Page 115 of The Sainted Duchess
He said nothing.
“You made a vow,” Maria pressed. “That we would dine together. That you would not treat me as if I were invisible. Was that so impossible to keep?”
“Do not speak of vows as though you know what they cost.”
She flinched at the sharpness of it. “And what do they cost you, Your Grace? A half hour of company? A few polite words at dinner?”
He turned away. “More than that.”
He was speaking in riddles again, and it was difficult for her to understand.
“Then explain it to me!” Her voice rose before she could stop it. “Because from where I stand, it seems that I have done something to offend you, and I do not even know what it is.”
Her words echoed in the still room. Stephen did not answer. He only stared at the painting again.
She drew a slow breath. “Is it because of the ball?” she asked at last.
That made him look at her. “What?”
“The ball,” she repeated, “You have avoided me ever since. I thought…” she hesitated, twisting her fingers together, “perhaps you found me appalling. In my new gown. It did not fit as it should have.”
His brows knit. “Appalling?”
Her cheeks burned. “I know I am not what society calls elegant. I felt foolish the moment I entered the room. I saw the other ladies whispering. I know you were kind to me that day, but perhaps you were only acting out of pity…. ”
“Is that truly what you think?” he cut her off mid-sentence.
“What else am I meant to think?” she demanded. “You have not looked at me since. Perhaps you just had a realization, and perhaps it was not a flattering one.”
Stephen’s expression shifted, something like disbelief flickering there. He stepped toward her.
“Why are you twisting things into what they are not?” he sighed.
“Because I do not know what else to think,” she said earnestly. “I do not know how else to see things. So please, I beseech you, tell me the honest truth this time. Was it the ball?”
“Yes.”
He had not meant to say it.
He had meant to say some smooth evasion that would see her out of the room. But when she asked again, he answered the first, most foolish thing that rose to the surface.
“Yes.”
She stared at him, the color washing from her face.
“Well then,” she said, voice shaking. “You needn’t go anywhere with me again if it is so troublesome. You needn’t stand by me or dance with me or buy gowns you would rather I never wear. I shall spare you the burden.”
Stephen did not know how to respond. She was clearly wounded, and perhaps he had been crass as well.
“You should not have purchased that dress if the sight of me in it offends you. I will send it back. No, I will have it burned if that will simplify your calendar.”
“Maria…”
But the words were loose now, and she could not seem to gather them.
“Two days,” she whispered, tears brightening her eyes, “and you cannot bear breakfast. Two days, and my husband vanishes. If it is the gown, if it is my… figure, if it is the way I look when I try very hard to please you and fail…then say so and be done. You do not have to…”
He did not know what he meant to do until he had crossed the space and taken her face in his hands. She went still, breath caught, eyes wider than his senses. He bent and kissed her.
