Page 37 of The Duke Decides

“I’m already ruined,” Gabe said.

“Oh? Have you committed a crime for which you could be hanged, or transported?” She felt a hot, unreasoning rush of anger at his obstinacy. She had to make him see that what he asked—what he wanted of her—was impossible, because of who she was. “Have you committed murder?”

The words hung in the air for long, slow moments, heavy as the lamps lighting the trees in Vauxhall. “Tell me,” Gabe said quietly.

Louisa shut her eyes. In the darkness of memory she saw, not the small chamber that encased them, but the grand frontage of her childhood home. An elegant façade for the desperation and decay that lurked beneath.

“My name, when I was born, was Eloisa Maria Thérèse d’Estreaux. My family was noble, but during the Revolution my father managed to keep his head, and his land, by changing his allegiance as he saw fit. To improve his fortunes, he decided to make an alliance with Auguste Grenay, one of Napoleon’s generals, who had massively enriched himself during the Emperor’s wars.

“I heard the rumors that he was cruel,” Louisa said quietly, pulling the ribbon at her waist through her fingers. “He was also twenty-four years older than I was. My family ignored me, of course. The d’Estreaux clung to the ancien régime, and Auguste was their means to navigate the new world. So off I went into marriage.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

He held silent a moment, and his voice was tight with anger when he spoke. The arm curled around her was tight also. “That is too young.”

“It was. I had no way to defend myself. I knew only what my mother and governesses had taught me. How to dance and embroider and make conversation, how to set a table and supervise servants. I had no idea men like my husband existed.”

Gabe’s voice was heavy, miserable. “He was—cruel to you?”

“He was cruel to everyone. It was his nature. When the War of the Sixth Coalition drove Napoleon into exile, the Bourbons promised to restore the d’Estreaux to their former glory. I begged my family to let me come home, to leave Auguste in his disgrace.” Her voice hitched. “They refused.”

“Why?”

“They did not wish me to endanger the marital prospects of my sisters, who might rise on the wave of the Bourbon Restoration, since my father claimed to be an ally of the monarchy all along. They did not wish me to sully their repute with an association with one of Napoleon’s dogs. They…”

She forced out the rest, her throat bitter with the sense of betrayal that was still raw after all of these years. “They did not believe me when I said what kind of man Auguste was. They accused me of making up tales to vilify him.” She could not restrain the short bark of laughter. “When I only told them the half of it.”

“I am sorry,” Gabe murmured, his arm tightening around her. “I am sorry you did not have your family to support you.”

She would not allow herself to sag against him, to weep. She had been steel then, and she would be steel now.

“Then I learned that Auguste was plotting to bring the Emperor back. I knew what it would mean for my family, for France, if they succeeded. I-I knew how many more men would die. There were so many in France already, neighbors, friends, who had lost fathers and sons and husbands to his wars.

“Auguste had rooms in the stables that he used for his meetings. And—and other things. His private pleasures that he did not want the servants in the house to see. And whatever he did to raise money for the war effort.”

She hadn’t known the whole of it, but she heard the distant whispers, and she had eyes. She saw the girls and boys who came to the stables under escort by one of Auguste’s men. Girls and boys she had seen in the village, selling apples and ribbons at the market, holding the reins of her horses while she shopped. She would see carriages with covered windows leaving the stables, and then she would not see those girls or boys in the village again.

She had been too fearful to act for so many years. To her shame, she had simply looked away and pretended nothing was wrong. She knew what it cost her when she questioned her husband, talked back to him. She knew what it cost when she displeased him, as she did so often—when she laughed too brightly at a party, when one of his friends lingered too long at her side at a dinner, when another year passed, and another, without her producing a son. She had cowered in fear in her own house for so many years, and then—and then her fear had finally forced her to act.

“How did you escape him?” Gabe asked quietly.

Louisa sat in the circle of his arm, watching the candle flame dance and bend. The wick would need tending soon. The vision of fire swelled in her mind, filling her memory. The greedy whoosh of flames feeding on straw and dry wood and night air. The hiss and crack as timbers collapsed. The smell of burning leather.

The screams of trapped men.

“I set fire to the stables during one of his meetings,” she said finally. “I knew I could not stop him, not his conspiracy, not his men. I set all the horses loose save the one I rode away. I meant to distract them, to create a diversion while I escaped. I didn’t plan—I didn’t intend—”

Her voice cracked, and she forced out the words. “As I was leaving, I realized a part of the roof had fallen in, blocking the door. The men inside were trapped.” She swallowed hard, laying the extent of her crime before him. “I was a coward again. I didn’t call for help. I didn’t stay to try to free them. I-I left.”

“You rode away, and got yourself free,” Gabe said.

“At great cost.” She swallowed again, this time forcing back a sob. “I abandoned the horse a few towns away and threw my gown in a river so they would think I drowned. I used the coin I had stolen from the household accounts and hired a horse that took me to the coast, then a ship I could sail to England. I thought England, as Napoleon’s biggest adversary, would be the best place to hide. My ship docked in London, and when I asked around, I heard of this place, the Benevolence Hospital. They asked no questions. They gave me food and clothing. For the first time in my life, I was safe.”

Gabe stroked her arm, his touch gentle, reassuring. “Have you ever thought of going back?”

“I’d be taken up for a murderer if I did. I thought, after the Battle of Waterloo, of contacting my family. One of my sisters, perhaps, just so I could hear of them. But I knew, in the end, it was better if they did not hear from me. Better if Eloisa Grenay simply disappeared.”