Page 38 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“Of course, my child, of course.”

Remorse pulled at his stomach upon hearing his mother’s affectionate, playful tone.

“I cannot apologize enough for having to hurry off before the duke and I had planned to depart; however, Payton’s letter said it was urgent, and I must not tarry. I needs must return home immediately.” Marce paused, and Rowan imagined the two women embracing. “Rowan will remain here until it is time for us to leave for another business venture.”

“Are you certain his presence is not also needed in London?”

“Oh, I can handle matters with my siblings, Your Grace,” Marce countered.

Yes, Marce would certainly offer any reason for him to remain at Hadlow and not follow her back to town.

Following her to London was certainly not something Rowan wanted to do, but lingering at his estate seemed a fate worse than the aforementioned journey. To grovel at Marce’s feet, to cast himself on her mercy would only hurt more when she denied him even a speck of forgiveness. Clemency Rowan had done nothing to earn.

“Again, I am exceedingly sorry for cutting my stay short.”

“Mayhap I can journey to London with you during the warmer months,” his mother prodded as the women’s footsteps came closer to the door. The duchess’s steps were punctuated by the thump of her cane. “It has been years, and I have yet to make the acquaintance of any of your family, dear.”

Rowan leaned closer, placing his ear against the door, enthralled by the conversation. His mother had never questioned him about Marce’s family or stated her desire to meet them. It was most peculiar. He’d thought she wasn’t interested in them, or that Marce had spoken of them being away at boarding school or some such nonsense. Yet, that did not answer the question of why they never visited around the holidays or spent their summers at Hadlow.

“I think Rowan and I would adore your presence in London, though we need to gain the physician’s approval before we even so much as think of arranging the trip.”

Rowan leapt back when the latch groaned as someone—likely Marce—grasped the handle to open the door. Nervously, he glanced up and down the empty corridor. Waiting outside his mother’s room had been a mistake, a folly of epic proportions.

He would either look the desperate fool or like a perverse stalker.

Neither would reflect well on him.

Perhaps he could pretend as if he weren’t arriving at his mother’s room and only using the hall on his way to a different location within Hadlow.

Utter rubbish.

Anyone who resided at the estate knew the hall led to one of two places—the duchess’s private chambers or the room of her companion, Miss Pearl.

He certainly was not seeking out the elderly woman who’d chosen a life of servitude to his mother over marriage and a family of her own.

His decision was clear—as crystalline as the blue of Marce’s eyes.

He was in the west wing to see his mother. That Marce was departing her room—and that he and Marce had argued and kissed recently—was merely an unfortunate coincidence. As the lord of the manor, Rowan had every right to be where he stood and to visit the woman within the quarters beyond.

Whether that meant Marce or the duchess…it was better if no one asked.

Chapter 17

Marce backed out of the duchess’s private drawing room, her smiling gaze never leaving Leona as she pulled the door closed. If this were to be the final memory between them, Marce wanted the duchess to remember her in a happy light—smiles and waves with laughter not far below the surface. And Marce’s memories of the matronly mother figure would include fond moments of cherished conversation, something about important goings-on in the world, and other more frivolous topics such as the village butcher’s plan to expand to baking.

Her hand remained on the latch for several moments. Attempting to compose herself before traveling back to her own room, Marce swiped a tear from her cheek.

The last hour had been the hardest of her life—far more gut-wrenching than putting her mother to rest. Certainly more arduous than raising four siblings. More difficult even than controlling a room brimming with London lords in the midst of a heated game of vingt-et-un.

They sat and talked, enjoyed Leona’s favored orange-spiced tea, and discussed the future.

A future Marce would not be a part of.

Leona would not come to London come warmer weather and spend hot summer nights at Covent Gardens. Come Christmastide, Marce would not travel to Hadlow Estate with her siblings and their spouses. There would be no sleigh rides in the open field between Cresthaven and the Harwich property. No days spent in the kitchen baking pies and making custards to be taken to the villagers for the new year.

What hurt most, was that Marce desperately longed to be a part of everything they’d spoken of. In her heart, she knew her siblings would be better for knowing the duchess. But how did one explain their connection? She’d been careful all these years to never mention Rowan or his mother to her family. Garrett suspected there was a debt Marce owed, but she’d been able to keep him unaware of the depth of the deception by blaming Payton’s gambling. It was wrong to cast fault on their youngest sibling, but what choice did she have? Besides, the girl had amounted a sizeable gaming debt, thought it was nowhere near the grand total she owed Rowan.

There wasn’t time to dwell on any of this now, however. Perhaps in a few months, when she’d found her new home and sat alone before her hearth or in her garden, Marce would examine all her flaws, scrutinize what alternate course would have better served her, and determine if she would ever speak of it to anyone, including her siblings.