Page 63 of A Duchess Untouched

The stark clarity of Selina’s mental state finally took hold of him. She had heard the gossip about Mary Wills and assumed Mary was his mistress, believing that Robert’s son was also his.

His wife fled to Marlow House not because she did not care about him, but because her heart was broken, just as broken as his was.

“God… What a mess,” Matthew breathed, shaking.

Her cold, distant voice through her bedchamber door echoed in his mind. He could not imagine what that must have felt like for her. She was carrying his child, thinking that he was going from village to village to find a boy he had with a maid.

She had left him to protect herself. He had hurt her without even meaning to. He had not even been there when she fainted on the street.

He needed to go to her. She needed to know the truth, and hopefully, she could find it in her heart to trust him.

Chapter 30

“You should not have left like that, Selina. You should have spoken to your husband first,” Portia said. “A direct conversation is better than grieving over assumptions. You fled in the middle of the night without even confronting him. That does not sound like you.”

Selina kept her eyes on her lap, her fingers clasped as if in prayer or simply to keep herself in control. Her stomach had been queasy every morning for the past three days. At least she had not vomited or fainted lately.

“I had to spare myself the humiliation, Portia,” she explained, her voice heavy with exhaustion. Even hours upon hours of sleep could not ease her fatigue. “The truth is glaringly obvious. Asking my husband for an explanation would only give him a chance to lie, and I could not bear to listen to him make excuses.”

“Mm,” Portia mused, narrowing her eyes at her sister. She tapped one finger against the table. “Aristotle would have called your conclusions fallacies and incomplete reasoning. You have created the scenario based on rumors from the parish widows without even confronting the object of the gossip.”

Lady Marlow sighed dramatically from her armchair, which was the closest to the hearth. She probably did not expect to be having a conversation like this so early in the morning.

“Good heavens, Portia. I wish that Aristotle or any of those dead philosophers were still alive so that one of them would take your hand in matrimony and spare the rest of us these endless sermons,” she complained, adjusting her shawl. “Though I agree that I never thought your duke was such a fool!”

“A duel?” Lord Marlow echoed, scrambling to an upright position. He was nodding off in his high-backed chair, the closest one to the window for fresh air. “Is Wentley challenging anyone? I always said that he has too much fire in his blood! And that dog of his…”

“Nobody is dueling, Norman!” Lady Marlow shouted, shaking her head in exasperation. “We are speaking of Selina’s marriage.”

Lord Marlow looked at Selina directly, then, as if studying his youngest granddaughter. He seemed more alert now.

“Ah. What about her marriage?” he asked.

“She believes that her husband has a mistress!” yelled Lady Marlow, so that he could hear her.

“Oh, dear heavens! My dear Selina, things are rarely what they seem. Let the anger pass and look at it again,” Lord Marlow advised. His voice was deep and had an authority that belied his old age. “When I was a very young man, I was quite certain that your grandmama had given her heart to someone else because I saw him holding her hand. I was planning to shoot the man dead and leave the country when I discovered that he was merely handing her a scandal sheet she had paid for in secret.”

“That was not at all how it happened, Norman!” Lady Marlow yelled. “It seems that along with your hearing, your memory has gone as well!”

Selina chuckled at that, but the ache in her chest remained. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, Grandpapa, but a secret child and a woman who has somehow robbed my husband of his senses are the entire scandal sheet. I do not need to pay for a secret one.”

Before the old man could respond, the doors of the morning room opened, and the butler entered.

“Your Grace, His Grace, the Duke of Wentley wishes to speak with you immediately.”

Selina suddenly felt cold. She had not expected him to come and see her. She had told him in her letter that it was futile. There was nothing to talk about. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. What would she do? What would she say?

“No,” Selina replied. “Tell him that I am not receiving any visitors today, and that I am… indisposed.”

She winced at the words that came out of her mouth. Matthew was not just any visitor; he was her husband. Her indisposition could not possibly discourage him.

It was at that moment that Napoleon decided to trot out of the room. His tail was upright, flailing excitedly, as Selina watched in horror.

“You know what that means, dear granddaughter. We cannot close the doors until Napoleon is back,” her grandpapa declared, and she knew there was no arguing with that. That fat ginger cat always got its way.

Selina groaned. She had no choice but to watch the door with some apprehension. It did not even take long before Matthew finally stood at the threshold, panting. His broad shoulders were stiff and tense, and his hair was damp, possibly from the light rain from earlier that morning. His cravat looked as if he had fought with it on the way, and his coat was wrinkled.

Matthew might not be as foppish as some gentlemen, but he was always neat and orderly. Seeing him apparently struggling today made Selina’s heart clench.