Page 78 of A Lady of Means
“The only thing that Devyn was ever given without any strings attached, was his army commission.He used his winnings at cards, money he made from investments, and an inherited property from our grandmother he rented out, to purchase it.Our father offered to purchase it for him, but he had a history of controlling Devyn and manipulating his appreciation or guilt for his own purposes.Devyn wouldn’t have wanted anything he didn’t earn.”He gave a sad smile, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes felt so oppressive, so hideously unjust as they were something Devyn would never grow to have.
“I think he thought one last heroic stand would make him worthy of being a nobleman, and worthy of you.”
Moria shook her head.“He had it all wrong.It was me…who wasn’t worthy of him.And all of his goodness.”
“And now you’re to marry the Duke?”
Moria nodded.
“He asked, and you said yes?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat.“Devyn was gone.I was left,” Moria didn’t meet Peregrine’s eyes, couldn’t.“So I chose the very last person that I wanted to commit to-myself.”
He took one of her hands in his.“You’re to become a duchess, as we all predicted.Then, be a good one, my dear, find a way to make something good from all of this,” Peregrine said, giving her a firm hug before he departed.
ChapterThirty-Two
Devyn,
We were a good lie.The sweetest kind of lie all doomed lovers believe, until the bitter truth sinks its teeth in: all lovely things die.It’s the uglier things that are harder to kill.
But I can’t stop reliving our death.Bitter though it may be, I savor it.The last fleeting hours before the funeral, holding a solo vigil for all we could and should and would have been.How do I bury a love so young and beautiful?All I have is the ashes of us, these letters an urn, my black crepe-shrouded heart your shrine.
I suppose now I am the lie.The smiling, dancing future duchess clutched with silent grief.At least here to you on these pages I can admit, I’ll carry every memory preserved like flies in amber, flowers pressed in a page until I die.
But they don’t get to know what’s in my heart if I can’t say it to you one last time.
I love you.It’s you that I love.It has always, ever, only been you.Only you could make me keep writing torturous prose in these letters for weeks on end with no reply.
M
* * *
Over three years ago,Marcus had made the whole ballroom go silent at a ball his mother was hosting.
“This is it,” she’d thought, squeezing her mother’s hand.“He’s going to announce our betrothal, or he’s going to propose.”
Instead, he’d toasted a business venture with Viscount Lynwood, Kathleen’s first husband, and several other noblemen that would turn out to be false.“To endless returns and smooth seas forThe Thorne’s Blade!”
Moria had yawned, pretending that all the talk of shipping investments and a ship Marcus boasted about but she was pretty sure didn’t exist, bored her, giving her mother a pinched smile as she made her way to the ladies retiring room.It was there, that night, that she’d met Gretchen.
Now, she was looking at George Worthington, Duke of Andover, as he clinked a fork against a champagne glass, seeking his guests’ attention.Their engagement had already made the rumor mills, the gossip sheets, evenThe London Timeshad printed a large column about her engagement.She’d thought before that this would be a glittering culmination of all that she’d strived for.Her first public appearance as the fiancé of a Duke was overshadowed by the dark specter of her lost love, her silent grief.
“My ladies and gentleman, I thank you for joining us for a fine evening celebrating what’s sure to be one of the best decisions I took far too long to make,” the Duke said, standing on the orchestra’s circular stage, to general amusement and smiles, a few laughs.Noelle reached for Moria’s hand, Moria tipped back her champagne flute.Fitz took Noelle’s hand instead to cover the snub.Gretchen, on her other side, met Moria’s eyes, remembering their meeting, and stepped closer to her till their skirts brushed.
“Luckily enough, this particular lady is a very patient and forgiving woman, as well as beautiful,” the Duke reached his eyes and his hand toward her.
Moria had to cross several groups of people to reach him.He took her gloved hand in his, squeezing it once.Moria tried to tell if his emerald eyes were a little pinched or were they glassy?Shouldn’t she know more about his face than the fact that it was handsome?Anyone could know an incontrovertible truth like that simply from looking.
She blushed, ducking her head, like the praise was too much.Humble and dutiful, that was the part they all wanted her to play.
“So, I request your assistance in raising a glass, a toast to my future wife, the incomparable Lady Moria Pembrooke.To Lady Moria!”
Hundreds of glasses raised in unison, her name on their lips.Some contorted into a smile, others a thin line.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes on her, all looking at the diamond they thought they knew, in a bright pink dress, her gloved hand held in a Duke’s.None of them were the eyes she wanted to find, because they had closed for the last time, on some distant battlefield.
It felt like she’d come so far and fallen so short all in the same half-second.
