Page 16 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
‘I do, Your Grace. And yet your children should be in a position of importance.’
‘It is not a matter of importance. It is a matter of what can be endured. My wife is dead. As you can see, the children miss her. And I am not her. Nor will you be.’
‘Did the children spend most of their day with a governess before?’
‘Parts of the day. Jane, for her part... The Duchess, I mean. The Duchess. She spent a great deal of the day with them.’
She felt herself soften at the mention of the former Duchess’s Christian name. Had the woman lived, he would not have referred to her so, not in conversation with Mary.
Had the woman lived, she would not be here talking to him.
‘She sounds like a lovely woman.’
‘She was. Nurturing and lovely and a brilliant mother.’
Her heart squeezed tight. He had loved her. Greatly.
She could only imagine what it must be like to be loved by such a man. To be loved by anyone.
She had been given great care. By Penny and Lachlan. By the Duke of Kendal, distant though it was.
But she had never been loved. And she was well aware of that.
This man, this hard man, had, with all of his considerable strengths, loved this woman, and it had sent him into a terrible grief that made it impossible for him to even name his own child. It was unfathomable.
It was beautiful and terrible all at once.
But it was the envy that nearly swallowed her whole that shocked her.
What would it be like to have male strength used to protect her in such a way?
She had been avenged. That was the truth.
But Lachlan had avenged her as much out of rage for what had happened to her as out of the need to protect the clan. The need to show himself their leader.
He had made sure that it was known to all that rape was not tolerated in Clan McKenzie, and that the penalty would be death. Outright.
A crime that was overlooked in many places in the world, and certainly in many parts of the Highlands, would be dealt with swiftly and brutally in Clan McKenzie.
It had been for her. But it had very much been for the order of the clan.
Very much.
She was not angry about that.
It was only that she had to wonder...
As she thought about it, memories of being held down assaulted her. Memories of struggling against a man’s strength.
Men had strength, all of them. What would it be like to be held in security? In care?
To have that strength used differently.
She realised she was staring at him, and that her breath had gone shallow.
His hands were large, still gripping that quill, and she had difficulty looking away from him.
‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘It is a terrible loss.’
