Page 87 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

“I no longer know what I am doing, Helen,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I feel as though I am constantly chasing after what I have lost and holding onto the things that haunt me, and I fear I am losing myself.”

He closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to Gemma, to the ache her absence had left behind. She had, in her quiet, stubborn way, filled a part of him he hadn’t realized was empty until she was gone. And now, all he was left with were the memories, just as it was with Helen.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see the Baron Rowen, Peter Stanhope—Helen’s love, and the father of Helen’s child, if the infant had survived—standing nearby, dressed somberly, his gaze resting on the grave.

Frederick hadn’t seen him since last year’s anniversary, yet the baron had always come without fail, honoring the woman he’d loved in the only way he could.

“Frederick,” Peter said softly, inclining his head in greeting. “It is good to see you.”

Frederick rose, nodding in return. “Peter. I was not certain you would come this year.”

Peter managed a small, wistful smile. “I made a promise to her once that I would never forget. It is a promise I have kept all these years, though it has grown harder with time.” He sighed, his gaze softening. “But I see you have not forgotten her either.”

Frederick shook his head, feeling the familiar pang of regret. “No. And I do not believe that I ever will.”

They fell silent, both men connected by a mutual grief, bound by the memory of a woman they had each lost in their own way. Peter broke the silence, his gaze steady as he looked at Frederick.

“You loved her deeply,” Peter said, his tone gentle. “But you have punished yourself long enough. You were young, and powerlessto change what happened. Holding on to that guilt… it will not bring her back.”

“It is not so simple, Peter. I made another poor choice involving someone else… someone who reminded me of Helen in her strength and her resolve. And because of that choice I have driven her away, just as my father did Helen.”

Peter’s expression softened, his gaze sharpening with a touch of understanding. “It is a woman you are referring to, is it not?”

Frederick hesitated, then nodded, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I made a decision that forced her to go away, thinking it would save her. But now… I cannot bear her absence. I find myself regretting it more than I can say.”

Peter placed a firm hand on Frederick’s shoulder, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Then go to her. Do not make the same mistakes your father did. Helen would not want you to waste your life in the same way.”

Frederick met his gaze, seeing a spark of hope in Peter’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. The baron’s words resonated, peeling away the layers of guilt and fear that had held him back. He realized he was, indeed, punishing himself, binding himself to the past when he had a chance to live and to love.

Peter patted Frederick on the back, his touch comforting. “Frederick, you deserve happiness, and I believe Helen would also want that for you. More than anything, she would want youto truly live your life, to find someone who brings you the joy she never had. Let go of the past, my friend.”

Frederick swallowed, the weight of Peter’s words was a soothing balm to his burning soul, easing the hurt that had lodged itself in his heart for too long. For the first time since Gemma had left, he felt a glimmer of clarity; a sense of purpose that had eluded him.

“Thank you, Peter,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Peter gave him a small, reassuring smile, then stepped back, nodding once more before taking his leave. As he walked away, Frederick stood there, his gaze fixed on Helen’s grave, a sudden surge of determination swelling within him.

It was time to let go. Time to leave the ghosts behind.

With a final, lingering glance at Helen’s grave, Frederick turned and made his way back to the estate, his heart pounding with a renewed sense of purpose. He moved quickly, as though the very act of deciding had given him strength. When he entered Blackridge he went straight to his study, ordering his valet to prepare for an immediate journey.

As he sat at his desk, penning a note to his grandmother to explain his sudden departure, a feeling of anticipation filled him. He didn’t know what he would find when he reached London—whether Gemma would forgive him, whether she would even see him—but he knew he couldn’t live another day without trying to rectify his mistake.

He folded the letter, sealing it carefully, then rose to his feet. His heart was now resolute, fueled by a desperate glimmer of hope and certainty.

He could not allow another moment to slip by without fighting for the woman he loved.

In less than an hour, Frederick mounted his horse, riding south with a single purpose, leaving the shadowed halls of Blackridge behind him, his mind and heart both fixed firmly on Gemma and the chance to make things right.

The road stretched monotonously before him, each day riding alongside his carriage, his impatience simmering with every mile. The sky was clouded, trees thick on either side of the narrow road as they navigated the rugged countryside. Frederick’s thoughts drifted constantly to Gemma, to the way her laughter had always brightened his darkest days, how her clever words often left him unable to keep up his guarded facade.

Each inn they stopped at brought him rest, but no relief. His nights were restless, plagued by memories of her—their quiet walks, the moments he had let himself become vulnerable.

Now he was impatient, nearly desperate to reach her, the memory of her trust in him yanking on his conscience.

Days stretched into nearly a week, and by the time they reached London, Frederick’s weariness became eclipsed by the rush of knowing that he was close.

He barely allowed himself to settle into his family’s house on Grosvenor Square before setting out to find answers. Just after dark, he made his way to the gentlemen’s club, keeping his questions discreet as he inquired about the Clarke family and Treston estate.

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