Page 21 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

And what resulted displayed their true natures.

Marce would do all in her power to care for her family, even at the expense of her own future.

While Rowan thought only of himself…and punishing the only person left he could seek retribution from.

Marce stared at her plate. There was little to be gained by dwelling on their past. For now, she need think of her future. For the first time in her entire life, she was free to make a decision that would benefit her without thinking of the well-being of those she loved.

Yes, her decision was a selfish one. Handing over Craven House to the duke would be a relief. No more would she live under the control of another only to maintain a life barely worth living. Her siblings were taken care of, and she needn’t fear harm coming to them. It was her turn to take care of herself.

Marce didn’t attempt to hide her satisfied smile as she brought a spoonful of raspberry pie to her lips, setting the morsel of tart sweetness on her tongue.

Soon enough, her final meal at Hadlow Estate would conclude, Leona would return to her room, and the men would retire to the study, leaving Marce free to seek out the privacy of her own chambers…and the sleepless night certain to follow.

But by nightfall the next day, she would be free to be who she truly was.

Not Lady Harwich. Not Rowan’s pretend duchess, but Marce Davenport.

Chapter 9

The morning had dawned clear with nary a cloud in the sky or a heavy breeze in the air. Perfect for a midday ride about the estate—also, an impeccable day for travel, Marce thought as she hurried across the duchess’s sitting room to her private chambers beyond. The hearth blazed with a heat far more suited to a dark, frozen winter night than a day soon to be warm enough to coax even the most hesitant flower to bloom.

She’d donned her sage green riding habit in anticipation of the ride with Lord Cresthaven; however, the constricting velvet jacket was enough to cause a sheen of perspiration to bead on the back of her neck, and the tips of her ears to burn from the warmth of the room.

Marce drew a chair close to the window as Pearl closed the door, leaving only her and Leona in the duchess’s sleeping chamber. Leona did not draw attention to the package on Marce’s lap or the deepening shadows under her eyes. And in return, Marce did not mention the hollow, vacant stare Leona’s eyes possessed or the way three heavy blankets were tucked in around the duchess as she alternated between gazing out the window at her garden below and dozing fitfully in her upright position.

The evening had been taxing on the duchess, and Marce blamed herself for allowing the woman to convince her that the dinner party was a grand notion. The excitement of having Rowan home was enough to tire Leona so much that she’d be unable to leave her bed for days after they departed Hadlow.

The duchess’s smile was not as wide as the previous day. “My dear, sweet girl. I was wondering when you’d come to see me.”

“I did not want to interrupt your sleep.” Marce had tarried in her chambers for nearly an hour after preparing for the day in hopes that Rowan would be busy in his study or have departed the house before she broke her fast. “And, truth be told, I slept later than usual.”

“That makes two of us,” Leona said with a light laugh that caused her to cough several times.

Marce collected a glass of water and pressed it to the woman’s lips when the coughing subsided. “Here, drink this.”

The duchess drank deeply, her trembling hands coming to rest on Marce’s where she held the glass before drawing away. “Thank you, my child. I assume this sickness-riddled body cannot get any worse, but each day it does. Much to my disappointment. I suppose I should be grateful to have lasted as long as I have on this Earth.”

“Don’t say that, Leona.” Marce halted, afraid her sorrow for the woman would show if she said any more.

Leona stared into Marce’s eyes—her green orbs taking on a yellow hue—and smiled. “Oh, do not think to lavish pity on me, Lady Harwich.” The duchess took the glass from Marce and set it aside before clasping Marce’s hands with more force than she’d thought possible. “I have lived a life far grander than any woman deserves. I wed a most dedicated and handsome man, bore him an equally handsome and formidable son, saw my child wed to a fine lady, and have done it all by living in the most beautiful estate imaginable. Never have I wanted for a thing. Your pity is misplaced if you lay it at my feet.”

Notching up her chin an inch, Marce blinked several times, banishing the tears that threatened to spill past her lower lid. Rowan was a formidable man, and Hadlow Estate was breathtaking, even in the clutches of a waning winter, but everything else couldn’t have been further from the truth. Julian Delconti had been dedicated to no one and nothing but his own desires. Rowan, while intelligent and handsome, was not as his mother imagined. And Marce was not the fine lady the duchess thought her to be.

However, there was one thing Julian, Rowan, and Marce had in common: they were all liars.

They each deceived for their own unique gain, to be sure, but there was no denying that they all were guilty of the same sin.

“Come now, girl.” Leona squeezed her hands. “Do not allow sorrow to overcome you, especially because of me. Look”—The duchess gestured toward her window and the garden below—“I may be unable to enjoy my garden up close or spend much time with Rowan as he has many important things keeping him busy, but I can look down from above.”

Marce did not want to ponder the additional meaning behind the woman’s words—as if she were already in the heavens above, looking down on her most favored place at Hadlow. A world without Leona was something Marce did not wish to dwell on, even though she’d have to live the rest of her days removed from the older woman.

Death was not knocking at the duchess’s door just yet. That much was evident. One only need stare into the woman’s eyes to know she lived more than most people, even if she were confined to these rooms.

“Look,” Leona coaxed.

“I’ve seen the gardens a thousand times—”

“Can you not entertain an old woman’s mutterings?”