“You there!”
The voice came from behind them—rough, masculine, edged with hostility. Fiona turned to see a heavyset man approaching, his face flushed with what might have been drink or anger or both.
“You’re him, aren’t you?” the man said, stopping a few paces away and swaying slightly. “His Grace. The Duke of Thornwick.”
Christian went very still. “I am the Duke of Thornwick, yes.”
“Thought so. Saw Your Grace coming out of Martha’s shop.” The man spat into the dust beside the road. “Didn’t expect to see you down here among us.”
“I came to—”
“We came to buy bread,” Fiona said coolly. “Like anyone else. I trust there is no objection to that.”
The man’s gaze shifted toward her, lingering a moment too long before returning to Christian.
“So the stories are true, then,” he muttered. “His Grace has taken a lady to Thornwick.”
His mouth twisted.
“That will do.” Christian’s voice had gone quiet and dangerously steady.
The man gave a short, humourless laugh.
“As Your Grace wishes.” The words were obedient; the tone was anything but. “Wouldn’t wish to give offence.”
He shifted his weight, glancing briefly at the watching villagers before continuing.
“But I’ll say this much, if Your Grace will forgive the boldness. Folk here have long memories.”
Fiona felt Christian stiffen beside her.
“What do you mean?” she asked gently.
“My father worked at the castle,” the man said. “Thirty years in service to your house. And when the old duke—your father, Your Grace—took against him, he dismissed him. No reference. No pension. Nothing.”
His voice roughened.
“My father never recovered from it.”
The street had fallen utterly still. Fiona became aware of faces at windows and doorways, villagers pausing to listen.
“So you’ll forgive me, Your Grace,” the man finished heavily, “if I find it difficult to believe the castle has much concern for the rest of us.”
Christian was silent for a moment.
Then he said quietly, “I am sorry.”
The man blinked, taken aback.
“I did not know what my father did to your family,” Christian continued. “But I know the kind of man he was. He treated many people cruelly who did not deserve it.”
He stepped forward slightly, though his voice remained measured.
“I cannot undo what was done to your father. I cannot restore the years he lost. But I can say this: I have spent my life trying not to become the man my father was.”
The man studied him, uncertainty beginning to intrude upon his anger.
“I do not ask you to forget what happened,” Christian went on. “Nor to think well of me simply because I hold this title. I ask only that you judge me for myself.”
