I should go. No good can come from being here…
Even still, Octavia crept further into the room. She forgot completely about the two boys, just as she forgot that she was in a most dangerous place. All she could think about was the Duke himself, a man whom she hardly knew, but whom she wanted to know more.
But why was that? Yes, knowing him might help her with Aaron – that was what she told herself. It was also not the entire truth. As strange as it was to consider, Octavia felt that there was more to her relationship with the Duke than mere employee and employer.
He often tested her. He always pressured her. He liked to prove that he could control her. But when she pushed back, when she dared to deny him this control, she saw the other side to him… a side that he seemed afraid of, as if it shamed him.
Just as it shamed him, Octavia believed it was his true self…
Across the room, she spied a sheet hanging from the wall. It covered a portrait, and Octavia’s heart hammered as she considered what might be hidden underneath. Slowly, carefully, she moved toward it…
When she reached the sheet, she extended a shaking hand and gently pulled it away. A gasp escaped her lips.
The portrait was of a young woman, not much older than Octavia. She had light brown hair, pasty skin, and a hollow face. Her eyes were light blue, her lips were thin, and she wore a look of utmost sadness that was inescapable. Not a beauty by any measure, there was something about her that Octavia could not look away from, the sense that the woman was silently begging for help… help that she knew she would never find.
“Her name was Lillianne,” a deep voice spoke from behind Octavia. “She was Aaron’s mother.”
Octavia gasped and jumped on the spot as her heart shot through her mouth. She spun about, just as the Duke skulked deeper into the room.
He was covered in dark shadows, his posture was brooding, and she searched his face through the darkness, expecting to see anger burning behind his eyes. That was, after all, his typical state of being.
“Your Grace!” she stammered, frozen to the spot. “I… I did not mean… The boys… We were…” She could hardly speak.
For once, Octavia did not try to stand up for herself. She had broken his rule, and there was no good excuse. So, she braced for his fury, she prepared her apology, and she prayed that he might be gentle with her.
As the Duke walked further into the room, as soft light somehow found its way across his face, she saw something that she did not expect. It was not anger that in his visage. There was no fury in his stance. Rather, he looked sad… somehow broken, as if he ought to be ashamed by what she had found.
He said nothing as he approached her, his eyes moving from her terrified stance to the portrait that hung on the wall.
He is not here to reprimand me. Does he… does he want me to ask more?
“Tell me about her,” Octavia said softly and with great caution. “But only if you wish to.”
He chuckled bitterly. “What is there to tell? No doubt you have heard enough to make up your own mind.”
“I would rather hear it from you.”
The Duke considered her. Again, she expected him to snap out of his morosity and snarl. She had only been working here for two weeks, and not once in that time had the Duke given any indication that he was one to open up. He guarded himself and his secrets closely, obviously fearful of letting too much go.
In this instance, he did not seem nearly so guarded. There was sadness in his stance and behind his eyes, as if the walls he hid behind were crumbling in real time.
“She was kind,” he started as he tore his eyes away. “She was a gentle soul…” He turned and stalked across the room toward a couch that sat at the end of the bed. “Far too gentle for this world, and for me.” With a deep sigh, he sat on the couch.
“She looks as if she were,” Octavia said, not knowing what to say. “I am sure that you made her happy.”
His laughter was bitter. “Now that is a lie, Miss Finch.”
“I only meant –”
“I did not love her,” he spoke over her, his voice low. Sitting now, he sank onto the couch, his strict posture gone, his body defeated. “Nor did she love me. But that was not why we married…”
He did not look at Octavia. Rather, he hung his head as if with sadness. But his posture was not closed off, nor was it isolated, and Octavia sensed that he did not want her to leave him.
Slowly, she walked across the room, each step careful and when she reached the couch, Octavia took a chance and sat down.
The Duke acted as if he did not notice her, but that was a good sign. Again, the sense that he wanted her there.
“Why did you marry her?” Octavia asked softly. “If not for love?”