Page 4 of A Duchess Untouched

The word gaol had the woman wailing in fear. She threw herself at Matthew’s boots, her fingers clutching at the hem of his long riding coat.

“Have mercy on me, Your Grace! I will never do it again! Not to you. Not to anyone else. Please! I beg you. Elijah will not survive a poorhouse. Look at him. I beg you, please!”

The little boy also began to cry louder, tugging at his mother, as if urging her to rise from her humble pose. Matthew looked down at the woman weeping at his feet and her child, whose shoulders shook. The sounds blended into one wail of despair. Maximus’s body remained rigid, whining at the keening sounds coming from the boy and his mother. Soon, though, his ears flattened against his skull, and he paced near his master’s boots. He nudged the boy’s shoulders with his wet snout. The boy gasped, his cries faltering, and the dog lowered himself to the floorboards as if to show that he meant no harm.

Matthew should be angry. The woman had the nerve to steal from him right in front of his face. He was in the same room when her hand grabbed the pouch, not long after she lied to him about her identity. However, the sight of the boy brought him nothing more than sadness.

“Leave it be, Harrison,” Matthew said in a low voice, as if all his strength had been pulled from him.

“But… But, Your Grace,” the steward protested, blinking at his master in disbelief. “She should not be let go easily after she committed a crime.”

“I said, leave it, Harrison.” Matthew’s tone carried finality. There was absolutely no room for argument. “Woman, whoever you are, rise. Elijah, up you go as well.”

The two hesitated before rising. Then Matthew rose from his seat, his height towering over everyone in the room. He reached for the pouch of gold sovereigns, loosened the drawstring, and tipped a handful of coins into his palm. He reached for the woman’s cold hand, pressed the coins into it, and closed her fingers around them.

“Keep the coin. Find a better place to stay, and ensure the boy has some food in him as soon as possible. He looks like a gentle breeze can blow him over.”

The woman stared at the coin in her palm in disbelief. Then she looked up at Matthew. This time, there was no fear in her eyes. It was replaced by awe and gratitude.

“Oh, goodness!” she exclaimed. “Thank you, Your Grace! May God bless and keep you hale and hearty!”

She then backed away and out of the room as her boy followed. Their footsteps still echoed, fading into the dark alley outside. The scent of desperation that lingered was nothing but Matthew’s own.

Matthew sank back into his chair, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion once again. The woman and the little boy had given him some distraction and a bit of hope, though it had been dashed. He let out a heavy sigh and reached down to scratch Maximus behind his ears. His dog was panting, tongue hanging out. Then, he rested his chin on Matthew’s knee, looking so gentle for something so large. The dog let out a soft whine, as if feeling the same way as his master.

“Four years, Harrison,” Matthew murmured, staring at nothing in particular. “After all those years, we still have not found them. We have tried everything we could, and still have nothing.”

Matthew could not help but let his despair show in his voice. Harrison had seen and heard everything related to this search. He could feel every bit of his master’s frustration.

“We have covered the villages in the north, Your Grace. Perhaps we have gotten incorrect information, and it is time to move down south.”

“Perhaps she is dead,” Matthew mused gloomily. The words felt heavy as he uttered them. The thought had slithered in his mind a few times, but he often pushed it back within him. “Perhaps I have been searching for a ghost all along. Perhaps Robert’s child was long dead or even born dead, with both of them buried in nameless tombs.”

It was torture to follow this train of thought, but he could not help it. With Mary dead, he would have to live the rest of his life with his debt to Robert forever unpaid. He could imagine living out a self-imposed exile, which had been his life for the past few years. He would never be able to move forward if he kept this in mind. It was almost as if he bore the mark of Cain, even though he had not murdered anyone.

“Perhaps we can go back to London, so that you can get some rest, Your Grace,” Harrison suggested.

“I cannot rest,” Matthew gritted out, clenching his fists. Maximus lifted his chin from his leg, staring at him questioningly. “Not yet. I will not return to London until I find more information about Mary and her child. I owe my brother that much.”

Harrison opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a frantic knock came from the inn’s door. The steward cautiously opened the door to a messenger. The young man was soaked from the rain and gasping for air.

“Is His Grace, the Duke of Wentley, within?” he asked as he tried to wipe the rain from his eyes.

“I am the Duke of Wentley. Come inside from the rain, boy.”

“I… I will remain here, Your Grace,” the messenger replied, standing by the doorway. “I am dripping with rain and have ridden from London without pause. But I am here to pass a rather urgent and unfortunate message.”

The young man pulled a letter from his bag. Matthew strode toward him and grabbed the sealed message.

“What is in this?” Matthew demanded. “Speak.”

“Her… Her Grace, the Duchess of Wentley, is dead,” the boy declared, his shoulders drooping.

“What?” Matthew exclaimed. “How did she die? Did my mother’s heart fail her?”

He struggled to picture it. His mother had always seemed too strong-willed, too unyielding, to ever succumb to something as ordinary as death. Yet four years was a long time to be absent. He no longer knew what state she was in or much about the family he had left behind.

“Your Grace, the Dowager Duchess is in perfect health. I am referring to the Duchess of Wentley, Selina Sheffield. Your wife, Your Grace. Unfortunately, she died at a young age.”