Page 74 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“May I ask what you see his weakness to be?”

“He betrayed my mother, no matter how my mother explains it, it was the way of things. She may have known, she may have given him permission to stray, but how could that not hurt her?” As much as he attempted to keep his hand firm in hers, he felt it tremble. Julian Delconti hadn’t only deceived his wife, he’d also betrayed his son.

“Perhaps look at it from your mother’s perspective. She does not feel that he betrayed her, but allowed himself to love.”

“That is a strength?” Rowan repressed the urge to laugh, to call out the folly of her words.

“As I said, not everything is black and white, there are varying shades of grey.” Exasperation infused her words, and she reclined on the lounge, allowing their hands to fall away from one another. “How about this. You think your father abandoned your mother at Hadlow and continued with his life, unaffected by the duchess’s sickness.”

Rowan nodded. It wasn’t just what he thought, it was what his father had done. Regardless of black, white, or grey, his father had walked away from a difficult situation to live freely and without burden with another woman.

“What if he was giving you and your mother uninterrupted time together to allow you both to truly know and appreciate one another? Julian had your mother for longer than that, but if she succumbed to her illness, as he feared, you’d be left with scant memories of her had he kept you in London with him and away from her sickbed.”

“But him doing that meant I knew nothing of my father.”

“No one could have guessed that it would be the duke who left this Earth first,” Marce said, laying her hand on his arm. “Grey, remember. Not black. Not white. Not right. Not wrong.”

Rowan needed someone to be wrong…and there was only him.

For he already knew, from the very beginning, he’d wronged Marce.

Varying shades of guilt and blame didn’t exist, couldn’t exist, in his eyes. The notion of everything not being as it appeared frightened him to his very core. If it had not been as it seemed with his father, then there were things about him that were not black and white.

He’d blackmailed Marce into agreeing to his proposition to insulate himself against becoming his father and to keep his mother happy and content in her final years. That was the black-and-white explanation for his actions, but could his end goal have been something else all along?

“Rowan.” Her whispered tone incited something deep within him. To never hear her speak again would mean the certain death of his very soul. “Your father, by funding Craven House and helping my mother, made it possible for me to help all these women now. It was a future neither of them could have predicted, but the outcome is clear.”

“I’ve hated him, despised him, cursed his very existence for all these years.” Rowan hung his head and covered his face with his hands, muffling his words. “I’ve spent the last however many years giving away the fortune he amassed because I thought it would somehow right his wrongs, but…”

“Neither of us can know what your father was thinking, nor how he’d react now. Whether he’d feel pride in the way you cared for your mother or—”

“Bloody hell, I don’t want him to be proud of me. He doesn’t get that right,” he breathed. “My mother, she has earned the right to be proud of me, for she made me the man I am today, but not him, not Julian.”

Chapter 31

Marce marveled at the vulnerable side Rowan worked tirelessly to hide from everyone in his life. They were both still reeling from Leona’s confessions about the past—Rowan especially. It was easier for Marce to grasp the magnitude of the situation. She’d never cast her mother or Julian in a negative light. They were people to her, ones she knew well. She’d always thought they’d done what was needed for the sake of those around them.

Thinking in terms of black and white, or varying shades of grey as Leona had spoken of, had never been a rational way of thinking for Marce. It was easier to believe that every person had their own reasons for their words and actions—their own black and white.

Odd that she’d never dwelled long on Rowan’s reasons. Never had she spent time pondering the whys behind anything he did. She’d willingly believed he was cruel, without further scrutiny. Just as he’d known the reputation of Craven House and assumed she was a woman lacking a moral compass. Had that been the deciding factor behind his proposition? He’d thought her not above deceit.

Perhaps she hadn’t wanted his motives to cloud her opinion of him or weaken her resolve. For years, she’d thought he possessed a heart and soul as black as his midnight hair, yet now she wondered if it was only that he kept his heart hidden so deeply within himself that the shadows from the sheer depths had cast a dark light on him.

It was no way to live—Marce was certain of that.

“One might argue that Julian is exactly the person who made you the man you are today,” Marce said to soothe the hard edge from his words. “Once you let go of your anger and hatred, you will be surprised to see the weight lifted from you.”

Marce had been in his same position at one point. Alone and scared with four siblings and a house to care for. She could have turned inward and allowed her past to fester and corrupt her future, but she hadn’t. Even Rowan, coming to her that night, had been a blessing in disguise.

“Can I tell you what I was doing the night you came to Craven House—all furious anger, indignation, and arrogance—and proposed your ludicrous plan?” She hadn’t spoken of it, let alone thought about it since that very night. During that hour Rowan was in her mother’s study, Marce had promised herself that she’d never give up or give in to any man. When he remained silent, she continued, “I was reviewing the account ledgers for Craven House. We hadn’t enough coin to buy another candle nor attend the market, let alone provide tutors for Sam, Jude, and Payton. I was ready to give up. I was on the verge of selling Craven House and moving out of the city, anywhere that our measly funds would go farther than they were. I didn’t know where we would go or how we would survive—let alone remain together as a family.”

The heartache of that night returned, as well as her rage at the injustices of life. “But when you came to me, I learned that even Craven House, the one thing I thought was mine, was not. I had no choice but to push on. To move forward or risk losing everything—my siblings included. It was your proposition that ignited my need for survival. As you know, my elder brother cast us from our home, and we had to start over, but at least we were beholden to no one. And here I was, beholden to yet another man…you. Rowan, you held the power, and that infuriated me enough to not give up. I decided that night, with you pacing across from me, that I would survive again, my entire family would, and we’d be better for it.”

“I had no idea,” he mumbled.

How could he have any notion of their suffering? He’d never asked, and she’d never spoken of it. She’d never trusted him enough to share such an intimate detail about her past.

“You were dealing with your own grief and loss.” Marce sighed. “As I said, nothing is black and white. You may think you took advantage of me, used me, extorted me for your own personal gain, but it was a blessing. Truly. If not for your arrival that night, my siblings and I would have moved out of London. Jude and Sam would not have met and married men they love. Payton would not be…well, Payton is a different creature altogether, but I assure you, my family would be worse off had I not agreed to your plan.”