Page 49 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

He hadn’t stopped to think Marce would be away from Craven House when he arrived.

“She is, however”—she paused, glancing over her shoulder—“it is not yet the proper hour for social calls, Your Grace.”

“I hope you can overlook my faux pas as I have only just now arrived in London and came directly to speak with Marc—Lady Marce.” Rowan donned his most reticent smile, hoping the girl took pity on him and allowed him entrance. “I suppose I should have consulted my timepiece before coming.”

The girl scrutinized him in silence. Perspiration gathered at his collar before she finally stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

Though he’d been nearly overcome by his rage and hurt on his last call to Craven House, he remembered enough to see that the foyer hadn’t changed in the slightest. The rug, while made of expensive material, was now aged, and the wooden railing, while pitted, was polished and dust-free. The interior of the dwelling was as precisely maintained as the outside—everything in its place and a proper place for all.

“This way.” The girl walked to the left and pushed open the door to the one room Rowan had vowed never to enter—ever. “I will inform my sister she has a guest.”

Sister? This young woman was Marce’s kin? Perhaps their blooded relationship was why the lingering notion of familiarity clung to his thoughts.

Rowan held the girl’s eye contact as he strolled past her with a nod and entered the room—to await Marce’s attendance.

Instead of hurrying off to collect her sister, the girl leaned against the doorframe and once again examined him. Was she sizing him up? Did she know exactly who he was and sought to punish him for his years of mistreatment? The girl was far too young to be well-versed in the art of torture, though this game she played certainly heightened Rowan’s anticipation of the confrontation to come with Marce. It had only been a few short days since he’d last seen her, but even now, he wondered what color her gown would be, whether her hair would fall freely down her back or be pinned in its usual style…and what of her manner? Would she be angry he came or relieved?

To avoid matching the young woman’s intense stare, Rowan turned his attention to the drawing room in which he stood. For the first time, he was an insider looking out, except the drapes were drawn, and he was alone—just as he’d been when he stood outside on that dark night.

Alone. An occurrence he’d grown accustomed to in recent years due to his travel.

No, not always alone. He had his mother and Tobias. Halting his wayward thoughts, he refused to include Marce in his short list of those who kept him from being utterly alone.

Things were different today from that night. No fire lit the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room’s occupants. No one cluttered the space, causing the area to appear smaller than its actual size. No voices mingled with laughter. Often, in his youth, Rowan had gone so far as to imagine the aroma of the drawing room. Had Madame Sasha served his father warm, spiced rum? Had they enjoyed fresh, sweet orange cakes or date pudding? Had Sasha sent the children off to bed so the pair could cuddle for all to see through the large window?

Glancing back at the door, Rowan saw that the young woman had departed. She’d certainly been among the children who’d enjoyed his father’s attention, yet he could not place her. She would have been one of the younger ones sitting on the floor before his father.

For the first time since discovering the duke’s infidelity, rage did not course through Rowan at the memory. Neither was he filled with the unrelenting need to punish someone—anyone—for his pain.

The shock and denial were long gone. The hurt that had trailed Rowan for all these years, and eventually morphed into the overwhelming sense of guilt he felt, was also not as sharp. He’d grown accustomed to the loneliness of his situation, to the point where he no longer thought it odd that he counted so few as friends.

No, his fury at his father had, at some point, ebbed. Now, Rowan saw the light. His dark days were coming to an end along with the deception.

He was here, at Craven House, not to take what rightfully should have been passed on to Marce and her family, but to put a final end to their ruse and move on.

To be free of the lingering anxiety that hung over him at every turn was almost inconceivable. No longer would he live each day exacting retribution for his father’s misdeeds.

Though, living without the burden of his past weighing him down meant letting Marce go. How could he keep her bound while freeing himself from the shackles he’d made for himself? Rotating slowly, he took in the room that had altered his path in life and changed him into a man he didn’t recognize; one that’d sent him spiraling toward his own demise—all while taking an innocent woman with him.

He’d embarked on each business venture knowing she awaited his return. He’d traveled home to visit his mother with Marce by his side.

It seemed as if Lady Marce Davenport had always been his constant. And now he wondered, what would his life be without her?

Would loneliness overtake him completely, dooming him to continue on with no one by his side? Nothing would matter if he were cursed to a life of solitude without the benefit of a wife and family. He’d thought he lived a full life—one dedicated to his business endeavors and his time at Hadlow. Yet, once his mother was gone, Marce would continue on with a future that didn’t include him, and Tobias would be happily wed, and…Rowan’s life would be without meaning and purpose.

Chapter 21

Marce sat behind her desk, watching Garrett as he inspected his perfectly combed hair and adjusted his cravat in the looking glass close to the door, trying to best assemble her words to inquire about his ability to house her at his lodgings if the need arose. He was the only sibling to understand the weight of the financial trouble Craven House was in—though not so fully that she’d admitted her folly in accepting a place in the duke’s ruse. There was only so much she was willing to burden even Garrett with before crossing the line from caregiver and provider for her siblings to treating them as equals who should take a measure of responsibility for their family home.

Supporting her family was Marce’s obligation and duty alone.

It was a promise Marce had dedicated her life to fulfilling.

Truly, one of the only promises she’d ever made to anyone.

…besides agreeing to act as Rowan’s wife.

That she’d broken her promise to the duke was one her mother would surely understand and voice her support of were she alive to witness their quarrel at Hadlow. Rowan had been many things during their long association—mysterious, solemn, arrogant—but intently cruel had never been one of them, nor had he ever been demeaning. He’d forced her to accept his conditions for their arrangement, but beyond that night, he’d allowed her the space she needed. He’d never, on any occasion, treated her so brutally, disregarding her feelings as if they were of little import.