Outside, she walked the length of the stone terrace. When she reached the end, she turned and retraced her steps.
She was the worst sort of duchess. Title granted, there had never been doubt she would rise in grace and dignity—but not because of it. Unlike her husband, she was not made for people. She found joy and comfort in a small handful of those closest to her. She was careful about whom she allowed into her world and quite content for everyone else to remain outside it.
She should not care that she was not a match for Gregory. That had been the purpose of her union—to marry a man who would never love her, perhaps never even like her. That had been bearable as a thought.
Living it was something else entirely.
Because in the most unexpected twist, Daria—who had married a man her family believed would break her heart by the sheer reprehensibility of his character—actually liked her husband. He fascinated her. He was a riddle.
He spoke about Daria protecting herself, but he had no idea he did the same. He cloaked himself in even greater shadows. And as one who hid herself away, she had recognized in him a kindred spirit.
He possessed a droll sense of humor—one she understood and appreciated. Granted, his rhetorical questions confused her. They always had.
No, he did not like her. But he had come to her defense—had challenged Clayton in a way that had not fractured her family, even when he had compelled her.
She was a person he could not bring himself to be near. The only thing she could offer was peace between him and his former friend. Gregory believed the truce he sought stemmed from business necessity. A man who kept walls would believe that.
And she wanted to give him that.
Not because she owed him—though she did. He had married her on her word alone.
And yet he had not accompanied her. She’d wanted him to. Desperately so. She’d expected he would. She’d understood why he said he couldn’t. But she had wanted him with her, anyway.
There were so many glimmers of moments when she believed he cared.
Nor could she find the one friend who might make her feel less alone.
Daria hunched over the balustrade—
And stiffened.
That soft, lilting voice struck her like a balm upon her aching soul.
“Emmy,” she whispered.
She was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe wrong. Lest this be an illusion she might shatter.
“Oh, Daria, what have you done?”
The ever-cautious, worried tone of her friend—whom life had given every reason to be wary—made Daria’s eyes slide closed as life rushed back into her.
She spun and sprinted across the terrace, her slippers slapping softly against stone. She hurled herself into Emmy’s arms and clung for all she was worth.
Emmy folded her close.
They held each other in silence.
That had always been one of the blessings of their friendship. They never needed to fill the quiet with chatter. Silence was as comfortable as conversation.
Daria broke away first. She edged back, her gaze catching on her friend’s pale pallor, the misery bleeding from her pretty brown eyes.
Understanding struck.
“Oh, Emmy, you mustn’t worry. He has not mistreated me. I am fine.” She hesitated. “Lonely. I long for things I shouldn’t.”His heart. I want Gregory’s heart.
“You’re certain?” Emmy asked.
Daria gripped her shoulders and rubbed them lightly. “I promise.”
