Those women in the bakery had made him realize the most important thing of all. No woman as perfect and beautiful as Cecily could ever truly love him. And even if she could, Cecily deserved so much more than him.
Not only was he scarred on the outside, but those scars had caused damage to him on the inside. And all of high society knew it. He could not condemn her to a life where she was mocked because of him.
I am doing the right thing,he thought to himself, repeating the notion over and over until he was able to lift his head. But the instant he did, his heart broke all over again.
He saw Greta gently helping Cecily up from her knees and pulling her into a comforting embrace. That time, he accepted his punishment as the maid glared darkly at him.
He stood there watching the pair for longer than he could stand. He found that, despite how much his wife’s sobs hurt him, he could not look away. He knew that he had done that to her, that he was responsible for the agonizing pain she felt in that moment. But he was sure that he was doing her more harm by allowing her to stay with him.
When he was at last able to look away, he turned his back to his wife and her maid. But the image of Cecily, with tears streaming down her cheeks and her expression frozen in deep sorrow and confusion, was burned into his memory forever. Perhaps, it was only fitting. The last image he would ever have of the Duchess, was of her looking at him with silent, pained pleading.
He had no idea how long Greta and Cecily remained behind him as the maid tried desperately to calm her mistress. Val only knew that each passing moment felt like an eternity, and it tortured him more than he could have ever imagined possible. But deep down, he knew he deserved the torment. After what he was doing to Cecily, he felt he deserved far worse.
At long last, he heard Cecily’s sobs fading, signaling that they were moving further away. He did not dare turn around until all had been silent for several minutes. When, at last, he did turn back, his eyes played a trick on him.
He could still see Cecily on her knees, sobbing and looking at him with her broken heart showing in her eyes. Val rubbed his face and the vision was gone. But the effect it had on him was not.
As he slowly trekked back to the mansion, he wished Henry lived in the countryside. The last thing he wanted was to be inside the manor while Cecily was preparing to leave. He knew it might weaken his resolve to send her away and give her a chance at the life she deserved. He also could not bear to see her in pain for one instant longer.
Just as he reached the back door of the mansion, he heard a carriage pulling away. He dared to peek around the corner of the manor, his heart sinking. He caught one final glimpse of Cecily’s face as the coach turned to travel down the driveway. He only saw her for the briefest of seconds, but her cheeks and nose were red enough to tell an entire story. He watched until he could no longer see the carriage, then thrust himself inside the mansion.
For the remainder of the evening, Val remained locked inside his study. He stared at the glass of brandy he had poured himself, too nauseated to take more than a sip. Every time he blinked, he saw Cecily’s tear-streaked face and wounded eyes.
The torment he had suffered from the scrutiny of the ton was nothing compared to the ache in his heart over Cecily.I should never have put her in this position,he thought, putting his head in his hands.If I had just left her alone, she would not be hurt like this now.
Val tried to remind himself of the things the women had said at the bakery. He assured himself that what he had done was out of love and in the name of protecting Cecily. And that much was true.
His only intention was to do the best he could to take care of Cecily. What he was no longer sure of was whether he had helped her or permanently scarred her heart. Like his face had been permanently scarred. He now destroyed everything. Had he made the right choice?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two weeks after sending Cecily home, Val sat perusing through various ledgers. He hadn’t worked much at all since Cecily left, and it seemed that that day would be no better. He hadn’t really wanted to send his wife away.
In truth, it had taken all his willpower to do so. He at last admitted, only to himself, that the house felt empty without Cecily. As did his heart.
However, he knew he had done the right thing. He knew that Cecily was hurt right now. But he also knew that she would heal. She was strong and resilient and one day, she would see it was the right thing for her.
No woman of such beauty and grace belonged with a monster such as him. She could not see him, but society could see her with him. She deserved much better. And he intended to see that she got it.
As he rubbed his face with his hands, his elbow bumped a sealed letter free from the pile he had stacked on top of it. He groaned as he realized it was the letter he had been avoiding since it came a week prior. His mother’s scrawling script peeked out from the other letters on top of it, and he closed his eyes, as though he could make it disappear.
It was still there, however, when he reopened his eyes. He did not need to open the letter to know what it said. He could just imagine how his mother must be feeling about Cecily having returned home. And he could not blame her. To everyone including Cecily, he must appear to be just as beastly on the inside as he was on the outside.
He considered opening the letter. Surely, none of his mother’s words could make him feel any worse than he already did. Maybe there would even be something in the way of comfort, or at least concern, rather than just anger and bewilderment. He reached for the letter, knowing that he would need to read it sooner or later, whether he liked it or now.
But just as he reached for his letter opener, there was a knock at the study door.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Roger said, looking concerned.
Val put down the letter and sighed.
“Yes?” he asked.
The man gestured out into the hallway. There was no one standing behind him, but suddenly, Val knew just what he was about to say.
“The Dowager Duchess of Archington has arrived,” he said.
Val swallowed. His throat was like desert sand. His stomach twisted into knots, and he fumbled to make any sound comparable to words.
