another, their eyes locked.
How…peculiar.
Silas’s long-ago betrayal had left Persephone feeling less than as a woman. She’d castigated herself for the mistakes she’d made and vowed to never be so careless as to make such a faulty misstep ever again.
From then on, she’d spent her entire adult life mired in self-doubt—insecure in herself and even more worried about other people’s perception of her.
Now, she’d been embroiled in a public scandal certain to reach all the gossip columns, and yet the realization that the world would talk didn’t set off fear inside Persephone. She wasn’t torn up with dread that Simon might toss her over. Because, at last, any reservations she would have once carried about being undeserving had since vanished.
Persephone believed in Simon.
Just as importantly and, maybe evenmoreimportantly, she believed inherself.
Simon, her best friend and lover, had opened her eyes to the all-important truth she’d not realized until him.
She was worthy of love.
Emotion swelled in her breast and swarmed her throat.
And the only man whose heart she longed for was the one stoically standing across from her.
Persephone broke the silence first. “You didn’t kill him,” she remarked.
Simon inclined his head. “No.”
There was a slight pause.
