Page 116 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
There was more to being good than simply not hurting others.
‘Thank you, Luke.’
‘You’re very welcome. Life can be lived all kinds of ways. Happiness takes many shapes. Grace and I are happy. I understand not everyone would be. But we are. Desperately so. Be happy. In your life that looks like no one else’s. Because it does not need to. Passion does not mean hurting others. Loving someone does not mean you will cause them pain.’
He nodded slowly. And he realised there was no way to be certain about any of this. Except he knew he would do anything for her. As evidenced by the fact that he was willing to cast aside all expectations of him and marry her.
If she would have him.
He knew that what he had to do was stop making proclamations. And that would be the most difficult thing.
He would have to go to her a different man.
And he would have to figure out how to be that man between London and Attingham.
Because as for now, he had no answers.
Save but one.
He loved Mary Smith. And he loved Mary McLaren.
And he would do whatever he had to, to keep her love.
Days,he had said.
She felt bereft at not having him.
The suspense of not knowing what he would ask of her when he returned was unendurable. It was just after their walk, and the children had run ahead of her into the house where Mrs Brown had made them lemonade.
She was walking, her breast heavy as she moved, when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
And there he was. Walking across the grass, a shaft of golden sunlight casting him in an endless glow.
His white breeches fitted neatly to his body, his navy coat blowing in the breeze.
Everything in her stilled.
She wanted to run to him. And away from him.
But then, his pace quickened. And he was the one running. To her.
He reached her, and cupped her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. And then he did something utterly unexpected.
The Duke dropped to his knees before her and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Mary,’ he whispered.
She put her hand on the back of his head and held him like that. Held him there against her.
‘Mary,’ he whispered again fiercely.
‘Samuel.’ She moved her fingers through his hair, stroked his face.
‘I had to go and see Luke. I am sorry. I did not hire a governess.’ He looked up at her, and judging by the sorrow in his eyes, she was afraid she knew what might come next. That he would ask her to remain a governess.
And she realised she would do it for him. For the children.
She had purposed not to take half. But a life without him at all, his friendship, his warmth...it was less than half.
