For twenty-one years, the true Duchess of Acton had lived without knowledge of who she truly was. Then, in a lucid moment right before her death, she’d remembered. She’d sent her only memento of her previous life—the locket that Acton hadn’t known she’d kept in her possession—to Sinjin.
A week later, she was dead.
“I was separated from my mama when I was young.” Sinjin responded to Mrs. Wakefield’s unspoken question. “I believed she was dead and was not told of her fate until recently.”
“That story is not an unusual one, I’m afraid,” the lady said with a sigh. “So many families deal with their afflicted kin in that fashion. And, the truth is, I suspected Catherine might have children.”
“Why is that?” Beneath the brim of his hat, Sinjin’s eyes were vivid and alert.
“There was a lullaby she liked to sing.” Mrs. Wakefield hummed a few bars ofBye, Baby Bunting.“When she was singing, her face would grow tender. Sentiment returned to her even if the memories themselves didn’t.”
Feeling the quiver that ran through Sinjin, Polly clasped his hand tighter.
“Well, here we are.” Mrs. Wakefield came to a stop in front of a modest but tidy grave marker sheltered by the bowers of a silver birch. The epitaph read simply,Catherine Smith, Home with the Angels.“I’ll leave you to your visit, then.”
Polly expressed heartfelt thanks to the departing woman. When she turned back to Sinjin, she saw that he’d knelt at his mama’s grave, sweeping off the fallen leaves with his gloves, placing the bouquet he’d brought at the base of the headstone.
When he rose, she went to join him. He pulled her fiercely against him.
“My mama remembered me,” he said in a voice taut with emotion.
“Yes, she did. Even when her mind forgot, her heart remembered,” Polly said softly. “She returned to you every time she sang that song.”
“All this time… and I never knew. How could my father do such a thing?” Sinjin shook his head. “Out of fear and hatred, he hurt so many people.”
“You’ve done your best to stem the damage. By allowing His Grace’s bigamy to remain a secret, you’ve chosen the higher road. You’ve spared Theodore and your stepmama much pain.”
Since the duke had, in fact, already been married, his youngest son was a bastard and his present wife an unwitting participant in adultery. Sinjin could have exposed these facts to the world—but he hadn’t. Despite the fact that the duchess’ behavior toward him was as cold as ever, he’d protected her and his half-brother.
“They don’t deserve to suffer because of Acton’s actions,” he said gruffly.
Her heart swelled with all that she felt for this beautiful, complex man. The rake who’d seen through her wallflower disguise. The god who’d rescued her from an island of fear and self-doubt and who’d let her tame his monsters in return. Her honorable, loving husband and soul mate.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
His arms tightened around her, and she hugged him back. They stood together beneath the swaying branches until dusk painted vivid streaks across the sky.
He released a breath and said, “Let’s go home.”
Arm in arm, they did.
Epilogue
“Time to head back, eh?” Sinjin said, reining in his stallion.
“Not just yet.” Pulling up beside him, Harry Kent slanted a discreet look at his pocket watch. “I mean, er, I’d be interested in seeing the crop rotations.”
Sinjin had been giving Harry a tour of the Acton estate, showing off the improvements he’d made since becoming duke. The excursion had gone on for two hours at this point, thanks to the other’s copious questions, and he was ready to return to the house. But this was the third time Harry had stalled the proceedings, and Sinjin knew why.
“Before you try to postpone us further by suggesting an in-depth study of the fertilizer,” he said dryly, “I know what Polly has planned.”
“You do?”
“It’s my birthday. I’m sure the guests have arrived and are lying in wait as I speak,” he said complacently.
Warmth unfurled in him as he thought of his duchess’ sweet scheming, her determination to make his birthday special. Despite the advanced state of her pregnancy, she’d been busy all month making clandestine arrangements for his party. He’d gamely played along, pretending he didn’t know. He didn’t want to spoil her fun. Or his.
Just this morning, she’d woken him up to give him his present. She was too far along for him to make love to her—he would never risk endangering her or their unborn child—but his kitten had gotten quite creative and bold during their year of marriage. Just thinking of her laughing eyes and frolicsome mouth made his loins stir.
