Page 101 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
Mary’s voice came muffled through the door. “Cressida? Mama says Lady Whitebrook needs to leave soon if she wants to avoid evening traffic.”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Apparently, I have ten more minutes before I’m no longer welcome here.”
“Generous of her.”
“Mm.” Harriet moved toward the door, then paused. “You know what you need to do.”
“Sit here quietly and wait for my parents to arrange my life?”
“Go back to Ashmere.” Harriet’s expression turned serious. “Stop letting him hide behind his walls. Make him talk to you properly, even if he fights you the entire way.”
“And if he refuses?”
“Then you’ll know you tried. But I don’t think he will.” She pulled Cressida into a brief, fierce embrace. “You’re the bravest person I know. You traveled across England in a storm to save me from a marriage I didn’t need saving from. Surely you can manage one difficult conversation with your husband.”
“You’re destroying yourself.”
Theodore looked up from Charles’s portrait to find Lady Seymore standing in the doorway, her expression carrying that particular blend of concern and exasperation she reserved for moments when he’d disappointed her most profoundly.
“Auntie.” He set down his glass with deliberate care. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly.” She swept into the study, casting a pointed glance at the empty decanter on his desk and the general disarray that had accumulated over the past three days. “Your butlerlooked positively relieved when I arrived. I suspect he was contemplating staging some sort of intervention.”
“Jenkins is prone to dramatics.”
“Jenkins is sensible enough to recognize when his employer is wallowing.” Lady Seymore settled into the chair opposite his desk without waiting for an invitation. “Where is your wife, Theodore?”
He should have anticipated that. His aunt had perfected the art of arriving precisely when her presence would prove most inconvenient.
“With her parents.”
“I see.” Her tone suggested she saw more than he wished. “And you’re here alone, drinking yourself into oblivion while staring at a portrait you’ve spent seventeen years refusing to acknowledge. How very productive.”
Theodore’s jaw tightened. “My marriage is not your concern.”
“Your happiness is always my concern, whether you appreciate my interference or not.” She leaned forward, her gaze sharp enough to cut. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Theodore Yeats, I’ve known you since you were in leading strings. Don’t insult my intelligence with transparent lies.” She paused, studying him with unsettling perception. “She left. Why?”
He could deflect. Could make up an acceptable excuse about estate business or social obligations. But the exhaustion that had settled into his bones made dissembling seem impossibly difficult.
“I told her she meant nothing to me,” he said flatly. “That our marriage was merely a contract to satisfy your meddling and her father’s greed.”
The silence that followed was profound.
“I see,” Lady Seymore said eventually, her voice carrying an edge he couldn’t quite identify. “And did you mean it?”
“Yes. No.” Theodore dragged both hands through his hair. “I don’t know. She was prying into things that weren’t her concern. Touching things I’d explicitly forbidden. She uncovered Charles’s portrait, and I—” He gestured helplessly to the portrait propped against the wall. “I reacted poorly.”
“Poorly.” His aunt’s repetition held no inflection. “You told your wife—a woman you’ve been sharing a bed with, a woman who by all accounts has been trying desperately to build a true connection with you—that she means nothing, because she committed the grievous sin of being curious about your family.”
Hearing it stated so bluntly made it sound worse than it had felt in the moment.
Theodore reached for his glass, remembered it was empty, and settled for glaring at the decanter instead. “She had no right.”
“She had every right.” Lady Seymore’s voice sharpened. “She’s your wife, Theodore. Your Duchess. This is her family now, whether you like it or not. And you cannot expect her to live in ignorance of the very history that shaped you simply because you find it too painful to discuss.”
