Page 13 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

If Leona had taken the place of Marce’s own deceased mother, then Pearl was the closest thing to a proper aunt Marce had ever known. She was grateful for the woman’s devotion to Rowan’s mother, despite Marce’s lack of affection for Rowan and the farce they were forcing upon the entire Hadlow staff. For many months, Marce had thought Pearl despised her. She had even feared the woman would ruin Marce’s chances of keeping her home by telling Leona of their deception. However, she had remained tight-lipped and, over time, had gotten to know Marce, learning that she wasn’t there to harm Leona in any way or to cause any trouble at Hadlow.

Marce might be dull to think it, but she swore Pearl had come to have a certain amount of motherly affection for her.

“Has the physician been round today?”

“Not yet, Lady Harwich.” Marce noticed the woman’s grip on the railing tighten. “But we expect him shortly.”

She’d beseeched the woman to call her Marce, but she’d refused time and time again, saying that it wasn’t proper, and imploring that if she were to slip up in front of Leona, everything could be ruined.

Footsteps followed them up the stairs to the second-story landing.

One way led to the west wing, and the other toward the east wing where her bedchamber was located. Glancing back, Marce saw Mrs. Giles carrying Marce’s traveling trunk up the main stairs behind them with an ease born of a life of servitude, and a contentment few felt in their existence. She even hummed a soft melody as she worked.

“I’ll take this to your room, Lady Harwich.”

“Wait, Mrs. Giles,” Marce said, setting her hand on the woman’s arm and holding out the wrapped package. “Can you leave this in my room, too?”

“Certainly.” The housekeeper took the book and slipped it under her arm as she bustled toward Marce’s suite. Her humming turned to full song as she disappeared, her words soon becoming indecipherable.

“Another gift for the duchess.” Pearl shook her head and started for Leona’s private chambers.

Yes, the package had been specifically selected for Leona, but Marce couldn’t bring herself to deliver the gift now. Perhaps at their evening meal or, better still, tomorrow. Sadness snaked around her heart, tightening until Marce could barely draw a breath. Once the gift was given, a way to say goodbye without speaking the words aloud, there would be no reason left to stay. Truly, there had been no reason to return at all once Marce made her decision, but she knew leaving Leona without a proper goodbye would only magnify her remorse. But after Marce saw Leona, she’d go to Rowan and make her departure known…and then flee Hadlow, even if the duke forced her to walk to the nearest coaching inn to secure transport.

Rousing herself from her musings, Marce noted they stood outside Leona’s closed door.

“I will give you and the duchess a spot of privacy,” Pearl sighed, placing her hand on Marce’s back. “I shall return with a tea tray.”

“Thank you,” Marce said, but it came out as more of a mumble. Thankfully, Pearl didn’t wait before turning and heading back toward the stairs.

Marce set her hand against the rough, wooden door and leaned close to listen. If the duchess had found a few minutes of slumber, she would not intrude; however, no sounds of sleep drifted through the door.

“Do come in, dear,” Leona shouted. “I heard your footsteps before you made the top of the stairs. Sounded like a horde of wild fillies, I assure you.”

Marce’s lips drew back in a genuine smile at Leona’s call.

If others at Hadlow thought Marce peculiar, Leona was a one-of-a-kind oddity.

She slipped in and shut the door behind her to keep the warmth inside. The room she entered was the duchess’s private sitting chamber where she entertained, ate her meals, and, as she was doing at the moment, worked on her embroidery. Despite Leona’s many illnesses, her eyes and her hands worked perfectly in unison as her needle slipped through the taut fabric, and a beautiful rose took form.

Marce lowered herself to the peach-colored chair across from where Leona reclined on her favored lounge, a thick, wool blanket tucked tightly around her legs and her needlework nestled in her lap. If Marce were never to see the woman again, this was exactly how she would picture the duchess forevermore—her long, sweeping, sable hair now shot through with grey pinned atop her head, her cheeks flushed from the blazing heat in the hearth, and a sincere smile reaching from her lips to her eyes.

“Hello, Mother,” Marce said, her chin dipping with respect for the elder woman. “You are looking radiant today.”

Mother. Marce had never thought to call another what was so evidently Sasha’s place in her life; however, Leona had insisted, and Marce wanted nothing more than to please the duchess.

Leona set her embroidery aside and beheld Marce sitting across from her. “My dear, dear girl. It is so good to have you home.”

“It is good to be home,” Marce said, the last word sticking in her throat. Hadlow was not her home, no matter how much time she spent here. It would never provide for her what it did for Rowan. Home was where one’s family resided, where their heart was. While Marce adored and loved Leona, this was not where Marce’s family was. Having Leona in her life was a privilege Rowan gave her—one that could just as easily be taken away. “Pearl says you have been doing very well but not resting as much as you should.”

The older woman waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, fiddle-faddle. If I lay abed any more, people would think me dead already.”

Marce could only muster a broken chuckle at the woman’s attempt at humor.

When Leona’s sharp stare narrowed, Marce worried that she might have let something slip. “Are you feeling well, my child?”

The pure, genuine affection in Leona’s tone was like a spike to Marce’s heart. How she longed to fully open herself up to this woman—to allow all her secrets to come to light. Would Leona, ever the wise woman, bring her peace of mind?

“Simply tired from the journey, I assure you.” She lowered her gaze to keep Leona from seeing the truth in her eyes. Would she witness the sadness that lay within Marce? The guilt? The remorse? One day, hopefully not far off, the duchess would come to understand the reasons for everything Marce had done—even if she did not agree with those decisions—and forgive her. At least that was Marce’s hope. “What mischief have you and Pearl found in my absence?”