Page 22 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

Vivian nodded and set down her cup. “I imagine so. My grandson has a habit of taking in strays, though I must say, none have been quite as interesting as you.”

Gemma looked up, her brows furrowing slightly. “Interesting?”

“Yes,” the Dowager replied with a knowing smile. “You have a certain fire about you. Most women in your position would be cowering by now, but not you. You are stronger than you know.”

Gemma’s fingers tightened around her fork, her eyes dropping back to her plate as she absently pushed her food around.

“I do not feel strong, Your Grace,” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Vivian watched her for a moment. “Strength does not always feel like strength, dear. Sometimes it is simply surviving that which would destroy others.”

Gemma’s grip on the fork slackened but she didn’t say anything, her silence speaking volumes.

The lady decided to shift the conversation gently, “Tell me,” she began, her tone light, “what brought you to St. Catherine’s? I gather it was not by choice.”

Gemma froze, her body becoming rigid as the Dowager Duchess’ words hung in the air. For a moment, she didn’t move, and didn’t speak. Her eyes darted to the window, as if searching for an escape route.

“With all due respect, my lady, I… I would rather not talk about it,” she finally whispered, her voice strained.

Vivian set down her knife and fork and folded her hands in her lap.

“Of course,” she said softly, her sharp eyes catching the subtle shift in Gemma’s posture, and the way her breath quickened ever so slightly. “You needn’t share anything if you are not ready.”

Gemma gave a small, barely perceptible nod, but the tension in her frame didn’t ease. She stabbed at a piece of food on her plate, though she made no move to actually eat it.

“I must confess,” the Dowager said quietly, “our family does not have the best history with nunneries.”

Gemma’s head snapped up, and her eyes became wide with curiosity. She opened her mouth as if to ask something but quickly closed it again, her expression wary.

Vivian smiled gently. “You need not be afraid to ask questions, Miss Bradford. I know your time at St. Catherine’s must have been… unpleasant. But you should know that you are safe here. No harm will come to you within these walls.”

Gemma blinked, her hands still fidgeting with her fork. “What did you mean when you said that you do not have a good history with nunneries?”

The Dowager Duchess of Blackridge sighed, leaning back in her chair as her gaze drifted to the window. Dark clouds were beginning to gather in the distance, casting a faint shadow over the room.

“My granddaughter Helen was sent by her father to St. Catherine’s convent. She… never came back.”

Gemma’s eyes widened and her mouth parted in a small gasp.

“I… I am so sorry,” she said softly, her voice filled with genuine empathy.

Vivian gave a sad smile. “Thank you, dear. It was a long time ago, but some wounds never truly heal.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at Gemma. “That is the reason Frederickis so… persistent. He does not want what happened to Helen to happen to anyone else. Especially not someone like you.”

Gemma’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding her expression. “Someone like me?”

Vivian tilted her head slightly, her eyes twinkling with both amusement and empathy. “You have spirit, my dear. You remind me of our Helen in many ways. She, too, had a fire that could not be extinguished, no matter how much the world tried to snuff it out.”

Gemma swallowed hard, her throat tight as she processed Vivian’s words.

She had never thought of herself as either strong or brave, but hearing the Dowager speak of her granddaughter in such a way made her wonder if perhaps she had underestimated herself.

The room grew quieter as the wind began to pick up outside, the dark clouds now looming larger in the sky, and casting a noticeable shadow over the formerly bright breakfast table.

The lighthearted conversation had taken a turn into deeper, darker waters, but there was something comforting about it. Gemma felt less alone in her struggle, knowing that this family—despite their power and wealth—had faced their own demons.

Vivian reached out and placed a gentle hand over Gemma’s. “You do not have to face this alone, you know. Frederick mayseem harsh, but his heart is in the right place. He only wants to protect you.”

Gemma stared at the Dowager’s hand, her heart pounding in her chest. She did not know how to respond to her kind words or make sense of the emotions that had suddenly erupted within her in the aftermath of her caring touch.

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