Page 69 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“My mother was miserable because she loved my father and he did not love her back. My misery comes from you being so withdrawn and quiet, and I do not understand it. What have I done to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You have done nothing to me. And I do beg your pardon. Truly. Most sincerely. I should’ve treated you better. I will do better henceforth.”
She was taken aback. She had expected defensiveness, not contrition. She hadn’t expected this.
“You will?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I do not want you taking off into the woods on your own because you are driven by loneliness or despair because of my actions. You are my wife. I beg your pardon. But please do not go out into the woods like this alone again without telling anybody. I was worried. Morrison was worried. Mr. Sweeting nearly had an apoplexy. The poor man was beside himself.”
“He was?” she gasped, touched that people cared. She had not realized how much she had come to matter to them.
“Yes. You have wormed your way into the hearts of many in your short time here. You have endeared yourself to them all.”
Frances paused. She wanted to ask if she had wormed her way into his heart, but knew that it was silly. He would think her foolish, sentimental.
Still, she couldn’t deny it—when he had lifted her onto his horse yesterday and held her, she had felt something inside her. A sense of safety and peace she hadn’t felt in so long. She had felt cared for. Cherished even, if she dared think it. And oddly, she still felt cared for now.
“I took the liberty of having the cook make you plum cake,” he added, surprising her further. Such thoughtfulness from him was unexpected. “With vanilla.”
“That is my?—”
“Your favorite, I know. You mentioned it once while we were both staying with my godmother.”
“And you remembered?” She could scarcely believe it.
He shrugged. “I might be haughty and aloof, and all manner of other things you have called me, but I do care. More than I ought, perhaps.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“Rest now,” he said, his voice gentler than she had ever heard it. “We shall talk more when you are feeling better.”
With that, he gave her a curt nod—ever the reserved Duke, even in his moments of softness—and made his way out of the room.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Frances released a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. Her heart was racing, her thoughts a jumble.
James cared. He had said it. Hecared.
But what did that mean? And more frightening still, what did she want it to mean?
She sat back, her feelings an utter tempest. A maelstrom of confusion and hope and something she dared not name.
He was so unreadable, her husband. He cared. He clearly did care, and she had always known this. But at the same time, he was so distant.
What was it with him? She simply could not understand. And yet as she sat there, her hands clutching the duvet, she couldn’t help but feel as though something between them had shifted. The ice between them was thawing, inch by inch.
Frances finished off the plum cake and licked her lips. It had been delicious. Perfectly spiced, with just the right amount of sweetness.
How thoughtful of him…
“Would you like another slice?” Lizette asked.
Frances shook her head. “No, I am quite full. Perhaps later. But help yourself to some.”
“I do not care for it, but thank you.” Lizette smiled. “It was very kind of His Grace to make the special request.”
“It was,” Frances agreed.
The maid paused. “He was dreadfully worried about you, you know. Beside himself, truly. I haven’t seen him in such a state before. But some of the servants who have been here longer said that he hadn’t been in such a state since his brother died.”
