Page 73 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“How did you survive all these years?” His hand fell away from her chin as her jaw tensed. “Sending the payments I demanded and also supporting your entire household…it must have been difficult.”

“We made do.” She glanced away from him toward the hearth when she spoke next. “Jude fancied herself a thief for a while, which helped. Sam was her accomplice. As more and more women sought my help, the burden grew to daunting proportions. Thankfully, London households pay handsomely for trained, loyal servants hired through Craven House. And those who chose to return to their families oftentimes sent funds to compensate me for their time spent in my home.

“Otherwise, and after much consideration, I opened Craven House to a select few for gaming nights, several times per week. It brought in enough to keep our pantry stocked, with enough left over for other necessities. Eventually, there was enough excess for me to save a few shillings here and there.”

“You are a remarkable woman.” Who deserves far better than to be standing before a scoundrel like me, Rowan added silently.

“I did what was needed, just as you have, Your Grace.” She paused as if considering her next words carefully. “We have not always been correct in our decisions; however, we did the best we could in our situations, you and I.”

His breath bottled in his chest as his stomach fluttered. “You truly believe that I did the best I could in my situation?”

A simple nod was his answer.

“What of the years of hardship I forced upon you?”

“You knew no differently; besides, as I said before, it was not all bad.”

Hope blossomed within him…that was the only way to explain it. One moment, his stomach felt as if it were filled to bursting with a hundred butterflies flapping their wings in a desperate need to escape—and then, that same fluttering moved to every limb of his body.

What other explanation was there but hope?

It was almost too much to wish for.

“Why not save all the money and buy your way out from under my control?” he asked. The funds to do exactly that had passed through Craven House, but she’d still given much to others. “Why help others and not yourself?”

Rowan had spent the majority of his life seeking ways to satisfy himself—his guilt, his remorse, his shortcomings—yet, Marce was selfless.

“My mother started Craven House, but not with the intent of selling women.” She shook her head and crossed her arms as she stepped around him and moved to stand before the open fire. “She wanted to help others who were cast out in the same manner as she was, but at that time, she knew no other way. She never dreamt of the possibilities for Craven House.”

“The potential you are responsible for turning into reality.”

“There you go again,” her dour tone dashed his previous hopes. “I think your mother is correct.”

“How so?” he demanded.

“You see the world in black and white. Right and wrong. Scandalous or proper. A lady or a whore.”

“And I was wrong, so gravely, unforgivably wrong—“

“Please, listen,” she whispered. She rubbed her hands together and held them toward the flames, so close, he feared her palms would burn. “My mother was neither right nor wrong. She was scandalous yet proper in the upbringing of her children. She was a lady who was made into a whore by life’s circumstances.”

“That doesn’t matter any longer—” And Rowan truly wanted to believe his words. He’d judged her for so many years, and everything Marce was saying mattered—and he knew why.

“Rowan!” She pivoted to face him, her eyes narrowed. “You do not comprehend what I am saying. There is far more to things than either of us knows. There is this place between black and white…”

He threw his arms wide but remained silent, giving her room to speak.

“Grey.”

“Yes, grey.”

“You are right, it is not easily understood. May I try and explain it to you?” She gestured to the lounge, situated to the side of the hearth. When she sat, he followed suit, the sturdy furniture not so much as creaking with the added weight.

She reached out and entwined their fingers. How had it become such a familiar touch after such a short time? Rowan was helpless to do anything but stare at their clasped hands, knowing they may soon hold hands for the final time.

This time, it was Marce who brought his wide-eyed stare to hers with a tap to his chin. “I cannot claim my mother’s strengths if I do not also embrace her weaknesses. It is the same for you.”

“I know my father’s weaknesses very well, and have tried my damnedest to not fall prey to them.”